Blisters and Bruises

Posted in Quick by Sandra on October 28, 2007

There were blisters on her feet, and bruises on her arms. And a quickly fading bruise on her jaw.

It has been a hectic, crazy 2 weeks. And it will still be crazy for the next week to come.

But she’ll be okay.

There’s someone waiting for her.

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The Window

Posted in Prose by Sandra on October 18, 2007

They called it the “Johari” window – a simple picture of a square, divided into four.

A psychological tool, to help people better understand their interpersonal communication and relationships, they explained, handing her the window on a piece of paper. She gazed at it for a long time, as they set down a long list of words on the table.

Adjectives for her to use in the window, they said quietly, clustered around her.

Mi komprenas, she nodded. She understood what she had to do, and picked up the harmless blunt pencil to fill in her window.

They left her in the otherwise windowless grey room, filtering into the next room, where a long panel of one-way mirrors allowed them to observe her as she pondered over the words and the only window.  Protected by the glass from her.

No one knew why, though.

Care

Posted in Prose by Sandra on October 13, 2007

No one seems to care.

She sat at her corner of the cool, round marble table, going through life questions people post on Yahoo! Answers, reading free news from the BBC and Reuters, and half keeping an eye on the list of names on the left side of her screen, waiting.

“Do I not deserve to be happy?”

“I can’t seem to really feel emotions…”

“Why is a faithful friend so hard to find?”

Questions, questions, questions… from every internet-connected corner of the world. She was bored, and she didn’t have anyone she really wanted to talk to. There is one, but he hasn’t been available to talk to her. She had just had a pretty hectic day, was sore all over, and just wanted to hear him talking. She took an odd comfort in his voice – like a verbal comforter.

On her MSN list, people had names like “I just dunno what’s in you…”, “Single and Walking Alone”, “You’re my last chance”, and the most telling – “I Feel Like…….” Did anyone initiate a conversation with them based on their names? She had no idea – so she tried.

“What do you feel like?” she typed in, gazing at the display picture of a leopard. Perhaps he meant that he felt like a leopard. Sleek, powerful, deadly – a stealther. Amongst the people, seeking his next target with deadly precision.

There was no answer.

She shrugged, and turned back to a game she found, trying to ignore the time crawling by, trying to stop missing him, trying to learn to be okay with being alone.

Losing the Risk

Posted in Letters (Old) by Sandra on October 11, 2007

‘So you mean that everytime I want to get some bonding time with my brother, I have to buy you pizza and make sure it’s the time when anime is shown on the television?’

‘Mhm,’ he munched into his slice of Hawaiian Classic pizza.

‘Damn,’ she grinned as she settled onto the sofa next to him with her slice of Cheesy Turkey pizza. ‘I’m gonna be a broke sister before long.’

~~~

She crept into the room where her mother was, tapping away at her laptop. ‘How was your day?’

‘Same old, same old…’ the older woman rolled her eyes, and began to tell her daughter about her day. And the daughter listened, a smile on her face as she rolled around onto the bed to get more comfortable.

And then she told her mother how her day went, and how a certain boy made her laugh because he tried to sing some Hokkien (a Mandarin dialect) song- “piao~ piao~”

Her mother laughed, too.

~~~

She went to school, a lot earlier than usual. Her friend was already there, eyes closed, plugged in to her iPod Nano. Resting. Sleeping, perhaps. A few winks stolen before the long and potentially confusing lecture. She sat down as quietly as she could, trying not to wake her up.

Her friend opened her eyes, and saw her. She smiled. And she smiled back.

No need for words.

Just a smile, that said “Good morning”.

~~~

She came home to the boy she spoke of to her mother, and he was scratching away on his drawing pad. ‘A nude picture,’ he explained, and showed her the source. She was not offended, instead wondering how she would have depicted the woman herself. Curvier, sexier, more feminine, with more shadows, she supposed. He just smiled and explained that he didn’t want to do the typical drawing. And she accepted it, because that’s just the way he is.

Possibly why she loved being with him so much.

They argued, later, about her drinking. It wasn’t even much – just 1/10 of a small cup the last time she did at a house warming party. He was worried that it might increase, and become a bad habit. She was pissed that he couldn’t trust her to exercise self-control. Voices were raised and blood rushed to attention, ready for the verbal sparring. Then he apologized, and she cooled off. Easily, smoothly, they moved into the “kiss and make up” phase, and then she had to go.

‘Aye,’ he called out to her. ‘Te quiero.’

‘Te quiero tambien’.

~~~

And she is happy. Has been happy. They have become more truthful with one another, and it was easier to talk to him. But he did not become the center of her world as he was before. There were different loves for her to learn of, to experience. So she would not allow him to be her everything again, at the risk of losing everything in one fell swoop.

“Find Yourself.”

Posted in Thoughts by Sandra on October 5, 2007

‘You have to find yourself,’ he said. ‘You know where you want to go to, but you haven’t found yourself.

‘I haven’t?’ she asks, incredulous. ‘But why do you say that? I can describe myself just as well as any person!’

‘Tell me what you are good at.’

Her mind goes blank, and where there was supposed to be sound, there was static. Then, a horde of words charge past – I can draw! I can write! I am learning to speak several languages! I can steam milk and make beautiful foam! I can –

‘Well, that’s a hard one.’

‘See? You don’t know yourself yet… To know yourself, you should know what you’re good at, what you’re bad at, what’re your limitations, what are your dreams and aspirations…’

~~~

What am I good at? I’m like a Jill of all trades, a “Red Mage” of sorts, over most possible topics relating to the arts and humanities. So back to the question: what am I good at?

I’m good at writing, at putting up impromptu performances, at listening to people. I’m good at being alone – just not for too long. I’m good at dreaming, too.

I’m only mediocre, or bad, at loving people, at loving myself. And having a fashion sense, and accepting some people for the way they are. I’m also not good at making people feel comfortable, or letting go – unless I’m the one who let go, first. And I’m bad at remembering to eat. I think the biggest problem I have right now, is loving myself, others…

What do I want to do? I want to do something to help the world. I want to become a teacher, to give to our future generations. I want to become a psychologist, to help troubled and confused teenagers. Maybe I will go into crime psychology, and find out what makes our society tick, and cause some of the explosions…

And most of all, I want to love, and be loved, throughout good times and bad times.

What can’t I do? I can’t take being lied to, or being treated like I’m not important anymore. I can’t do mathematics. I can’t stay focused on boring topics. I can’t express myself very well vocally. I don’t let cultural or societal rules apply to some of my relationships, which leaves me floundering sometimes because I don’t know what I should do next. I can’t be a leader without followers; in that case, I become a follower, myself.

But I know that I’ll make it there anyway… where-ever that is. With, or without, the person I call the love of my life, who is gone.

Maybe, 20 or even 10 years down the road, I’ll look back and grin at my immaturity. Love of my life, hm… Perhaps for me… not the case for him.