Peeling Boredom

Three months doing nothing but read IR texts, see an occasional movie, smoke cigarettes and swim in the vast ocean of the web is driving me insane. I feel selfish in that, uprooted from my family, my friends, my job and my country's concerns, all that is left is me. And again these questions of my raison d'être come stealing back like long-buried memories. I am over this period of my life. I am a full-grown adult. I have defined who I am and now have some sort of idea of what I want to be. I am over ruminating about my existence, yet these questions come anyway. It isn't very adult-like.

Here on my little floating island, on my self-fashioned raft, I imagine home. Consciously, my mind's eye has distorted the pictures. Now, three months since I left, home is this beautiful, shining idea. A resort paradise. The pot of gold at the end of that rainbow slide. It is brimming with endless, endless possibilities, beckoning, seducing. An incomplete crossword puzzle, waiting to be filled out, waiting for me. The filth, the ugliness, the stench are filtered out. Pretty, pretty. I dream of home, and imagine home imagining me.

I worried needlessly, to be seduced by comfort and predictability. Now I know, I am a creature of my masochistic country, addicted to pain and struggle, without which, I feel dead.

ecstasies in addictions

wallow in the ecstasy of self-indulgence. savor the after taste in your mouth. hold on to the moment, savor each nuanced detail. commit the taste, the feel, the smell to memory. breathe it in deep and slowly, reluctantly exhale. let it go. let it out your mouth, in between your lips. open up.

delight in the freedom of losing control. be free. free yourself of guilt, restraint and self-repression. succumb to the temptations and embrace self-destruction with open arms.

the depths you're willing to sink reflect the mindless joy of the moment, feeding your addiction. loving your addiction. basking in your addiction. falling down the downward spiral, in ecstacy still, you wonder how far til the very bottom. will it hurt? will you bruise? will you break?

enjoy your trip down the path of no return. never let there be doubts or regrets. never has self-abuse and self-loathing been wrapped up in such a heady concoction. leave the hurting for later.

i meant to just get my book, 'global transformations' from him. i really did. i drove there, last night, to our meeting place, not a little bit angry. i was unsettled, a bit furious mostly because i felt rejected and hurt by fred. it wasn't an excuse to just see him. because if i really wanted to, he offered to give me the pasta he made a couple of weeks ago.

and so 9.30 sharp i was waiting in the car outside for him. he came, taller than i remembered last. he seemed to have gained weight, which is good rail thin as he is. i saw him, clutching my books and it was awkward. both of us standing looking at each other, not knowing what to do with ourselves. and then he reached into his pocket and brought out a small stuffed dog. "i want to give this to u for safekeeping," he said. my resolve melted, my anger blown away like ashes of clove cigs. water pooled in my eyes, and i can only stare at the brown and beige doggie, dumbfounded.

"do u want to sit down?" i said. we sat down, sitting perpendicular to each other. as usual, he was staring at my breasts. but i take no offense, since he does it every time we see each other. they're part his afterall, or so i said when things were uncomplicated and sweet.

we sat down and made small talk. i asked him what to call the dog. he said it looked like his dog haru who died a couple of years ago. more small talk, mostly i wasn't looking at him. but i was looking at his arms, his hands. i so wanted to reach out and touch him. the electricity, the want, the chemistry if you will, between us is palpable. still. i hadn't seen him in weeks, and what i truly wanted was mostly unarticulated even to me last night. but when i got home, i knew that i still wanted him.

it was only 15 minutes or so. he was sick and had to go home. i needed to be away from him before i took leave of my senses. he walked me to the car, i opened the door and he said, "can i get a hug?" my eyes watered again, i was looking at a point over his right shoulder, but i gave him his hug. half-baked, half-assed. i didn't want to touch him too long. it hurt.

when i got home, i cried. because i realized i missed him. it didn't matter how much he hurt me. like always, through text, he told me he loved me. friend. always with that qualification. he said he'll love me in his own obscure ways. i believe him. i texted back saying i wish i had the wisdom to see him trying and that i loved him too. and that i wish i had the wisdom to do it selflessly.