I’m trying to rewrite my narratives, I swear to God I’m trying.
I spent last night rereading old entries here – what else is new – and to be honest, I feel a little proud of write-ups that though I don’t remember writing, I felt pleasantly surprised to unearth them. “I wrote this?” I’d ask myself. Then I’d beam for a quick second; genuinely moved. Growth, when traced on a good day, is indescribably moving.
But I also spent last night rereading entries written over the last two months.
Those that were written since relocating here. Those that touched upon… the same topics. Romantic love. Relationships. Religious boundaries. Constantly perplexed; accepting but frustrated. Overwhelmed. Tragically sad.
“I reread my blog entries last night and consciously or unconsciously, this frustration and fear of not wanting to do life alone is really getting to me. Because oh my goodness – I think my readers, by now, must think that I’m desperate.”
I need to rewrite my narratives, damnit.”
I confided in Eldest Sis tonight, about this confusion – growing feelings for an old, dearly loved friend – that I am currently experiencing and fighting hard against. “No, not this again,” I told her, my voice cracking. “Don’t place something that isn’t there, there. Just because you’re lonely doesn’t mean you’ve to be sad. I keep reminding myself – not this again.“
“He is…” I began, uncertain how to say this, “I think – especially in the beginning – whenever I was frustrated and overwhelmed by all the newness… he’s not so old a friend, but we’re old enough friends by now. So he’s someone I let my guard down totally with. On bad days, when the newness gets to me – he’s familiar. When I’m with him, I get to talk and act like myself again. I’m reminded of the girl I was, who I really am. Not a persona, but a real person. He’s familiarity itself.“
“But I’m trying so hard not to fall for the same confusion – twice.”
“Because I’m lonely, I think. Because I’m tired, really tired, of doing life alone. I’m frustrated by this – so much that I want to change this, despite not knowing how. Objectively, I recognize that we share similar values and mentality – that’s why we’re still friends, after all – but that’s also all there is. When I try to think logically about the possibility of us, the reality is that we… don’t match. For instance, we’re both avid travelers yes, but with totally different styles. He’s the backpacker, hostel-living style. I’m… not those. We only get along in the realm of thoughts – this literally is why we’re friends.”
“But that’s also the thing I genuinely care about.”
“And you know… that pattern… it prevails. Always that specific demographic, always not Muslim. Even with the three friends I bonded with over the weekend – all three: Chinese, non-Muslims. It shouldn’t matter. This shouldn’t matter. I keep reminding and telling myself this but my god, on the other hand – again?! The patterns… they prevail. This frikkin’ preference, even when I’m already consciously trying so damn hard to diversify. Unlike Third Sis who’s so adamant not to be in a relationship and end up with a Malay guy – I’m trying, damnit. Forget it; I just need him to be Muslim.”
“Because I see it all the time, that religious boundary. That’s all I see; I’m too conscious of it. This line I cannot cross – one that I’ve come to accept and understand why it exists, but my god, even with friends – this frikkin’ pattern persists. This is as far as I can go, I think to myself, over and over again. For… how long more? That boundary line. ‘This is as far as I can go.’“
Adulthood, in its cruelty, is teaching me of the many ways that my heart can break.