hallowedbones

things i am too poor to afford:

1. new phone cable

used the old, broken one for nearly two months before it finally broke and i had to get a new one

2. sanitary pads

because she refused to buy them for me, and accused me of ‘using too many’. TOO MANY. as if you can use too many, when you’re supposed to change them every 4h even if they’re not soaked through. i sometimes wear mine for a day because i am that afraid of running out.

3. makeup brushes

using the same ones for the last 5 years; shedding began about 2 years ago despite gentle pat-drys and good care taken. a new set easily costs $100+

4. bras -- have had the same 2 pairs (one black, one beige) for the last 3 years

5. some fucking privacy around here

how ridiculous is it that 5 people sleep in 2 bedrooms, while 2 additional bedrooms are being used as ‘storage’ rooms for hoarding junk

6. a proper plumber

i think

as i slowly rid the house of you

i remove you also from

twice now, the truth’s nearly come out. 

it’s a funny thing, how words can take on a life of their own, beating wings that shouldn’t exist against your breastbone, wanting out, out, out. a frantic patter– wait, or is that your own heart?

(“the two of them,” i said, and for a moment padam-padam-padam the roar of my heart deafens me, what have you done, but my mask is perfect and my tongue practiced, as lies spill out that soothe the way)

twice now, it almost succeeded. 

but it feels safer to hold it in, soothe it to quiet, a soft tender underbelly that must be guarded. a secret that belongs to no-one else. and yet, it watches with sharp eyes and sharper teeth, bristled fur on end and ready to pounce, fight, claw its way out.

(inside, and only ever inside, i scream)

twice now, there’s enough of a sense of safety, of warmth, that the wolf presses against a cage made of bone, arched and electric-furred, roaring up at the mouth. it doesn’t want the sobs muffled into its fur or the wet patches tears leave, it wants to press up against a window and see the world, hear the wind whistle by amidst the padam-padam-padam of the train picking up speed.

(i’m sorry. some nights i still lose the fight, and wish i could end it all. some nights, i’ve used so much of myself up I can't breathe but the world spins ever on. i’m sorry, love, that i have to keep ahold of your leash. 

today marks the one-year anniversary of your death. the official one, anyway, because you really left me four days before that.

i still resent you for that.

“your death.” the phrase still sounds unfamiliar in my mouth, maybe because i still can’t bring myself to tell anyone. i wonder if my siblings aren’t coping the way i am i wonder if anyone misses you the way i do i wonder why i still can’t touch upon your memory without crying

i spent today happy, safe and warm with friends. i tried not to think of you, because i like to think I’m coping when--

i’m not

i’m not.

three months since you died.

i’ve been putting more effort into studying. did you know, i failed an entire semester last year, and got a warning letter from the school? i was so afraid to disappoint you that i never told.

that’s going to change in the end-of-year exams. the mock exams we did, i scored 84%, amongst the top 10% of the cohort. i can do better. i will do better.

i hope to make you proud, even when you’re not here to see me soar.

i’m going to lose all the extra kilos i’ve put on since high school. i have had enough of fat thighs and a belly bulge and not looking good in clothes. I hate the way I hate my own body; I am filled with self loathing and disgust. i’m sick of looking like the fattest next to my friends. i don’t want to be ‘average’, i want to be ‘slender’ the way i was.

A list of What Men Want, the Singaporean edition. You can see the mile-long queue of young ladies over there waiting for their chance to audition. Here, let's see what my chances are. 

 #1. I can cook. People like to scoff at twenty-somethings and assume we’re all talentless hacks but you know what is truly sad? Thirty-somethings who can’t find their own life partners. I'll like to boast that I can make chicken rice and century egg porridge from scratch. My omelettes don't resemble scrambled eggs. Most importantly, my food looks pretty enough to post on Instagram AND I am excellent at food photography. I own a DSLR and everything.

 #2. Housework? I can use a washing machine and dishwasher, but perhaps one meant by scrubbing by hand, not lazily pressing some buttons. I'm still alive after living on my own for 3 years so that is the Ultimate Proof of my cooking and cleaning abilities. 

What I'm even better at is ordering the domestic help around! I've grown up with one all my life. Just because I can cook and clean doesn't mean I have to, right? You're still hiring a maid, right? 

#3. Okay, I'll admit that the three imaginary kids are giving me Second Thoughts. They will wreck havoc on #4, because while I am reasonably in shape I hate exercise and probably won't want to work harder to regain a lost figure. Don't worry, I can still pass my 2.4km so I can run away from your dick.

(Is it too late to back out? What do you mean, I should continue?) 

 #5. Ah, we have come to the intelligence segment of the Miss Singapore Girlfriend audition! I don't know, I'm studying medicine and have to make nice with strangers every day. If I can regurgitate the exact mechanism of action of angiotensin-converting-enzyme inhibitors and their mortality benefits and adverse effects, does that count as 'intellectual'? What if you don't understand me, ah? I dumb down my words for you ok. Liddat also can right? I promise I’m 98% fluent in Singlish.

