“So how come you don’t read my blog?”
“Cause you talk about work, what you did, what you will do, what you did at work, what you will do at work, and what you did over the weekend…it’s just you and what you did,” she replied.
Gee, thanks a lot sis…. So that’s why you don’t come around no more. And of course, the fact that I have left my blog to the dogs. Rarely updating. Always too busy with… she’s right. I’m always too busy with what I did and what I will do.
Well, that’s my blog. I can’t write stuff like you, all the hopes and wishes and dreams and (sometimes unrealistic) portrayal of everyday situations. Well maybe that’s cause you see the special something in mundane stuff. I call ‘em as I see ‘em.
If I were to write half the things that I felt or saw or experienced this would turn into your weekly cerekarama. I mean, with all the problems that I go through with members of the family, heck, there’d be no end to my rants.
For the sake of my piece today, let’s take what happened this morning. I can easily write that I’m fed up with my family: disappointed with my mother, sad for my youngest sister and hope that the struggling business man of a stepfather would get rich already. Then they can all move out of this house that we’ve generously provided, and we can all get on with our lives. No more lying, badmouthing, regretting, pointing fingers and hysterical crying. But why would I want to do that?
For one, this is what the malays would call ‘meludah ke langit’ or ‘cubit paha kanan’ or something to that effect. You do something that will actually disgrace yourself. ‘Spit into the sky’ and the spit will fall back on your face. ‘Pinch your right thigh’, and the left one feels the pain as well.
For another, life is too short to dwell on all these horrid moments of my life. Sure these are my feelings, sure I feel hurt. But to write it down for the world to see means having to relive the pain and anger and disappointment and who needs that? The world is full of sadness and injustices as it is. Why add to that?
But sometimes I contradict myself. After all, I am human. Let me be the walking contradiction.
I am in no means perfect, so why should my life be?
