dear shan (unedited):
i left your office absolutely livid, and uncertain of the why behind my anger. all i knew was that i was furious, my fists were clenched, my teeth were gritted, and i was stalking around with mechanical marching knees. moving the way mountain rams do when they clash heads, running, leaning, falling slowly together, caught in the air, and then, like lightening, lashing out. my top half floated while the bottom was two needles stabbing holes in the ground’s fabric.
i threw off my shoes and coat and turned up the killers as loud as i could, the hot fuss album. it can never be played loud enough, and then i cried harder than i’ve ever let anyone see me cry, until the hollow spaces in my head were all cleared out. new york wasn’t a place of gusty crying, more of concealed little weeps on the subway or in corner cafes. show any weakness and the homeless men and rats devour you.
i cried hard enough that my throat sounded like it was talking to the windows and i could hardly breathe, like dogs who can only whimper deep in their insides. all i remember thinking was
i can’t keep losing. how can you ask me to unveil myself when the only people who care to look at the ones who feed off others’ nakedness, who want to stare while clothed and imagine their eyes are rearranging hurts and hairs.” the only time anyone has ever intentionally been allowed to see me in this state of tears i was the last one in the breakfast hall, the very last of a hundred, at eight o'clock, two and a half years ago.
how can i come alone and empty-handed to someone with a home and expect the scales to be even? they never will be. i’ll always be the orphan looking to sit beside the hearth with someone, but they’ll only ever have the space left at their feet or in the spare room. i’m just a puzzle piece floating along and everyone else is already in a puzzle. i’d never be anything but a tumor on the edge, and i’d rather be alone than that. i’m too hungry to be fed, i would eat anyone out of house and home and expect them to ravish my larders. no one needs to eat that much, a feast, and i would force-feed them every bite. they’re all already docked and i’m floating downstream.
we’ve all got something to orbit around and i’m just spinning in circles. i ache. it’s only been ten minutes since i could stop crying and there’s so much pressure in my head. i just found a card i wrote my mom for mother’s day when i was six, in malaysian boarding school. the front is yellow with a fabric flower on it and the inside reads, “dear mom. i love you, mom. you are the best mom. thank you for being my mom. thank you for not putting me in the orphanage.”