 #6. Saving 30% of salary seems an odd request but I can do that. If my new Mr. Right is willing to pamper me I can even save 100% of my salary! 

 #7. Of course I will be nice to your parents, I'm generally pretty nice to everyone. If I can get along great with 40 patients a day another 2 more old people won't be a problem. I can also give them health checks and then write a prescription for more morphine so I'm sure they'll love me. 

 #8. Why would I demand a car, when I already have my own car? In fact I have two cars: one in Melbourne and one in Singapore. I don't need a third car. It was very sweet of you to not offer. 

 #9. I got car already take taxi for what?? Can you chauffeur me instead? I provide car you provide manpower we 分工合作.

 #10. I like to think I have classy tastes in clothes. I'm very good at dressing myself in a way that my Forever21 and H&M dresses look like they come from a more upscale boutique. If asked, I pretend that every item I own is from a luxury brand. Saves a lot of money this way, right? And my lying skills are top-notch. People naturally trust pretty girls, I don’t know why.

 #11. I have naturally large eyes and double eyelids so I save you the cost of having to have cosmetic surgery done! But the rest of my face is also on point lah don’t worry.

 #12. I am very talkative by nature and people usually pay me to talk, but if you pretend to be a wall I'll automatically talk at you because I love hearing the sound of my own voice. The sole condition I require is that you not reply, because I get easily startled by talking walls. 

 #13. As for your friends, I'm sure they'll love me. I look Japanese/Korean and that is the in thing right now, you know. Don't worry if your friends are boring, I can feign interest really well and my patients tell me I've almost managed to get rid of that glazed-over look I get when I'm not paying attention. 

Things I cannot afford:

A cat, maybe two.

Offering my heart up like an oyster, defenseless and weary

The ability to care, because I am so tired, and I am tired of wondering which maze my emotions are lost in.

The ability to not care, because the mere whisper of failure turns the screws of anxiety ever tighter.

A dozen luxury bags, and ever more shoes.

That one day in high school, where my friends and I spoke in nothing but limerick.

A watercolour brush made from the fur of a nine-tailed fox.

Time. A whole week dedicated to nothing but reading in bed.

An endless supply of hugs, and a shoulder to cry on.

Unconditional love

To be able to set my guard down, gently--

“Teccam explains there are two types of secrets. There are secrets of the mouth and secrets of the heart. 

Most secrets are secrets of the mouth. Gossip shared and small scandals whispered. There secrets long to be let loose upon the world. A secret of the mouth is like a stone in your boot. At first you’re barely aware of it. Then it grows irritating, then intolerable. Secrets of the mouth grow larger the longer you keep them, swelling until they press against your lips. They fight to be let free. 

Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become. 

Teccam claims it is better to have a mouthful of poison than a secret of the heart. Any fool will spit out poison, he says, but we hoard these painful treasures. We swallow hard against them every day, forcing them deep inside us. They they sit, growing heavier, festering. Given enough time, they cannot help but crush the heart that holds them.”

A line of lyric, and I’m reduced to sobbing.

I am not close to my mother.

...

Let’s start again.

I do not know my mother. This stranger, whose face I know better than my own, looks at me with dead eyes and a fogged mind, and I feel nothing but pity.

Pity, for a life wasted with a husband with whom there was no love, and more animosity than two territorial lions fighting over flesh. Did love exist in the beginning and slowly sour to hatred, or was there nary a friendship?

Pity, for being treated like dirt. Is it his fault though, or hers? She never dressed up, and refused to go out anywhere. She treated feelings like a battlefield ground; always on the defensive, stubborn and combative and argumentative in all the worst ways. Our conversations consist of nothing but yelling.

Pity, because I am so, so afraid of becoming her mirror. Her recent slam in the face, of looking back only to find out that she’s wasted her entire life shackled down to a mistake. The biggest mistake of her life, really, which has led to nothing but the mocking ruins of a family collapsed around her feet.

My parents have never been my confidantes. I am embarrassed and guilt-ridden by my parents’ constant quarrels and fighting.

I guard my emotional underbelly with all the ferocity of a starved stray.

I never ask them to do me the honour of attending my events. I never bring my friends around.

I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve a mother who was emotionally closed off, who I never could talk to in words, only frustration that led to nothing but raw throats and burning eyes. I have never had anyone to confide in, to turn to for comfort. I thirst for parental attention; I chafe with jealousy whenever I visit my friends and see their easy, casual relationship with their parents. Sometimes I want to scream to the skies, demand why I got these broken glass pieces: hard to hold, harder to not get hurt by.

And yet, I am saddened by her grief and regret.

She didn’t deserve this, either.

Lessons I hold close to me, always:

Never let anyone treat you like you’re not worth it.

The unsought-for criticisms, the guilt-tripping. I am not a charity and you, my sole benefactor.

Value your independence.

Beware the chains, the shackles, the nets that start off deceivingly fragile and only tighten with time. I will keep my wings, for desire and obsession always turns to disgust and hate when I don’t give them what they want.

Keep your heart safe.

For no-one else will, and replacement hearts are not something one can pick up at the grocery store.