Today I drove out to fetch you.
Nothing fancy. Nothing expected.
Just a simple dinner. One that unfolded a million thoughts within the head.
I arrived. On time.
You began ranting about your sleeping patterns.
I listened. It seemed like a monologue. Not because I didn't respond, I never had a chance.
The topic progressed to how frustrating your studio was. This I still could listen: I didn't go to class yesterday. But the rant was familiar. It was the same as two weeks ago.
I can understand that the lecturer repeats her criticism. I can understand that her predictability means that you know what flaws she will point out about your design.
But what I cannot understand is that if you already know the problem, why don't you fix it. Or even try to do so?
Fine.
So you go and see another lecturer. And she gives a positive outlook. Good for you.
I arrive at the mall. We go out. As we stroll past the atrium, I repeat myself: You need to make sure that what you have in your mind is reflected in what you do, say, or draw. It's like you are afraid to express yourself, restraint for unapparent reasons. Whether it is because of a lack of expressive skill, or because you fear realising those concepts have a possibility of bringing undesired results or perceptions, I shall not question. It is no longer my duty.
We decide to eat. Throughout dinner you express your immaturity in interesting methods. Of the uncertainty of selecting a seat, the indecision of choices. Doubtful of your own appetite. Then you complain that it is too hot. Afterwards you regret your decision to chew ice cubes, making your teeth freeze whilst still not helping your 'heated' self. This coming from someone who wanted to dress up for dinner. I silently question your awareness of self. The facade that you show off and the personality that you display. Its disconnection.
I begin to drift. No point in hearing a person who probably is unaware of what she is talking about. Disrespectful it may seem, and I am aware of. But if you don't intend for me to respond, why should I bother to think?
I wonder.
Has being with me taught you anything? Has dealing with this radical kid of insignificant footprint given you any insight into your impact of being?
I persevere because I realise that separation hurts really badly. I don't intend to allow you to go through that pain. Unnecessary. One thing that no human being should go through. One that I have overcome time and time again.
But you? Sometimes I ponder if pain would be a better teacher.
Does the world still revolve around you? You bring your concepts taken from your home town, to a big city. You expect that some things remain the same. Never have you let yourself understand the mindset that an urban community has attained throughout these years. You miss home, I GET IT. But have you considered others? I don't come from here. I also miss my parents. But you still complain month after month.
I persevere.
Do you even realise how much I have sacrificed for you? How much more I am still willing to do for you? Of all the times you are sick, I will call. I will monitor. I will make sure you take steps in taking care of yourself. I know you give up easily, and you let yourself fall often. As much as I try to cushion your demise, you can still bruise yourself.
I leave little for myself. Because sometimes I believe you deserve the assistance. But today you make me think: Has it all been worth it? Has all that amounted to nothing? It was never about the money. Neither was it about the effort, nor the thought. But for all the support I give, I would like some gratitude, at least the idea that all that has amounted to a little "thanks". I have yet to receive a thank-you for then when you accidentally cut your palm. I drove all the way to your apartment, to find out that she has already taken you to the clinic, to which I drove to. Still in my overnight clothes, I accompanied you to brunch while you calmed down, then fetched you back. Life continued as normal. Or so it seemed, like exactly nothing happened.
I ask for very little. I did not ask for money, time or status. All I asked for is a buddy. And even that you are barely eligible. I often feel like I am merely a punching bag for you. A surface to throw your cooped up frustrations and pains collected throughout the day. A mass that you can hurl your weight mercilessly as time goes by. A pillar you can dump load on when other group members become unapproachable, a leader to guide you through the storm. I am fine with most of it. But when the time comes, I need some support too. And since you openly declared you allegiance with me, am I not in a position to receive at least some?
I am tired.
Yesterday. Sickness befall onto me. A headache progressed into a split, accompanied with sore throat, blurred vision, watery eyes, fatigue and coughs. I blame the fog, but over my shoulder, my mum will definitely say it was because of my lack of exercise. I don't deny her. I am a lazy slob.
So I sat in my room. Fending for myself. Many people called, wondering why I was absent in class. Many well wishes were received, none from you. If it wasn't for Iris, you probably wouldn't even speak to me.
Did you even ask if I was feeling better? I might have missed it.
I sometimes program an imagination, to play out the world in my head and see what would happen if I were to die or something. Would it affect you? Would it affect anything? I mean sadness is guaranteed, but after that, would it mean anything to you, my presence or the lack of it.
I return to the car. I parked at the same place as we always did. But you still don't know which exit it is located at. Not that it means anything much, but have I been guiding you so much that you have become oblivious to your surroundings? I have only myself to blame.
You don't need to hear all of this. This is for me.
A reminder that my standards could possibly be flawed. Or that it is being possibly flawed. But from now on, I shall lower it a few notches.
Of how much I deserve, and how much this world needs.
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