Monday, July 25, 2011

You Give Her Reason For Believing

I wanna give you a valuable tip: Trains, they leave earlier on Sundays.

Someone annoying (generally someone like me) will tell you that these things are a sign. Or a test. It just felt like a big humiliation as I ran through Lime Street Station like a little girl, fear manifesting in a storm of nausea in my stomach as I raced down an escalator and called for help.

I'm scared of escalators. I don't like going down them. I practically flew down this one, a small fear replaced by a more immediate one.

Everything was okay, you know. My folks bailed me out, coming to collect me and leaving me feeling more like a child than ever. In a good and a bad way, the way where you feel like you're too old to be such a fool but also the way where they make you feel so safe, like only a parent can.

I got some time to stand on the edge of the world and think. And cry, for a little bit, but that passed. You know, when I'm trying to cheer myself up, the same memory always springs to mind. We were walking through St. John's shopping centre (I don't know why, there is nothing in there) and he grabbed my hand and spun me around and around. It's always that memory first.

My best work friend came back today. She is magic.

I'm dead serious. Magic. She has this incredible talent of saying something that always makes me feel better/happy/giggle.

She just got married. And is as happy as I'd hoped. But her hubby, he has to go away to work for a few days. They've not been separated yet. She described how even thinking of him leaving made her almost inconsolable.

I'm not about revelling in others' misery, I swear, but just hearing this made me feel so much better. Not in a Schadenfreude kinda way. I've just been driving myself crazy with pity and the overwhelming fear that I shouldn't feel this way. But she made it seem so simple, so obvious:

You love someone. You miss them.


Why am I telling you all this? I suppose I miss sharing things here. What was a trend for my friends, was something I've been doing for a long time. An instinct, you might say. I wrote a diary from being seven years old. They're all hideously embarrassing when you read them years later, but they are my life.

And hey! The Ghost Girl tans! My forearms are half a shade less white than they were a week ago!

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Come Morning, I'll Be Gone

I'm leaving. In less than 12 hours. I know, because with each passing 0'clock, I count how long remains. How long until I'll wish away every second with only a few precious moments of respite.

And I'm a broken record, everyone is tired of hearing me bemoan my truly terrible situation. How awful it must be to be loved, to be happy, for everyone to make demands of your time. Pity me.

I knew that something would eventually force me to grow up. To face facts and strive, long even, for a change. I know that I won't wake up one day, thirty and still living with my parents. I just know.

But I didn't think it would be this.

I have no wanderlust. I'll do this anywhere, here or far away, if only to do it all the time.

Without consent, without warning, everything shifted. I'm a home girl, always have been, but now my home has changed, in place, in definition, in importance. And now I'm just static, constantly homesick.

Please, come home.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Magnetic North

Time is slipping away. I wished it away a while ago and now I'm not sure whether I should regret that decision.

And all I want are simple things. A walk in the woods. Raindrops against the window. A dark room and endless music.

You know, I'm really okay. I'd expect myself to be angry/jealous/upset about a few things right now, but my life is set against a backdrop of contentment and impending happiness right now and I just can't muster the effort for negativity.

Things aren't perfect. My happiness is most likely more fragile than I've judged. But it's real and that's enough.

Also, I'm kind of addicted to cake.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

You Write Because You Love Him

It's the story of a girl.

A girl with a constant soundtrack. It hummed in the background, wailed like a banshee, embraced her with invisible arms.

But she held a pen, not a guitar. She had words, but no voice. She couldn't weave her own music, only a yarn of endless stories. She wrapped herself in them, weathering long winters and fleeting summers.

She grew taller. She grew womanly. She did not grow up.

As everyone around her grew successful or crazy or even just mature, she stared into a computer screen searching always for a new song, a new voice, a new sound to drown out the calls for her to live anywhere but her imagination.

Imagine her surprise when out of the screen came a boy.

He had words, clumsy and beautiful, so he handed them to her, like a bouquet of compliments.

She blushed, for words are far more seductive than flowers and pretty things. Words do not wither.

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Half The Day Away

When I was only 19, I didn't feel old enough to watch my friends get married. Well I'm 23 now and I still don't feel old enough.

What made watching Naseema (my good friend from work) get married so special was the fact that I feel like I've been riding shotgun for this whole journey. We became friends just over a year ago and she confessed to me that she was desperate to get married.

In muslim families, girls get married quite young. But Naseema was the last daughter left and her folks seemed to want to hold onto her. Eventuallly a match was found and every day I got new info on her fiance, his family, the wedding. Some days she'd march into work, mad at the world (and her future in-laws). There were many stress attacks and I talked her down from window-ledges (metaphorically, of course) more than once. We counted down the weeks together, running over every detail, until finally the day was upon me.

Asian weddings are unusual, that's for sure. Still, everyone looked beautiful and Naseema's Dad was running around, greeting everyone and beaming with pride. Bride (and groom!) literally sparkled with glamour. It was a fun day and an experience I won't forget.

And doesn't my man look dashing in his suit? Any excuse to see him in formal wear. We've been dating for six months now. Our six month landmark (I'm not allowed to call it an anniversary) was last weekend. And we were apart. Le sigh. Kind of says a lot, really. It was unavoidable, I'm not trying to blame anyone. But it can be so hard to do the distance thing sometimes.

I hope that Naseema is happy. She is a good person and has kept me sane for the last year or so. She deserves a happily ever after.