Crime Scene

The worst crimes happen when you least expect it, from the one you least expect it from.

The most horrific crime scenes where once happy places.

The worst kind of victim is one that has not been hurt, has no cuts or bruises and yet is damaged all the way.

I sleep on a crime scene every night.

Looking Through The Window

Yeah.

I feel like poking that soft spot inside of me. It feels kinda sore lately.

And although poking and scratching it only makes it worse and it hurts, it kinda soothes the pain as well.

Which is ironic really. How does pain feed off pain to give some relief?

Yeah...

I looked at myself in the mirror in the morning and....fuck. My eyes, its like they're two huge black holes. I feel that anyone can see the chaos in my head just by staring at my face.

So yeah, tonight I felt like listening to music and reading poetry, the dark painful words of Mr Bukowski and the legendary Edgar Allan Poe, immerse myself into their worlds to hopefully make sense of mine.

I have a precious few who have been keeping an eye on me lately; but honestly? I think I've shut myself from the world because that's how I feel safe.

Maybe it is this place; I feel that I'm not living up to my potential, I feel that certain values of this society disagree with mine and I feel there isn't enough room to breathe. After I came back last year, I had told myself that if nothing world-shaking happens in the next 12 months, I'll leave. And I'm at a point in my life where I'm balancing between now or never. So, even though several things have happened, both pleasant and unpleasant, nothing world-shaking occurred. And I'm here. And I haven't booked a ticket and I'm left wondering what-the-fuck Tinks?

What the fuck?

It gets scary sometimes. And I feel very vulnerable right now.

Requiem

We were young.

Everything was bright. We shared smiles and candy.

There was music and light.

And a promising feeling that things were only going to get better.

And yet we grow up.

And the merry-go-round of life isn't what it's cut out to be.

It's not like they promised us it would be.

I looked out the window.

It was a dark sad night.

I was standing in the middle of the living room. Couldn't bring myself to sit down.

Our shoulders were touching, but we were looking in opposite directions.

"It's a pity" you said.

My mouth had already turned to sand, no sound could possibly come out of me except the deepest, darkest, saddest cry for help.

I don't remember much. Before or after that. But I remember that very moment so clearly; that breath you took, that sharp thought that went through my mind, the street noises from down bellow and the pain oozing out of my heart, my soul, my mind, all over me, how you turned and looked at me, how I looked at you, your smell, how your face felt.

I didn't look back walking out. And yet somehow, it feels that I've been walking backwards for a year now, trying not to lose sight of you, as if I can't even turn away.

It's a dark night. A sad one too I guess.

And I miss you so much right now.

Two Cigarettes

I have this associate at work whom I see every once in a while.

Hadn't seen him in a while actually. 6 months maybe.

And I saw him today.

So he's like, let me fill you in with this and that for work, hey let's do it over a cigarette, what the hell.

So we go to the little room of sin (a.k.a. the smokers' room) and we're chatting along for work, figuring this and that out.

Then he asks me about something, something that is very dear and important to me, how's it going etctetera etctetera. And it hits me then and there, that everytime he sees me, he asks me about it. He has nothing to do with it, it has nothing to do with our work and yet, he always remembers and has the courtesy to ask me about it because he knows I'm into it.

Inevitably, comparisons are automatically made with lets-not-even-go-there (yes, it's a person). And yet this guy, he barely knows me, and yet he seems to know what's important to me, and most importantly, shows some sort of interest.

Then we get talking about other stuff, food and music and it's a really cool and easygoing conversation with a flow, you know? This person barely knows me, he's never been to my house, he's never kissed me or slept with me, and yet with that itty bitty comment and that awesome conversation where you just understand and are understood, he made lets-not-even-go-there look so small.

So we're chatting away and his phone rings. He pauses for a second, pushes the silence button and returns to our conversation. And it just goes on like that. And we light up another cigarette. And during that cigarette he tells me what he's been up to the last 6 months, shows me pictures and videos from here and there and I feel that I know this person more than I know him, even though I've known him for years. I felt that this stranger essentially, let me into his mind and life, over that God damn cigarette a lot more that him, with whom I have shared so much.

