Been feeling utterly restless all day; curbed it for the time being by buying a colourful Happyhouse pin for my bag. Buying things when I’m in a state of bad spirits has been a habit since I was young. It doesn’t solve anything, but looking at pretty things make me happy. And it’s a whole lot better than binge eating, which I’m starting to do again. I must watch it.
My sister left for Leeds University, UK on an exchange program just days ago. I don’t miss her – this may be blunt, but at least it’s honest – I mean it would be nice if she’s here, but I never talk to her much anyway. Still, I suspect it’s the reason for this restlessness – this awful itch that won’t go away – settling like a deep sand into my bones. My mom has become increasingly busy with her work these days, and this being the eighth month (an auspicious number) she’s out about two or three times every week for wedding dinners. She’s worried how I’m taking it. What can I say? I’m not a stranger to eating by myself – but eating dinner at home, alone, with only the television and the hi-fi blasting away at the same time – it simply smacks too much of that time before.
I’ve been left behind, somehow. Overlooked.
Of course this isn’t the reality of things. Of course my mom feels guilty too; she’s my mother. My sister probably isn’t feeling too good herself in a new country full of strangers. But that’s a reality ascribed by the intellect, and if there’s something I’ve learned in life, it’s that what I feel is what I feel… no amount of reason can affect it. I can’t help feeling left out. I can’t help feeling all over again that there’s something jarringly wrong that I either can’t or simply won’t do anything about. When I’m say I’m ok, do you think I’m really ok? Think again.
Yet what else would I say?
I could say I minded. My mom’d cancel dinner arrangements if I just said the word. And then what then? And then I’d lock myself up in my room reading or studying – I’ve exhausted my entire supply of books, I should start on my Shakespeare soon – and my mom would stay downstairs watching VCDs and singing to herself, popping in from time to time to ask if I need a drink or a cookie or something. Nice and kind, but ineffectual. Does it make a difference?
Nothing seems to work any longer.
This is not a home, and school doesn’t give much reason for one to feel optimistic either. I’m starting to have that feeling again – that pining, hopeless, intense wanting for something that I can’t even name. And all I can do now is buy things that look pretty.
My sister left for Leeds University, UK on an exchange program just days ago. I don’t miss her – this may be blunt, but at least it’s honest – I mean it would be nice if she’s here, but I never talk to her much anyway. Still, I suspect it’s the reason for this restlessness – this awful itch that won’t go away – settling like a deep sand into my bones. My mom has become increasingly busy with her work these days, and this being the eighth month (an auspicious number) she’s out about two or three times every week for wedding dinners. She’s worried how I’m taking it. What can I say? I’m not a stranger to eating by myself – but eating dinner at home, alone, with only the television and the hi-fi blasting away at the same time – it simply smacks too much of that time before.
I’ve been left behind, somehow. Overlooked.
Of course this isn’t the reality of things. Of course my mom feels guilty too; she’s my mother. My sister probably isn’t feeling too good herself in a new country full of strangers. But that’s a reality ascribed by the intellect, and if there’s something I’ve learned in life, it’s that what I feel is what I feel… no amount of reason can affect it. I can’t help feeling left out. I can’t help feeling all over again that there’s something jarringly wrong that I either can’t or simply won’t do anything about. When I’m say I’m ok, do you think I’m really ok? Think again.
Yet what else would I say?
I could say I minded. My mom’d cancel dinner arrangements if I just said the word. And then what then? And then I’d lock myself up in my room reading or studying – I’ve exhausted my entire supply of books, I should start on my Shakespeare soon – and my mom would stay downstairs watching VCDs and singing to herself, popping in from time to time to ask if I need a drink or a cookie or something. Nice and kind, but ineffectual. Does it make a difference?
Nothing seems to work any longer.
This is not a home, and school doesn’t give much reason for one to feel optimistic either. I’m starting to have that feeling again – that pining, hopeless, intense wanting for something that I can’t even name. And all I can do now is buy things that look pretty.
posted by Ling at
8:34 PM
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