At times like these, these heady, warm afternoons where time almost seems to sit still, I often find myself in a bout of restlessness, a feeling that I do not quite belong within the confines of my own home.

Being home is like that.

Half the time I feel burdened, useless and incapacitated in my inability to do much while I am living at home, trapped by the structure of society and my own lack of thoughts.

I am seized by wandering feet, and the need to break free of this seemingly bland existence, where everyone is stuck in the same rut, in the same rat race, scrabbling to build the same lives - in search of happiness, and stability - it bores me to no end, and I cannot help feeling like there is a different alternative to life out there.

I yearn to sleep under the stars, and own nothing but the clothes off my back. Idealistic, and perhaps not the most practical of wishes, but part of me wishes to be far away from civilisation, and far away from responsibilities.

If only one could live on wishes, and stories, and love.

This anger is toxic, like the poisonous fumes slowly filling the room we live in. Sometimes I wish the gases were carbon monoxide, so I could sleep and forget about it, but that is the nature of the world - anger, until dealt with, has a tendency to fester and unless I adopt some other random strategy - denial, withdrawal, acceptance - a plethora of choices for the taking..

It's time to move on. You've made your choice, and I can see the lines drawn.

You can only take things for granted for so long. I wish you could have seen that sometimes, we all needed you too.

After awhile, it all becomes toxic.

No one can tell what the future holds for them. That matter is simple enough, regardless of the best laid plans, despite what assurances and safety guards you have put into place. It happens, like the steady trickle of the hourglass in a shop I once saw as a child, steady in its constant, seeming will.

Time is constantly in flux, like the music box dancer, always spinning in a way that reminds me, strangely enough, of love. Perhaps it was those fairytale princesses, with declarations of forever you and I.

Who knows what that hourglass holds?

Is it my actions that will shape those sifting sands? Will it be my arms that provide the strength of much needed connections? Truth fully, we are but cogs and wheels in some greater scheme and will always be looking for more answers.

Until then, my mind is open for the opportunities that will rise, but if I am to make the most of those opportunities… That I leave to you.

110110

My parents came to visit me in Melbourne.

It felt strange, as if for the first time, I saw my parents in a different light - or perhaps I was not around as often when they started changing. Perhaps it was the distance, or the mistakes I had made that made them react differently to me.

Never realised that my father had such random adorable traits. The way he would stand expectantly at a random tourist statue, or a sign and wait for his photo to be taken, almost as if to proclaim to the world that he had been there and had the photo to prove it.

I never realised my mother had such a gentle side. She was always so strict, and so stern, and expected so much out of us that I was afraid to disappoint - afraid to give her less than what was expected. She was definitely the disciplinarian of the two, and as a child, her fierceness gave me pause and kept me distant.

I can only wish that I didn't cause them so much disappointment, and so much worry.

I kept myself so distant because I believed that I could spare them my failings and my troubles, and I did not know how to break the silence when I found myself overwhelmed. I did not know how to tell them that I was flailing and grasping at straws, wanting so badly to not burden them with issues that I thought my own.

And so it came spilling out, the bits and pieces, the truths and untruths, some said, some inferred. And they accepted it all, all my faults and failings.

"You are still our daughter," they said. It made so much of a difference.

It is beginning of sorts, and I pray it is the beginning of breaking down those walls I have so carefully constructed throughout the years.It is ironic, that after envying the close relationships so many of my friends share with their parents, to realise that I was the one who did not know how to reach out to my own. To forgive is to set the prisoner free, and then discover the prisoner was you.

There is still a lot of worry for the future, but I will have the strength of my family behind me. And that is something I can be thankful for.

Congratulations.

 

It is the end of the road. 

We sat and reminisced; recounted the days where we had laughingly foreseen the end of the road for all of us. It seemed so far away, and yet here we are, sitting together again - and half have ended this journey that we started on together. 

It seems strange.

The journey has been long, and arduous. For some, standing at the end of it, there is just a sense of tiredness and just wanting to get it over with.

Congratulations nevertheless.

It is not a road that everyone walks, but you have made the trek, and now stand at the next fork. To what the future holds for each and every one of us, I do not know - but I hope for one, and only one thing.

I hope many years in the future, we will meet again like this - all of us, together, reminiscing, laughing, recounting our memories together once again. Regardless of the journey we will take after this fork, I hope that we are able to meet at intervals like this one, and laugh like we always have.

Sometimes I question my sanity.

The way I write is a reflection of myself, of the light and darkness that exists within.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm entirely sane, and it seems as if I am myself but not. Sometimes it feels like I am removed from myself.

Are any of us entirely sane?

We are built, programmed a certain way by the virtue of our lifestyles and the experiences we are beholden to. We learn from our past - to react, to analyze, to cement that perception of who we are and build in our minds the person we want to become.

Sometimes I wonder if my constructs are falling apart - if I have lost sense of myself. Is this the cause of this disjointedness, this uncertainty? Like anyone else, I have received my share of challenges in life, and like anyone else, I have reacted.

My psychiatry professor once mentioned that people work along certain lines, according to their personality traits, with strengths and weaknesses from each type. Those with certain traits worked best a certain way, but were crippled by those very things that made them so strong. I often wonder if I am reacting outside a way that I normally do, because I have been crippled by my own thoughts and actions.

Who knows?

Fate acts in strange ways.

I somehow feel at a loss - as if his presence is a chance to do something, to say something. It's a strange thought thinking that I am, perhaps, responsible for the wellbeing of someone who I hate so much.

Because I do.

I hate him for the things he has done to her.

I don't know if I can ever forgive him.

I hope she never reads this because I know she loves him, and the neutral part of me tells me to be gentle with her, and gentle with him - and advise them for the best, because life is but a learning process and everyone needs to learn.

Even the bastards of the world.

Love is blind indeed and god works in mysterious ways.

It is beyond me to be intentionally cruel - as much as I try. The worse I can do is feign indifference, but my natural inclination is to be sociable, as I've found out.

I could be cruel. Very cruel.

I could leave him to fend for himself in the streets of Melbourne, to sleep God knows where. I could let him lose himself and wander around in fear of getting lost in this strange new country, and let paranoia dictate his actions so he never really fully enjoys his stay. I could exact revenge in so many other ways - to let him stay but extract a price for his lodging, and to make it very clear that he is at my mercy. I could make things very very uncomfortable. God knows I've watched enough bad American TV to do a pretty good impression of a bitch.

I could be cruel.

Part of me wants to exact revenge for her, because if she doesn't and she never will, and someone else pretty damn well should.

A part of me knows his actions spring from ignorance, and she remains a part of that for letting him treat her that way. It is obvious in the way he speaks, and the way he thinks - obvious in their relationship together. Sometimes things are so bloody obvious that I want to throw up.

At the end of the day, people need to learn from their mistakes.

It is not for me to judge. At this point, I am merely his hostess. For some twist of fate, I have opened my hospitality to him, by himself, without her - and I am not only forced to grin and bear it, but also extend the same courtesy as I do to others who have graced my home. God works in mysterious ways.

I can only pray for their happiness.

But part of me doesn't want to.