Thursday, April 22, 2010

To My Little Baka

I often look at you when you're sleeping, with your perfect mouth, perfect nose, perfect ears. And I smile.

You and your naive witty comments are the best part of my day, the best part of my life. And the truth is, I don't think I will ever feel about anyone else the way that I feel about you. My heart aches at the thought of not seeing you, at the thought of you being hurt. I don't know what true love is, but if it makes you feel this way, then I never want to know.

But I do. I do know. The funny thing is that the moment your existence was revealed to me, I was jealous; a beautiful kicking stranger was taking my place. But then they put you in my arms and you stopped crying. I looked at you, the same way I'm looking at you now, and right there and then, I realised I loved you. You were no longer the kicking little stranger. Instead, you became my angel and my friend, the only voice of sanity in a world gone mad.

I know I could go on indefinitely but what it all comes down to are four simple words. You. Me. Always. Forever. No matter what life holds in store for us, my love for you will never wither. I promise.

Because you are my sister. My everything.

My only certainty in an overwhelming life full of uncertainties.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Messed Up

You keep telling yourself there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. Everything makes sense. No it doesn't. Shiny happy people. You're the freak. No I'm not. Yes you are. No I'm not. Fine. I am.

So, here we are. You and me without the you, without the me. Damn it. Go away. I'm talking to you. No, to me. You don't want them inside your head. They cannot go in. Temporarily closed. Permanently insane. You should have known better. I don't live in a dream. But I want to.

This is mind-numbing. I say mind-blowing. Did it have to happen now? Yesterday. Could be tomorrow. Eventually is good enough too. It keeps coming around. And around, and around, around. In circles. Never-ending. A haze I never quite understood. Probably never will. Maybe I'm not even supposed to. Slow down. Please, slow down. I'm barely catching up.

Breathe. Run. No, breathe. I said run. I don't care. Take a deep breath. Take it. Give it back. This isn't happening. It shouldn't have to be this way. Don't give in. The beautiful slippery letdown overpowering the bitter sweet escape.

And yet, the shiny happy people are still smiling. Say cheese. What? Nothing. You're crazily messed up, didn't you know? No I'm not. Yes you are. No I'm not. Fine. I am. I am. Am what? What if I'm not? What if I am?

What? Nothing. Forget it.

Friday, April 9, 2010

The Highest Bidder

Watching your life unfold from behind closed curtains is probably the most overwhelming sensation there is. One minute you're on set, the next you're off of it. One minute you're the director, the next you're just the looser reenacting the scene. And in the midst of it all, there is the camera person, the backstage shadow who has no idea what's going on.

As the curtains slowly open, you hear strange voices calling out your name. You don't know them. They don't know you. They just love the perfect idea of you, obscure as that may be. And when you find yourself staring at their blank pathetic faces, you cannot help but wonder why you did this in the first place.

The show is now drawing to a close and you are bowing and clapping and sleeping, among other things. Your personal belongings are now on public display, for them to criticise and judge, for them to ridicule and smudge. The highest bidder takes it all. He wants it all. For you. The highest bidder understands, no matter what.

Because the highest bidder is also the camera person, the backstage shadow who had no idea what the hell was going on, but now does. The highest bidder is a reflection in the mirror twenty years from now. Yes, the highest bidder is no one else but you, the less pathetic version of poor pathetic you.