The Thoughts We Never Dare Speak
To be read out loud.
I understand I’ve been very distant. But I promise to be nothing short of honest here. I don’t know where I’m at, what I need, what I want. All I seem to be is closed off. That on top of being premenstrual which I'm sure plays a rather large part that heightens and exacerbates things. I know I haven’t been intimate with you, in affection and intellect, but the blunt reason is the idea of it is repulsive, makes me uncomfortable, and I’d rather be alone (and no, I do not mean only with you, I mean in general — including recent crush Jacob Elordi). Even the thought of going back to San Francisco gives me a lot of anxiety because I feel like you anticipate a certain me, a certain Clara to come back to you but I don’t feel anywhere near her nor connected to her. I don’t feel like stripping myself naked anytime soon, I don’t feel the need to be intimate, I don’t feel the need to be close to anyone. I just want to be alone and it scares me because there’s a calling for life to be put together and presented high on a pedestal even though we all know nobody’s life is a pretty homogenous substance. We’re more like fruit that’s momentarily blitzed before our only blender suddenly stops working and we’re left with a milky greenish liquid with large bits and small bits of mango and banana and pineapple and perhaps pieces of rather unpalatable spinach leaves that we can’t afford to throw away because it’s a waste of perfectly edible and nutritious food. That and we’re poor. That and the food security people will be out to get us. So we make do with what we’ve got, even though it’s yet another day that we’re not close to becoming “That It Girl”. But we remember we’re more than that because there’s an endless list of passion-driven goals to accomplish and yet… I feel like I Benjamen Buttoned myself into a kid again who needs to be parented and shown what needs to be done and by what age. Jobs scare me, not for the fear of failure but because I genuinely and 99.99% non-imposter syndromely believe I’m underqualified and not good at anything, or that I’m overqualified and not going to resort to being a sugar baby even after receiving countless uncomfortable stares from old white men that I’m beginning to believe I should start charging for by the second. I think it’s complete bullshit that job postings and HR make their qualifications almost unreachable, untouchable because just like beauty standards there’s only a chosen few that can fulfil that role and live up to that standard — and perhaps that's really the point, isn't it? To choose the best of the best and not contact the rest. Because we all deserve the best and nothing less. I’m as lost as you are in attempting to understand how to help and all I think about is how can I help my family and how can I make their dreams come true and provide great experiences like paying for an entire family trip to a secluded island off the coast of another lush Asian island but then again how the FUCK am I going to do that when I’m not in an industry that pulls in millions of dollars every year (or am I?) so I don't know where I am, what I’m doing, where my mind is, and so it is quite unfortunate that I seem to have put our relationship at the end of my list. And I’m really sorry for doing that, but I don’t know how to keep afloat on top of dealing with the thousands of thoughts that run through my mind every day. When you expressed your excitement to see me in two weeks, in truth I dread it. I dread leaving home because for the longest time it’s been my comfort zone and I like it here even though I tense up around my dad every day. I have my mother whose face I will never get tired of admiring and places and routines that are familiar to me — and who doesn’t rejoice and relax in their comfort zone? But I know I need to fly and get out but I can’t help but feel as though every time I leave Malaysia I am kicked off the plane cruising at 35,000 feet above sea level to fall into the deep, dark depths of the Pacific Ocean — not able to see anything — and am left to learn how to swim and survive on my own all over again. So I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I’m emotionally not very available to you and I’m not intimate with you and your needs are not being met. But all I want to do is lie on my mother’s lap and have her hand lovingly touch my hair and have her whisper that everything's going to be okay with Beautiful Chorus gently playing on Spotify in the background even though I don't know where to start what to do what I want to be and I just feel this huge amount of pressure to be great and successful and I know that you know that this is something I've struggled with for a long time now but it keeps coming back up and this time around I just don't want to do anything but be in bed and be held and taken care of. But of course, life isn’t like that because we’re designed to evolve and work and be challenged because how else can we grow and build the life that we envision for ourselves (or is it the lives other people envision for us?) and I FUCKING hate that, I hate that life’s supposed to include so much struggle in order to know what it means to have accomplished and thrived. I also hate that we all have to experience and carry so much trauma, which inevitable make us the people that we become. The irony! The irony that life is. Sorry God, but that’s kinda fucked. But we figure out ways to cope and heal and be more resilient, on our own but usually with the support of a community that we either seek or is brought our way. We try to understand how we can stop being reactive to triggers and listen to our emotions. Because we’re human. We’re in the ring to fight. But the trauma will always be there. Just not as big. So I’m sure this is as intimate as we’ll get for a while, given this comprehensive insight into my being as I cry into my pillow for the next hour or so until my mother calls me to eat. You’ve said countless times that I can be myself around you without judgment and this is me, this is me right now, putting a lot of effort into talking to my family, including time with my cousins on a daily basis because I know my days here are numbered and so I channel all my energy into showing up for them that when I’m left alone I’m really just exhausted and a bit numb. And now all that’s left to do is be grateful and work with this ball of fear that multiplies like a cancer cell and find a way to love this resistant rebel of an emotional teenager that lives inside me so that I can be a better human, a much better me and get the ball rolling.
Because that’s life, isn’t it?
