My project supervisor described my writing as “pedestrian” and she looked upon the heaping garbage I submitted in shock and disgust. People have always identified a potential that exists within me, in response I have always failed to realise this potential. I disappoint everyone who has faith in me because I cannot help be anything but mediocre. I love that people believe in me, almost as much as I hate it. Afraid to be fully submerged under my shame, I threw myself into jogging the following week.
Jogging has been amazing. My body is always pushing its limits to the breaking point, but it seems I am never satisfied. Stronger muscles cannot satisfy me; improved stamina, endurance and blood circulation will never satisfy. I can only be satisfied when my body is reduced to little more than skin and bones and I hate that this has been my truth for over half a decade.
My elder brother asked my how I remain a fat fucking fuck despite my healthy habits. He is the first person I loved who was not a parent and I fantasise about his death once a week. Much to my chagrin, my heart remembers this love and beats it on even as hatred turns the blood in my veins to fire. My sister hates this about me even more than I hate it about myself.
My sister and I forgot how to relate with each other last year. She routinely avoided my company and I, filled with shame, turned to anger so potent that every word I addressed towards her was laced with poison. Out of my desire for her love, I turned to cruelty and every action of hers I got to witness was either loudly or silently criticised. Such perverse love is characteristic of elder sisters. To this day, there is no one I love more and none I forgive less.
I have no control of who and how I love. People tend to believe my love is incredibly blind and foolish. I have been interrogated repeatedly recently about my friendship choices, causing me to feel immense shame and confusion about caring for people in spite of their flaws, in spite of their mistakes and even in spite of what they have done to me. I am full of hate, full of wrath and yet my heart beats on with love even when hate is the most convenient option. The hatred I have witnessed recently disgusted and petrified me, and strengthened my conviction towards love. When the poison falls from another’s lips, its taste is bitter. The memory of my own cruelty weakens my body and the shame that fills me threatens to seep out in a black, viscous liquid from every orifice. The memories of the conflicts echo in my head, tears threaten to fall, and my heart beats rapidly like I am a frightened animal, trying its damnedest to spread love through my body so I never make that mistake again.
I wrote and performed this piece for an open mic event my friends held. This piece has now become dear to me for multiple reasons. Firstly, I have never performed my own writing before so it was a daunting experience. The reactions I received were so comforting and helped me overcome fears I had been sustaining about my writing. Lastly, sharing my worries, my gripes and my pains to so many people has relieved me of a lot of pressure and sadness. Expressing these emotions, as opposed to holding onto them for weeks, has made me so much happier. I am so grateful.