Words Plus More Words

But like a beaver I make a dam, “big girls don’t cry”, says a voice that echos deep down inside. Creak, there goes one branch. Crack, and there goes another. All dams can only hold back so much. “Big girls don’t cry”, the voice cried again. But with all this pressure... “NO!”, I shout, eyes shut with no auditable sound. “Big girls don’t cry”, is what I finally said out loud, with my eyes finally shut and with no voice to keep me lucid.

The hot sun that fed my skin with melanin, the cold waters that satisfied my thirst for coolness.

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I miss it.

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The land to which I use to despise, because of the criticism of people who do not want to dive, deep into the culture where they could find... knowledge. If not knowledge, then the wisdom of the roots of my people they refuse to let flourish.

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I miss it

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If only I could’ve seen the blessings that had laid before me. Family and friends who could have empowered me. Instead I focused on the idols who resembled false advertisement of change and power, that outcasts the colours. I cannot blame this white community for the paths I have chosen but..

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I missed it

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The chance to grow into a hibiscus, rich with history and culture of an island so full beauty.

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I missed it

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The chance to be a Tēine Samoa with graceful arms that tells stories of centuries before. A Tēine Samoa with a voice that echos across a nation to which could reach another Tēine that also lost track of her true beginnings.

“I love you” - But he won’t stay if I don’t please him in a certain way.

“I miss you” - He says after we ‘progressed’ our bond.

“I thought we were already going out” - Not long ago you said we weren’t fully in a relationship.

“I can’t do this to you” - The words he speaks after doing it to me. 

You want a lot of things I can’t give. You expect a lot of things I can’t reach. And yet, you wouldn’t change a damn thing to reach my standards. Wouldn’t lift one finger to support me. Wouldn’t even try to comfort me. 

I got called pretty today. 

I should’ve been so happy, right? My smile should’ve been the brightest smile in the room, my eyes should’ve sparkled like crazy! Right? It should’ve been.. right? So why did my heart swarm up in pain? Why did it feel like it blew up so big, too big, that it burst into nothingness? Why did my eyes threaten to shed tears, why did my throat choke down those tears?

Why did it hurt so much to be called pretty?

Maybe because of the fact that in the background I could hear a crowd laughing, maybe because that crowd was the opposite sex. And maybe because of the mockery that hung around their expressions when a friend had described me as something that was the opposite of what I actually am. 

She called me pretty. 

In that same moment I was called pretty, I felt ugly. In the moment I was praised upon I was also laughed upon. In the same moment I felt that people saw me as an equal, I felt discriminated and been put to shame.

Because to others, I am ugly. Because to others I am a joke. An ugly joke.

Could the people surrounding me at the time could’ve made me feel better? I don’t know, but I do know they didn’t try. Could they have known how I felt at the time? Maybe, because I was almost going to cry. But either way they didn’t realize that it was the specific reason for my silence. 

Nobody knew the mental battle she went through every day to find the confidence to show her  face. The mental war against anxiety, depression, heartbreak and the most dangerous of them all, self esteem. This kind of war is most deadly and yet, it is silent. Silent but deadly - A silent killer. Although it is optional for her to ask for help, she chooses to be a lone wolf. Risking the fact that... she could be defeated. That one day she’ll choose, not by force, to be defeated. Waking up every day is a struggle on it’s own. Because in her dreams she is free, confident, and living wildly without judgement. She has had adventures in these dreams. She has been to the moon and back, discovered new mystical creatures and had many affairs. So when she wakes up to face reality, she see’s no adventures, no beautiful creatures and no romance around her. All she witnesses is a damp roof that restrains her from seeing more than just cracks and wet stains. A roof that doesn’t shelter her but jails her. Looking at this roof, her mind wanders back into battle. Her shield of confidence is battered and cracking, her sword of spirit is dull not sharp and her helmet of happiness is now buried with the dead. The dead - her memories. A great army that once lived in her reality and mind. They’re now gone. Either forgotten, lost or have been ambushed by a sweep of deadly thoughts. 

You are not pretty! Just give up! Listen to us! Why do you always pretend to be kind? You’re so fake! Come into the dark... You will be happy! You don’t have friends. They’re pretending! Forget about her and him, they don’t really love or need you!