Unshaved Legs, Hideous Camel Toes

My shorts don’t quite fit me. It’s too snug.

There are knots in my shoulders. Knots that will not go anywhere anytime soon.

In many ways, I have never been this tested. Sticks and stones won’t break my bones but there are other things that can shatter your confidence, your sense of self-worth, your ability to give love and receive love.

I despise worrying about what the future holds to me. I am so jaded, so tired, so exhausted and I am not even 21, not even hitting the quarter life crisis period.

I am always tired. Always stressed out. And I take it out on the ones that I love the most.

I don’t have an ambition, my vision is blurry. There is no one thing that really sticks out to me.

It feels like a cop out. To do what I do, to go home.

There’s no baby-ing anymore. No more safety net.

There’s only me. My too snug shorts suffocating my waist, my unshaved legs getting the vitamin D they deserve, my spirit fluttering to the depths of the deep dark hellish hole, taking a dive and swimming against the currents to get stay afloat.

It’s sunny today. It will probably be very hot and dry.

My throat is parched, my spirit is so weathered down but only 2 weeks of classes left, 3 weeks to my sweet union, 4 weeks to home.

It’s the last stretch and I’ll take it all.

I’ll take it all.

Getting Basic with Sustenance

Where do I even begin?

I have not written in a while. The act of divulging my innermost emotions seems like a chore.

To tell you the truth, there were days where I could not even bring myself to write even when I knew that I desperately needed to. Like food, like joy, like contentment, it’s been a hullaballoo of tossing, turning and wrestling with my own self.

How do we talk about mental anguish? How do we talk about the cyclical nature of pain and loneliness?

How do I create my own happiness?

How do I let me just be me?

I miss Murakami. I miss the physical presence of my partner. I miss the intimacy, I miss…a lot a lot.

It has not been this difficult to be in Madison for quite a bit.

Someone once said, ‘When you change, you change your environment.’

What is it like to be in sync with the Universe?

It is solemn. It is deep. It is mystical.

Lace your fingers through mine. Sneak glances at me while I fall into a deep slumber. Meet my intense gaze and see through my superficial eye membranes and read my human psyche.

Emotional bonds we create can either nourish or destroy us. Emotional bonds are something that I believe I must cultivate with my environment, especially with you.

This is just the molehill of the littlest of molehills.

I think, it is one of my best intentions to bring out the best in me albeit many, many fall backs but watch me fly, falter, crack and pick myself, broken piece by broken piece.

Lace your fingers through mine. No matter how feeble my grasp, I will hold on tight.

That’s how we both like it.

To Love Love

If you really want to talk about love, you have to talk about struggle.

Because beneath the sexual parlay is(are?) the bad days, the crippling feeling of loneliness, the burden you carry on your shoulders as you walk on, breathe, inhale, exhale, and smile.

It’s when your partner lets you lean on them as you wallow in self-pity, when you are knee-deep in the cycle and getting out seems quite impossible.

It’s when your partner loves you for your ups and downs, for your erratic emotions, for your childishness.

I never thought about it but unconditional romantic love is hard to accept. For me, it is at least.

It is hard to accept because you are forced to see your self through your partner’s eyes, you are forced to examine your sense of self-worth, you are coaxed to break the cycle.

I think I have always had a public battle with depression. I just never labelled it. I think I am beyond the point of hiding it any longer, I mean, I cannot stop it.

Really though, I am not so much concerned with how obvious it had becumed. Like, it is there and it might be here to stay for a little while but that’s life, I have accepted it as something that is me.

I don’t think it’s anything more sickening than having to suffer in your little own, little public of hell and to be subtly made a little spectacle.

Maybe, this is just me overthinking the perceptions of people of me.

I had set out with wanting to understand myself but it slowly changed to understanding other people.

What makes me vehemently angry is the indifference, the ignorance, the selfishness and downright apathy that drives ambition.

If there is one thing that I have learnt about my depression and seeking out help is that you don’t know how to that sometimes even if you really wanted too.

I think I was fourteen. There was you. You were nice. Or so I thought you were.

I am thinking about you now because something you said really stuck out with me.

‘So what, you’re just waiting?’

I understand why I am in this hell hole when I think of Madison. To be able to learn the lesson is to experience it yourself.

It is to experience the resentment of all things white, it is to internalise institutionalised discrimination and it is to learn to see beyond that.

It is to experience the disconnect from your ‘own’ people, it is to understand that no matter how much you want to celebrate your Malaysian identity, you just don’t know how to express it because sameness doesn’t allow for a breath of fresh air, sameness will not take your atypical identity and embrace it, sameness will just look at you with judgmental eyes and take nothing you say seriously. And sameness, sameness will not see beyond sameness.

Like how, sometimes I am unable to see beyond my depression.

So that’s why it is important to talk about love, it’s important to talk about struggle.

That the struggle is long, it is tiring but hey, the struggle is fucking real and we’re not running away from it.

For that, I love love. I love love with you.

My Partner

My partner and I are not perfect.

My partner has his imperfections as I have mine.

He has his flaws as I do myself.

My partner has yet to lace his fingers through mine. My partner has yet to taste my tears. My partner has yet to smell my potent, silent farts.

Am I happy every day? No. Is he happy every day? No.

Do we take out our frustrations on each other? Yes.

We never snap back at each other. Or at least, we have yet to.

My partner and I will play the heteronormative couple in public. We will joyously engage in PDA, we will relish in the cis privilege we recognise internally.

Am I aware that we both cum with emotional baggage, emotional trauma, pain and anguish?

