Here I am, alone in the hotel room in Page, on Christmas night. There is no Christmas carol, but I put Sakamoto's "Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence" on loop in my iphone. The music speaks my melancholy, and of course, the tile is apt for Christmas. There is no Christmas feast, and instead I had Blackberries that I bought from Safeway earlier today. The TV is off, and the book that I brought along on the trip - Jared Diamond's "the World Until Yesterday" is laid open. The chapter is on bilingualism. But I am not reading, in fact, I do not feel like taking in any knowledge this very moment. Rather I want to say something, be heard, in any tongue that I can manage and in any forms of expressions that people can understand. Realize no one is listening, I talk to my heart.
This has been the worst year of my life, I reckon. I drank a lot, the most in my life. I made mistakes in relationships, and I repent for not able to say my feelings. I did not do well in school, but that I have no excuse for. I have been a let-down. I start to think whether I have a problem and if so what is it. Earlier last week, an acquaintance in the past told me he did not want to hear from me anymore after I said it would be better for us to remain friends. The very next day he wrote to me saying what a fool he was, and wanted to fix things. I did not respond and that was that. Looking back, the manner of his leave-taking had begun a constriction which neither of us knew how to arrest. Ties can be cut but harm cannot be undone easily. I was on the other side of things 2 months earlier. I thought I found a kindred spirit but he said it would be more "convenient" that we remained friends. Not wanting to push for anything, I did not object, thinking that this is how mature adults handle rejections. Unable to advance from friendship, I later faded away. Yet, it still comes as a shock when he announces he is now an item with somebody. I realized what was "inconvenient" was me afterall. The idea that he could have been my best friend is proof of some horrifying taint in me.
I value purity and simplicity in life. That relationships are not bounded by expectations and responsibility but a real sense of affection, that social or biological contracts that bind us together as a unit are unnecessary. One of my greatest fear is to call my frail grandmother in HK. It is not because I am scared of dealing with the imminent end of one's life. In fact I always imagine what is it like to die. And I love my grandmother with all my heart. But the call itself was by no means an expression of love. It was a scoring mechanism. I'd call knowing that my watchful relatives keep a "love score" in their head. The presence of this thought marred the purity of the care I want to express. Everytime I call, I would run over what I was about to say in the call in advance and try to make sure I show enough affections in each sentence. And yet after each call, I would breath out a long sigh, as if I have just overcome a huge barrier but not without pain.
Here I am, letting out some of my feelings. They are inconsequential and unworthy of anyone's time. But I thought this might be part of the healing process. I haven't been able to bring them up to anybody in the past. And instead of avoiding them or pretending that they are not there, I decided to come in terms with myself.
Merry Christmas, O.