Isn't it ironic?

Or sad?

So by the time I leave the smokers room to resume my work, I have a huge smile on my face because after a long looooong time, I had a decent, easygoing conversation with a person. Who also seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to me too, without being simply polite or typical.

And driving around earlier tonight, I had all these thoughts... I haven't forgiven him 100% yet. I haven't forgiven him for letting me down, for being so... For not being who I thought he was. For not letting me in. And on that note, I haven't forgiven myself either 100% for projecting all those expectations on him. For not doing this or that. For several things. So yeah, I guess I'm still struggling with the bitterness that left me with.

Maybe one day I'll be completely over it. Him. It's taking me a while I know. It just went too deep this time I guess.

And maybe one day, songs won't remind me of him, or those feelings, or... yeah.

Not even this one.

One Woman Show

One of the things that makes me really proud about my house, is the fact that a lot of stuff in here, were assembled by me. Me, myself and I. Furniture, light stands, the freaking wall, curtains. Yeap, I put a lot of these things together, myself.

That's why I say "my house" and I feel it to the bone.

I've always been a very independent and self sufficient spirit. I've also been an outspoken one. I grew up in house where it didn't matter if I was a boy or a girl because I was brought up to believe in and respect equality. I grew up in a country that respects and believes in equality, gender-wise, sex-wise, religion-wise. Therefore, I have learnt to respect others, but I also demand respect back.

In my work environment, I often feel that I am competing against my gender. As if I have to prove that because I am a woman, I can be capable. And I believe I have been doing pretty well so far. But at times of upheaval, I feel that my skills, my motives, my personality even, come into question. As I said, I'm an outspoken confident individual. Which is great if you're a man, but if you're a woman, these characteristics are often met by scrutiny.

If I go in a meeting and they don't like what they hear, my mental or hormonal stability are questioned. If I have ambitions and work (keyword, work) to achieve them, I must be money driven or sleeping with the boss. And in cases were I express my anger or disapproval, I'm just a woman that over-estimates herself.

In the above cases, if I were a man, we'd probably get into a heated argument for 3 minutes, before opening a bottle of scotch and toasting each other.

Of course I cannot change the world. I'd be a fool to even consider myself capable of doing that. However, I have a choice; and I choose to be me, stand up for what I believe in, even in cases where it will backfire. Because if I succumb once to whatever stereotype they think I should fit in and stay put, I'll just be opening the road for them to keep on doing it.

I demand respect. But I understand that it's something that is earned. And noone respects a pushover.

And God knows I've never been one.

So here I am, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Feeling insecure, but confident in what I have done and how I have handled it. It disappoints me that I have been doubted because I'm not one of the boys. But for the past 9 years I've been a one-woman-show in a man's world.

And I think that says a lot about me.

Rare

I started writing a while ago. Writing writing writing... getting it all out. Ha! What an angry justifying post!

*sigh*

Delete.

And writing again.

And then, deleting again.

But then I figured, is it really worth it Tinks? Using up whatever minimal cyber space for this kind of bull?

Nah.

Is that what you wanna put out there? Negativity?

Nope.

I could write stories about people, and what they have being doing to me lately that will entertain you endlessly. People can be hurtful motherfuckers, you know that right?

But in all honesty, inspite of my bruised ego or how I've been mistreated? I choose to focus on what matters. Write that down. Put that out there.

So here it goes.

Yesterday, I got a surprise call from a dear dear heart out there, telling me to come downstairs, I'm right here. He holds a coffee table book, from my favorite city in the whole wide world saying that he saw it, it made him think of me, he got it for me and here he is.

And that gesture, how I crossed his mind without a hidden agenda, on an otherwise slow Sunday, made me believe in the kindness and honesty in people again.

He is rare. The way he thinks is rare. And the kindness of his heart is rare.

And how he made me feel is even rarer.

But definitely worth writing about, instead of some... yeah, definitely not worth the cyber space.

Have a good rare week y'all x