Am I aware that we can destroy ourselves in the process of destroying us?

Am I aware that we lose ourselves in the process of loving each other?

Yes, yes and yes.

My partner and I or at least, I know that we have the potential to be a recipe for disaster.

Why am I so morbid, so jaded, so cynical?

I recognise that my partner and I are a work in progress. There is no end to our woes.

There will be moments of contentment between us that we will savour and appreciate with teary eyes and knowing smiles.

My partner and I are not settling, I am beginning to realise.

My partner and I will have hard times, happy moments but most of all, I have my partner as he does me.

Even if we exists in different time zones. Even if our post-coital conversations take place over text.

My partner and I have resolved to grow with our shared struggles and for that, I am most grateful for.

The Fear In Love

Does your reflection scare you? Take a really good look at yourself, beyond the scars, beyond your contacts, beyond the facial products you put on your face. Does it make you wince a little?

See, the thing about love for me at least, is that it is so raw, so penetrative, so real, so intense, you get disorientated.

We question love because we cannot believe love. That love can be that powerful, that faith is a real thing.

Oftentimes too, when we begin to dismantle the emotions behind ‘I love you’, when you attempt to trace your emotions, when you attempt to trace why you have such beliefs, when you attempt to trace your life course all the way back to your childhood, do you ever get the feeling that love is about seeing that side of you and still wanting to listen to you?

I understand that we all have friendships we can count on but what are the reasons why we choose to surrender ourselves to our romantic partners?

For me, I’ve begun to realise how shitty of a friend I have been or how shitty some people in your life can be.

They say that true friends are there with you to help you through your struggles, but what about the true friends that are there to celebrate your happiness with you?

I can attribute my ability to reflect on my own thoughts on my sufferings primarily. Sometimes, I feel very plain without my sufferings, like I don’t have a story, like my life has amounted to nothing.

Tonight, I reflect on my friendships, both past and present.

I reflect on my childhood.

I reflect on my cultural identity.

I reflect on the love we constantly nurture and challenge, the love that I desperately want to share.

Tonight, I reflect on my kinship ties, my romantic ties, my familial ties.

How have the people in your life made you you, dear reader?

An Ode to Happiness/Suffering

It is difficult to talk about.

The thing is, I’ve always dealt with that constant questioning of my religious beliefs.

To be honest, of all things, I just have never developed that vernacular to talk about my religious beliefs.

My past is peppered with resistance, my past is peppered with angst, rebellion, anger, you name it.

I grew up angry, very angry. A lot of my hatred stemmed from being different, from being singled out.

At nine, ten, eleven and twelve, I wanted, yearned, and became that sameness.

Who I am today to you, my friend is this identity that I have cultivated ever since I was a little child.

No matter how hard I tried to run away from the reality of things, my past catches up with me. My past is forever in my face, I fucked my past.

There were the good times, the thing about the sense of belonging is that it is addicting and when done right, you get a nice little refined reputation to carry on and in some ways, you enjoy that sense of security when your cultivated identity is validated.

But it’s a little lie. I mean that is what it started out as. When you live that long with a lie, you begin to believe it.

Any resistance to fight the lie is futile. Look at my relapses, look at my breakdowns, the lie is strong and it will fight the fight as much you do.

10 years, baby. 10 years of loneliness, anguish, low self-esteem.

It still exists today but it gets better.

The thing about the realisation that you will be okay is that it is both sad and so empowering.

It is both private and in some ways, public because you know you are not the only one.

You piss the motherfucking shit out of me. You really do. Your presence brings me to this low life condition and I am so consumed by my hatred and anger of you that I cannot see beyond it.

It is nice to get away from you. That is why I cut ties, ties that I can cut (maybe) because they are toxic and I don’t want your fucking toxic seeping through my bones.

The thing about that divorcing yourself from the situation is that you realise you can be better than that, you empathise, you get off your high horse and you just become okay. Maybe the hatred will dissipate but for the time being, just let it be, just live in blissful ignorance until you can take on that hatred of yours.

My heart is full with emotions. I cannot begin to describe to you what courses through me as I take things in.

Thing is, I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because it was release. I could see my suffering in you and I could see you overcome that suffering of yours and I wanted to scream, “hey, i’m in the fucking same boat as you.’

So today, I cum to you bearing sum good news.

I’ve hit at the chunk of developing my own vernacular to talk about my religious beliefs. It is a work in progress but it is progress nonetheless.

I write with my heart full of hope, pain, love, anguish but I just wanted you to know, that hey, maybe i have a shot at being happy.

So thank you, thank you for taking on the role of suffering in my life, of love in my life because I really needed it. I really you needed to be a part of my 20 something life.

Like-Minded Lovers

It is no coincidence that I found you, that you found me.

I have struggled a lot with trying to write about you and I in a way that encapsulates who we truly are without revealing too much about our true selves.

I met you over winter break. I met you amongst the many horny fish. I met you amongst the depression and the loneliness.

The sexual parlay back and forth. The check ups once in a while. We didn’t have to ask why, we didn’t need prompts.

Truthfully, I would like to believe that you and I would have eventually found our own ways back to each other when we felt like it, when it felt like it was right.

And we did, did we not?

This is going to be a sappy post. This is going to be a feel good post. It is probably going to be pretty generic too.

Thing is, I know my writing when it cums to happy thoughts is at best, half-baked.

I do not really write when I am happy. I tend to bask in my happiness. I would take mental pictures. I will keep them in my memory and I don’t usually put my happy thoughts into words.

You complement me.

I give you my all.

You are my like-minded lover.

You are mine (for eternity, I loftily hope).