Don’t fight me on this

by alittlehoneyformyheart

This is just going to be a short post (update: not really). But i’ve just been doing lots of thinking. Unintentional thinking, that is. I don’t want to think about it but i can’t help it. Whenever i see or hear people talk about their family and how much they miss them and love them and want to spend the rest of their lives with them, i feel my heart being cemented and it’s like there’s a cold stone wall slowly expanding around it and covering it with every thought that comes to my mind.

From my previous post i mentioned that i left Brunei on very bad terms with my family and while i’ve patched things up already with my dad and my mum, some days i get these flashbacks and as hard i try to blink them all away, i can’t block these blows out. And someday i must confess, i don’t even try. I’m filled with a passive sort of anger and revenge and there’ll always be that part of me that wants to keep my distance, to turn away and never look back. I’ll always love my siblings and yet they’re far too young to understand the depth of these complications and conflicts that scar me so deeply, i fear i’ll never recover.

So while i’m here complaining and bitching about how long my working hours are, there’s a part of me which wishes that this will never end. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to face reality. I don’t want to have to fight all the time and to have to put up a strong front. It’s tiring being the bitch that everyone loves to hate at home, it’s sad playing the bad person all the time and yet if i don’t, who will. Tread or be trodden on, that’s how it’s always been. You fight me i fight harder and that will show you not to fight me. I’m tired and i’m exhausted. My mental will has been depleted after being worn through. I’m so so tired. I don’t miss home and when my boyfriend tells me that he wishes November would come faster so that we can be together again, i resent him for it. Not because i don’t want to see him but because it’s all very easy for him to want me to go home when i’m the one who has to face everything. He’ll always be an definite part of my future, can’t he let me savour the present?

The awkwardness of it all, the hotness of the place i call home, the iciness of the blood that binds us all as relations, i don’t want to deal with it. My grandfather has cancer and the last i heard it was at a terminal stage. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him before i left because he went to sleep early and i was running away and packing my things as fast i could anyway. Any day now i could wake up one grandfather less and i haven’t done anything about it. It’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just that my mother is making it very hard for me to reach my grandfather without having to go through my father. I think she knows that i haven’t spoken to him personally and that i don’t plan to until i get back home when it’s an absolute must (we communicate through the family group chat but even then, my barriers surround me, i’m not ready to forget yet, not ready, not ready). So there’s that and it makes me dread the idea of home even more.

I’ve made myself a home here and it feels so temporary that i embrace it with such vigour and battle my daily challenges with a brave face and a strong heart. It won’t last forever and yet i’m adamant to act like it will or it would break  my heart so. My room is basic and clean and new, it has a tv, an aircon, a single bed, a small kitchen downstairs, my own toilet, my cupboard and i fucking love it. I love it. I REALLY DO. This is my home, my peaceful home where i can shut everything and everyone out should i choose to. It’s comfortable and i get to live in it without a care in the world.

I’m not anyone here. I’m just Sheyenne the bimbotic intern from that weird, rich country who gets her hair done before coming into work and carries a handbag around instead of a backpack like everyone else who spends her weekends brunching at beautiful restaurants and shopping to her heart’s content and dancing her feet off at music festivals. I don’t have to be the bitch daughter or the bitch sister. I don’t have to be the fake dutiful granddaughter who tries her hardest not to let her impatience at this whole family business show. I don’t have to be that friend who’s outwardly strong and snappy and yet secretly lets everyone step all over her until she doesn’t. I don’t have to. I can start anew here. Too bad it’s only for a few months.