The little pictures we carry around in our heads: I'll tell you..

Sunday, October 02, 2005

I'll tell you..

Ask me how am I,
I'd say i'm fine.
Ask me don't my eyes look alil sad,
I'd tell you i'm alil tired, my head's alil in pain,
that i've got assignments and projects and tasks enough to pile up to the moon and back but i'm too lazy to get any started,
that the test just now was heartbreaking because i cant for the life of me remember just what hershey and chase did in 1954 and whether 1 diploid cell gives rise to 4 haploid ones at the end of meiosis and if the child of sickle cell carrier parents with that nonsense mutation would survive or die even before birth,
that i went shopping alone on wed and how liberating it felt to have the power to spend and freedom to go look and gush about something pretty without having anyone telling me over my shoulders "err.. maybe u'd wanna reconsider", but how sad too coz i i was too shy to enter some shops companion-less despite the clothes calling out to me 'come, COME,' nobody to eat ice cream with too,
that no sponsorship and venue for PPC worries me like hell and squats like an elephant in camo get-up at my frontal lobe, there yet clumsily ignored,
that the fact that STILL NO GUY ASKS FOR MY NUMBER AFTER 2 FRIGGIN MTHS is not doing too good on my morales and power-hungry-hormones-infested facial cells,
that i wear black not because of it's the dominant colour in my wardrobe (it is) but because i was proving a point,
that i AM sad.

Ask me if my mum's ok,
I'd say she's good.
Ask me how's my dad's lemak ayam cili padi,
I'd tell you Terrific! but i miss my mum's cooking's, her ayam masak kicap and custard cakes, her agar-agar with cocktail and longan topping, her sotong hitam, just the right blackness and sweetness and pedasness,
that i feel bad everytime she complains to my aunts that it makes no diff if i'm home (which is rare enough) anw cos my door would be locked and she'd still have to call me (yes, on my hp, yes, still in the same hse) to have a word, but i'd still do exactly the same thgs because it's easier to me, to escape rather than to stay,
that sometimes when i do stay, i'd thk to myself, it's not so bad afterall, while we'd watch tv and laugh and talk abt marriage and gossip abt which actresses are 'Andartu's and me wanting to marry early and abt my husband being rich, funny, baik hati and alim, and how happy she seems to have me to share the dreams she had for the night or the conversations she had earlier in the day with,
but that sometimes i'd regret and wish i'm elsewhere, my ears too tired,
that i shamelessly shrew away from responsibilities like the dishes and ironing just because i'm lazy and i take for granted tt my parents can do them,
that it's true what she says i'd never noticed how old my dad is exactly because he still seems so young and so strong and so able until one day while he was sleeping i noticed the thin and translucent of his skin, stretched linearly over his proud firm hands,
that despite of all those it's true too that i only go to him for permission and to get money,
that i wont want to marry a guy like him coz he's too much like me and i hate him for it,
that i want my parents to play with ALL my children and watch them grow up and make them proud, like her children, that my greatest fear is my mum leaving,
that i'm too proud to tell her i love her
and i miss HER lemak ayam cili padi.

Ask me if my room's as messy,
I'd say it's like that.
Ask me to throw away those junks, i don't need them,
I'd tell you i do, i'm a collector,
that that bottle was a treat from my pri sch crush,
that that paper fan was given to me by another,
that cd was a birthday present,
that soap bar still gives my shelves that nice lychee smell, albeit a lil plasticky,
that deodorant spray was an accidental gift but the only thg i have left to remind me of some good times,
that bunch of flowers were the ones i made to bring for Eminence on chinese new year 2001 which was incidentally friendship day, slept late and woke up late and so much for the effort, didn't go school afterall,
that stack of papers are my drafts of letters to various people on various stfs, love life boredom,
that the textbooks and files may just come in useful some time you know, who cares if they talk o levels,
that those stars i meant to put on my ceiling, just not yet,
that i get a kick reading my old diaries whenever i find them on the floor in the shelves under the bed,
how stupid and inflated and lovelorn i was,
still am,
that i thrive on these, u see, i collect
memories.

Ask me what am i doing,
I'd say nothing.
Ask me if it's you,

I'll tell you....

iFLEW @ 12:17:00 am to the now

air play: this love . . . elizabeth fraser

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