And she's saying all these things and I'm feeling them, and now I wish I'd hugged her or told her, looking at her straight in the eyes, that I'd go down fighting for her too, right till the very end; that she's worth so much more than she gives herself credit for; and that the people who don't love her never deserved her attention because they failed to see her for the unique and special individual that she truly is. How is it possible that I see so much of myself in her, that she puts into words the things that I have not even admitted to myself, that just by listening to her she makes all the pain go away simply because there's someone who understands and there she is, right in front of me?
I just want to be special to somebody. To have someone fall madly in love with me and make me feel beautiful, bottle up that love in frosted glass and preserve it exactly the way it is until the world finally falls apart. I look at all the girls who have guys fighting for them and pledging death to them and I wonder, why can't I inspire that kind of passion and fierce intensity in a person, is there something wrong with me, do I expect too much, am I too ordinary or plain or normal or boring or ugly?
Because the truth is I'd take the plunge with you all the way to the bottom of the cliff, head-first onto the jarring edges of unbreakable rocks, if I think you're worth it, if you blow my mind, take me on head trips merely by the words that you say and the words that you write, prove yourself to me over and over and over again, strip me bare and not dance around but find your way through the mines and tripwires secured around my heart and still keep coming back. Because there were so many others who took one look at me and turned away, or stayed for a bit but left after tea was served, and I'm waiting to be completed and I project that onto the most undeserving individuals in vain hopes that they'd be the one who'd fall with me.
And I need to fall in order to live. It's not enough to merely exist, for it makes a mockery out of all the things that we do, the things we try to do, the greater truths we attempt to unearth in this complex quagmire that is Life.
Khai made me realise a lot of things during that brief few hours we spent together at Coffee Club and McDonalds' (wireless Internet connection is always good, you see; and so is cheap food when you're extremely strapped for cash) and I'd always be grateful for it. All of it. Above everything else she made me realise how it really wasn't worth it; that even if I believed in The One he came nowhere close to that ideal; and how I didn't necessarily like him, but just what he represented.
It's so true Khai, what you said. I can't believe I haven't already seen it myself. But sometimes you need someone so close to you to yank off the blindfold over your eyes and force you to see what you've been stubbornly trying to avoid, to tell you things that are more truthful than all the words you've written combined, and to remind you that what you really want is someone extraordinary, who'd take that plunge with you and not look back even once. Thanks for waking me up and now I won't settle for less, and you shouldn't ever settle for less because you're worth so much more than that
We have faith in each other and sometimes that's more than enough for me.
I'd make someone perfectly ordinary fall madly in love with me and then turn around and tear it apart. I'd do it so calculatingly and exploit the weakness of a man's groin to my fullest advantage and when I get what I want I'd slam the door in his face, and he'd hurt so badly that he'd wish he were dead and he'd wish he'd never met me.
I want to see how far I can push the limits of my own pettiness and cruelty before I break.
Or maybe I'm already broken and I'm desperately trying to piece myself back together again.
...and he'd never tell me to my face that he hasn't been reading these pages and when he loaded it on his Internet browser last night he skimmed through without really reading, and even if he told me that he'd still have the decency to realise how quickly his words are transforming into sharp daggers all aiming straight for the heart.
Or he'd never have access to this online diary so that the experience of getting to know someone through intimate conversations would never be so blatantly attenuated.
Or - yes, we're back to square one - he'd fall madly in love with me and he'd be so worth it and we'd break each other down and spend nights putting the pieces back together again. Words will heal all wounds and he'd understand that, and the need to write because it's the only way you know how to deal, and the urge to write despite the mediocrity of the things you churn out, and how writing is salvation and it is religion and it is the only thing you believe in, and then there is love which exists because of him, and maybe he'd even make me believe in The One the way I did when I was a child.
He'd appreciate the things that I write, he won't accept apologies for what has been written, he'd take everything I write to heart, and he'd be everything to me which you, you and you could never be. I don't let people in, and the next time I do I swear that it will not be completely wasted.
I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind again last night and I finally, truly got it, the magnitude of that one simple word "okay", and I'm convinced that that's exactly what this love thing is all about. They heard the end verbalised in their own voices, hurtful words hanging in the air between them; they were living their beginning a second time round; they knew how it was gonna end, but it didn't matter, it was 'okay' because there are things more important than the future.
Two things that almost made me cry:
Clementine: This is it, Joel. It's going to be gone soon.
Joel: I know.
Clementine: What do we do?
Joel: Enjoy it.
Especially this: "I could die right now, Clem. I'm just... happy. I've never felt that before. I'm just exactly where I want to be."
And maybe I still think about it despite what I told him because I saw the beginning and I saw the end, and I saw him in the middle of everything and I said, "Okay." And if the tables were reversed that would've been enough for me.
But it doesn't matter, it really doesn't, I wrote on and on about it last night but I'm not going to post any of it because it doesn't matter anymore.
He wasn't what I was looking for. I only thought he could be because he was there when no one else was around, so conveniently there and then I made him out to be someone he wasn't.
Neither right nor fair.
Especially - heartrendingly wrong.
I have so many things to do, Torts test to study for, some Contract essay on cases and readings that I haven't read, Lit Soc article which I half-written this morning until I was finally connected to some random wireless network. Tonight I'm going out with Agatha and I'm excited. Tomorrow I'm getting my new laptop and I'm stoked. Friday I'm going for SLS lecture and if Rui wants to we'd go to East Coast Park and I can't freaking wait. Saturday and Sunday guilt would probably bite me in the ass and make me stay home and do more readings for Torts and attempt to do the Contract essay.
I still hate Contract and I have no idea what is going on. I still hate the fact that I'm so blatantly selling out.
I especially hate the Bukit Timah thing because I'd be away from Mel and Khai and that thought is enough to make me cry.
Mel - she's so happy with Alex that I hate myself for feeling the tiniest stab of jealousy. But when I get over myself and my innate selfishness I'm genuinely happy for her, and I don't mind camping in the backseat if that's what makes her happy.
Khai - I'd wait three hours for her. I'd wait forever for her. When all's been said and done she's still the one who gets it.
They are amazing and I love them both.