being rinnah

I am worried.

It is worrying to note that I feel the rumblings of discontent in my spirit. I try not to notice it, to stifle and subdue it into that deep dark place where it will not see the light of day. Who am I to complain when I have so much more going for me than the average man on the street? Still, that is scant consolation for me and sometimes it is not enough.

I find tears pricking the back of my eyes more often than I’d like. Mentally, I berate myself for being so weak, so emotional. If this is all that I am capable of taking on, I must not be using my full potential. After all, isn’t it said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Instead, I find myself shying away from those same circumstances that are supposed to make me stronger. It takes too much from me, hurts too much to want to go through it again.

Then there are those times I feel so hypocritical for being envious of others’ good fortune. I am happy for others in the depths of my soul, but nearer the surface it is muddied with my shallow, selfish feelings. I feel exhausted from the fact that it takes so much energy just to generate the appropriate response. Hah, I am just a grinch with no Christmas to steal but my own.

Even little things alone are more than enough to upset me. Anger, frustration and irritation are quick to rise, furiously churning beneath the surface. Oh, the ugliness of my human nature!

I become increasingly resentful of the demands that others place on me at work. Why should I do the work of others to lighten their load when I have mine? Why is it not fairly distributed out? It is galling to have to listen to one’s superior repeatedly say that the other person’s workload is of greater importance and priority so therefore anything that can be taken out from his workload is automatically added to me. They’d better come through on their promises to me at the end of this year. Bah.

I fear I am becoming bitter.

The mask is slipping and it takes an increasing effort to keep it in place. I am not who you think I am. I am not the sum total of who I think I am. That fact alone frightens me.

Somehow, ever since that bittersweet moment of clarity, everything in my life seems so different. Changed, almost, but yet not quite. I can’t seem to put my finger on it, but maybe I’ve grown up? Hahah. I wish. :oP

I’m truly thankful for those few whom I poured my heart out to, they who are closest to me, SM, CL, GT, MP, NS… they are the only ones who knew about and shared my hopes, joys and heartaches these past few months. You gals help keep me grounded in reality when I would be floating off in deluded happiness or imprisoned in the depths of despair. Where would I be without your unconditional acceptance and love for me?

Be that as it may be, I don’t wish to come out of my inner shell. To do that would be for me to be exposed to hurt again. I’d rather take this time to lick my wounds and try to move on. I know that all of you say that there will be someone else; it’s just that I can’t see that far now. It took me two years to get over my first love before I fell (and I fell hard) for him recently and I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to stand up again. If I can get up and walk again. To recover my courage, especially since this attempt at expressing my feelings failed so miserably. The only thing I can take consolation from this episode is that at least, I tried. I did try.

Good morning heartache
You old gloomy sight
Good morning heartache
Thought we’d said goodbye last night
I tossed and turned until it seemed you were gone
But here you are with the dawn
Wish I’d forget you
But you’re here to stay
It seems I met you
When my love went away
Now everyday I stop
I’m saying to you
Good morning heartache
What’s new
Stop haunting me now
Can’t shake you no how
Just leave me alone
I’ve got those Monday blues
Straight thru Sunday blues
Good morning heartache
Here we go again
Good morning heartache
You’re the one who knows me well
Might as well get used to you
Hanging around
Good morning heartache
Sit down

Lyrics : Good Morning Heartache - watch the version by Jill Scott and Chris Botti on YouTube.

I dreamt of you that night.

You were laughing as you gently teased me, saying, “Remember you said before you’d tell me who it was you like if I had a million dollars? Well, I do. See, here and here adds up to over a million! Now you’ll have to tell me.”

I just stared at you. I wanted to say it was you, but even in my dream the words couldn’t, wouldn’t come out.

Why won’t the thought of you leave me alone even in my dreams?

I wonder how many signs I have to read before I get it into my head that :

He’s. Just. Not. Into. You.

Ouch.

*sigh*

I was going through the photos in my harddisk to select some pictures for editing and posting either in Facebook or on my photoblog. Many of the pictures hold special memory, in one way or another and I am often able to remember the exact moment a picture was taken, how I was feeling at that point of time, who was with me, around me and what happened.

Like my profile photo on Facebook. It was taken by a friend over lunch and I know I’m smiling in it and all, but when I look at the photo, I can just feel the sadness behind it because it was taken on a day that I was feeling rather down about certain things. (It was that day that I blogged about here.) I had been waiting for my friends to arrive and I was holding on to something precious to me that he had given to me some time ago. I turned it over in my hands, touching it lightly for fear of ruining it. Poring over its every detail, committing it to memory. It wasn’t anything expensive, it probably nothing much for him but oh! it was something tangible that reminded me of him. Even though I treasured it, I knew that it meant nothing to him. And at that very moment when I sought for the memory of him, it eluded my grasp. I couldn’t recollect the exact moment we last parted ways, couldn’t remember the sound of his voice, couldn’t remember his face. But then my friends arrived, so I stuffed the memento away in my bag. Still, the sadness lingered and I can see it even now when I look at the picture.

Today somehow or other I came across and was looking at photos of him and even though it pains me to say it, it is evident in photos also that the feelings are all my own only.

“Why,” I whisper to myself, “can’t you see it?”

It should be, but it’s not. Maybe only I can see how much brighter my smile is when he’s around. Maybe only I can see how happy I am. How happy I was. Did he not know that my spirits were higher just at the sight of him? At the mention of his name? Was it not evident that he was the reason for my happy outlook?

Against my melancholy feeling I laugh because he was so reticent in taking photos that I have so few of him. And strangely enough, the few photos I have do not show him at his best. A frown, a grumpy face, a tired face, a funny face. Or some shot snapped off at a moment unawares that makes one look awkward.

“Is that him?” a friend once asked. “That picture doesn’t do him justice la.”

Isn’t it strange and yet so prescient that he did not want to be photographed? Even the body language showed it. I knew it, just that I didn’t want to acknowledge it.

I clicked the window of photographs closed. That special memento has been tucked away in a book, a novel that depicted how I felt.

Maybe it was for the best after all. Fewer photos mean fewer memories. Fewer memories mean less hurt.

Maybe… if we met in a different place.

Maybe… if we were at different points in time in our lives.

Maybe… if we were someone else and not who we are now.

Maybe… you’d see me to be more than just a friend.

Maybe… if I could just reach out to you.

Maybe… you might just realize.

Maybe… we’d take a chance that could turn out to be really something special.

Maybe… if things were different now.

Maybe… this wouldn’t be goodbye to a dream lost.

Maybe… I wouldn’t have to give up and move on.

I see that little MSN Messenger notifier pop-up window with your picture and name appear on my laptop screen, indicating that you’ve just logged on. Almost automatically I move my mouse to expand my online contacts list to see if you’re really online, if you’re free to talk. I hover the cursor over your name, inwardly debating whether or not to start a conversation.

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

Should I?

Should I not?

Dare I?

Why not?

Most of the time my cowardice wins and I refrain from clicking on the “Start a conversation” button. There are contacts on my list - some I chat with everyday, some once in a blue moon, some that for reasons forgotten are on my contact list but not communicated with.

And then there’s you.