tuig

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“write down something true for our paper.thanks. I will let you know when to send it.” 

had to lift this weighing machine for my mother. she is leaving again. i don’t feel sad at all and it is weird and offbeat and weird and cold. i hate to say i stopped romaticizing leaving. i used to be so good at it, writing about it was a former fascination, i don’t know what made me quit. i was not a quitter. i used to be a jerk during college and during my post-grad days but it did not reach to the extent of quitting. well, yes, i cut classes a lot in exchange of staying on my boarding house room and thinking about a lot of hazy things. but i don’t want to romanticize my sorrows now so that i’d be called an artist or something similar to that.

this feeling makes me celebrate being ordinary. i have to learn everything not out of training but out of daily evolution. sometimes, being ordinary makes me feel depressed. if i were special, i would love to read minds and make a day easier for others. i want to save lepers. been down for days but my being ordinary saves me from being fried and chunked. you know ordinary happenings like old friends appearing in front of you, tangling your hair and telling you, you have grown up and you have a nice t-shirt. 

had my attempts to be special:

a. colored my nails green.

b. acted like Helena Bonham-Carter during evenings.

c. deleted “i” in most of my self-lifting statements. 

My family and acquaintances think that I am the most brilliant part of the clan or the community. They also feel that I have to push my self more or get my self a passport, and, comb my hair. But all I really want is to reach towns and cities here in my country and watch the sinking of the sun, kiss someone i really love on the sheets, against the wall, in the public library. take a bath each day and smile. 

back in college, teachers would call for me, remind me of my attendance and how wonderful i answer the essay type of examination while the rest of my yellow notebook flashed nothing but spaces and hesitation. i did not like most of them. i was a failure as a Political Science student. however, i was never absent in my Socialist Government class. she was a great teacher and she called me one day to write an oratorical piece. we met when I was fixing my 4-year old school shoes in the female CR. I was pushing my chewing gum between its damaged parts.

I was not a quitter but I quitted my online teaching class because I traveled. I was not a quitter but I sent my core group leader a message that I will not be in my cubicle the next week because I had some problems. I left home for days and felt better.  

Last night, I was with younger people. I found my self on the sofa in our terrace. I could see the stars because the roof was removed. The mosquitoes made me feel sick. Worse, I was so thirsty. I have been an obedient girl. But perhaps those who survive in life are those who know how to swim, not those who swim with the current. sometimes, it is better to be happy than to be right. 

and also sometimes, it pains to be nowhere between happy and right or to be confused: which is which between them.

the walls are there and it is good to hit the head on them.

to know that they are there and that they can hurt. 

i am writing this down not because i want to give you answers or to stir your feelings or your years as a teenager. maybe, you have seen me around in different hair every other month or maybe, your teachers have mentioned my name and those old days when i had to compete in three contests in a week. i write this because more than anything else, this is one certain time, i feel i am alive.

i own nothing else to share to you but that.  and perhaps, i can teach you how to hum on your way to school when you have no money to take the tricycle.

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