Thursday, August 31, 2006
♥ Thursday, August 31, 2006
What do you know?
There's nothing you know. You don't know how much I love you, and you don't how much I'd wish you'd give me security. In front of you I act like I'm okay,and that you needn't pay special attention to me, because I can take care of myself. Because that's how it's always been.
But you don't know how I'd wish for someone to take care of me for a change. Ah, that nobody knows. I've been taking care of others for almost my whole thirteen years now; cousins, friends, family. I'm known as ''the tall girl who wears a tie and is independent" to people. Everyone at home knows me as thenicejessica who went with her grandmother to Europe by herself at the age of six. I'm the unpaid babysitter who spends holidays in Jakarta with her younger cousins instead of relaxing myself in someplace where I can have a lot of time to think about myself. Someplace like San Francisco.
I can't believe I made myself leave that beautiful place. Cool weather, beautiful scenery, quaint little dream house with beige walls and a nice garden at the front. Straight, neat rows of houses by the roadside, all enchanting and grand, each one standing up for its own uniqueness. The fisherman's wharf, where I got the clam chowder deliciously made. SF State University, where my mom first studied in and got her sweet memories of the U. Daly City, where my mom lived. The extra-sugar donuts, which were so sweet my mom kept drinking water after I forced one in her mouth.
The view on top of twin peaks, the whole of San Francisco. Houses looked like monopoly ones, cars looked like ants. The breeze like the ones at the beaches, blowing against my hair. The up and down roads, the city's curviest road, the city's longest road; all the places we went on that day in our rented car. I wonder why when people ask me where I went during the June holidays, the first one I tend to say is San Francisco. Not LA, not Vegas, not Alaska, not Canada. San Francisco. The place where I had the most time to think about myself. The escape from reality.
And you don't know how much I want to go there with you. You never know anyway, because I haven't told you. But I cant tell you what you don't know. Because then you'll never find out how much I really want to go there. But oh, five years. Five more years until University, where I'll definitely want to go to San Francisco instead of anywhere else. Five more years until I can start thinking about myself instead of others. And you don't know how much five years mean to me.
I don't understand why you don't know. I think it's rather obvious, isn't it? I'm yearning, for a lost love, for a broken soul, for a heart that needs mending, to be mended. Why can't you give me either one even if I'm thinking about you all the time? I'm yearning, yes, but I'm not getting what I need. Someone to help me escape reality. Someone who will be more than willing to bring me away from reality.
I can't wait to go to San Francisco again. It's my parent's territory, simmy's New Zealand, and my San Francisco. But for now I'm stuck. I'm stuck in a place where I seem to belong but belonging to the job of watching over other people instead of thinking about myself. It's not I don't want to, but I don't want to do it all the time. I'm settling other people's problems instead of solving mine. It's not fair. It's not fair that I have to care about other people and other people don't care about me. It's just not fair. But that's always been how the way it goes.
Isn't it?
