Thursday, March 08, 2007
♥ Thursday, March 08, 2007
Y'all. I don't know why I'm doing this either.
Well, if some of you want an insight to my daily life, here's how you go about it.
You wake up at 5.50 to your alarm clock with a sore back which hasn't stopped aching since some years ago. If you slept too late because you had to rush out a project last night, or if you were crying too much to sleep, or if you just didn't hear the alarm go, that's too bad for you. You get out of bed, turn on the lights and get into the bathroom to wash up. Then you realise that you didn't have time to take down your uniform from the drying rack, and so you go out into the kitchen and then the laundry room, get your uniform and start ironing while you pack your bag. Your stomach's no longer asking for anything to digest in the morning, it's gotten used to hollowness before dawn. You start finding things where you left them, because no one'll touch it anyway.
And then you leave the house. If you don't remember to bring your key you'll be locked out and you'll have to rent a room at the service apartment opposite the road, or if you don't remember to lock the door some thief will come into your house and steal everything there is to steal. So you walk out of the house with your key and guitar, and then you realise that you forgot to turn off the lights in the living room, so you quickly run back in to turn it off. And then you get your things and lock the door, keep the key in a safe place, and get down to rush to the bus stop to get the bus because you're going to miss it.
If you miss 16, the first bus you take, you'll miss 54, the second, and then you'll miss 105. And then you're going to be late for school. So as you're running for the bus, you're running so hard you're panting so bad, and you don't know what you're running for. It didn't seem long ago when you were still 12 and you were sitting in a car with your mother at the wheel asking you when you were going to get home. But now you don't know that girl anymore. You see cars driving past, but none of them is the mother you cry for every night.
But you still run for that bus, and all the others that come after that one. Then you finally reach school, and you hope for it to end as soon as possible, because you don't think that grades matter anymore, you just want your mother waiting at home for you. On good days, you tell yourself that you're working for her, that she doesn't need anymore things to worry about because she's got enough. On bad days, you just totally shut down and you curl up in one corner and cry so hard, you can't breathe. You're homesick, and you're helpless.
After a day of work, I don't need to explain how tiring school is, you all know. You finally reach home, and you get your key and open the door to walls of silence. When you talk you hear echoes, echoes, and nothing else. You're living in an abyss, and you accept that you do. One day, you tell yourself, all this will be worth its while. You never stop hoping, every second, that that day will come soon, that you'll finally be able to live the life you had before until the world changed and everything did too. Sometimes before you open the door you hope that someone will be behind that door and ask you about your day once you put down your bag. Sometimes before you open the door you hope that someone will help you to get the laundry and the mopping done, because you have a pt due tomorrow and you haven't started because you've been too busy doing those and your back forces you to go swimming twice a week and physiotherapy twice too.
So you open the door and get your daily dose of disappointment, and then you plop your bag down and shower. You do the day's laundry and take down the last wash and start ironing. While doing you remember that it wasn't long ago before when you could sit on the sofa and plead with your brother to change the channel, while someone did all that for you. You were careless, and you burnt your finger.
You finish, and you start doing your homework. You work again, and the only sole reason that drives you is that you love her, and she doesn't need another problematic child. So you toil through four hours or so of work, and then your phone rings you. You remember that you set the alarm for dinner because if not you wouldn't remember to eat, and you'll get gastric, and you'll miss another day of school.
So you walk to the mall and eat in the same food court sitting on the same table, and sitting alone and by yourself, as usual. You're sick of being lonely, but you can't do anything so you'll just sit through dinner. And then people start streaming in, with their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, daughters, and you turn away and cringe at the sight of them. You don't feel like eating anymore, and you leave your plate and stand to go back home because you still have homework to finish, as if homework took your mind off things and stopped you thinking when it just drives you insane from all the things you didn't listen to because you were thinking of someone while teachers were lecturing.
So you keep working. And then the silence kills, you realise, so you turn on your mac and open itunes and start singing along, and alone. You can hear only your voice and nothing else, and to you your voice is no longer a voice, it's a noise. When the ghost stories start to haunt you you try to hum a song and hoping that the ghosts'd leave you alone because you are. You finish a day of work, and you start planning for your physiotherapy and swimming sessions. You sort your finances and reprimand yourself on the amount of money you spend, and you say, I wish Mom was here so I wouldn't spend so much.
After that it's eleven. If I'm lucky some people are online to talk to me, at least that means I'm not dead yet. If my mother got home earlier and my brother didn't have a test tomorrow, and my father was in a good mood, they'd be online. We'd talk to fifteen minutes, and then I'll head off to bed.
But as you climb on you realise you can't sleep, and you stare at the empty bed, and you wonder what you've done to your life. You wonder why you live, you wonder why you're repeating the same cycle everyday, you wonder why you have to treat yourself like this, you wonder if it's face you'll lose if you say you can't do it anymore and decide to go home and into your mother's arms.
You wonder why you even chose to live here.
And at that last thought you regret, you blame yourself, you cry. It's not that you want to, it's because you need to. It doesn't seem like a normal day if you don't empty your tears, crying is a routine, crying is the only way to tell yourself that you're frustrated, and crying is the only way problems can go away for a while, where you can feel your heart breaking and all your veins detaching one by one, and the blood is going in all ways and you can't do anything to stop it.
Crying is a daily routine.
It's like I've turned into an infant, the only way to express myself is to cry and cry and never stop.
I'm homesick, and I can't help it. All I want is to be a normal teenager, to be a normal child. I don't want to be extraordinary, I don't want to be independent. I want my mother, my life, and myself. I don't want anything else, because everything else just doesn't fit into the equation.
