the dance of the ink riddled fingers

“So, what have you been doing over the holidays?””

Posted in 52 pickup, how was your day? by enisea on 28/01/2010

It’s been the echo of most holidaying university students over this overly-long-hauled-2-months-of-forgetting.  It’s what we say when we see people we haven’t seen between 2 weeks and 2 years.  But we hate hearing it. Because we try to have holidays worth remembering…but frankly, only the photos said we were happy because we were smiling in them and from childhood we were taught that smiles equal happy – especially perfectly round yellow faces with them.  And because we took so many darned bloody photos, anyone could assume we only had time to be happy or vain, to be pretty…if anything.

Most of us haven’t rehearsed and prepared impressive slide shows of productive measures put into action over these days of “freedom”. We umm and ahh, we laugh at our weak constructing efforts to build a mirror that looks into a productive past. Then we say what I loath, “nothing much”, and because I hate saying just what I loath, I add little pointless dot pots “oh, like going out, meeting people, a little partying, trying to set up an online shop, y’know the usual!”  and having whipped out something productive, they jump on the “oh! What’s this shop you speak of?” or something to that effect.

Then half of the peoples I find myself in this uncomfortable conversation copy-paste most of what I say, except they replace the ‘I set up an online store’ with ‘ oh! and I’ve been getting very drunk, very often!’, which I laugh about with them and then think, That’s so unattractive. I suppose what I don’t understand is how I’ve been filling my diary with dates and scribbles of plans, yet when asked some of the things I’ve achieved, those castles crumble to sand and my heart sighs “I’ve been busying myself with things that mightn’t come to anything!”.

Everyday has seemed like a saturday. It is too leisurely. We have too much time and not enough idea about how to use it well. If time is a currency the poor can hardly afford, why haven’t the rich ones been taught how to utilise it?  If somebody would sponsor me, I would no sooner be on a plane to Haiti helping to shovel the thousands of corpses or on a less-horrifying scale, handing out free water. I don’t know how to use my own hands and feet in ‘my own country’. I am home. But home is terribly pretentious.

Furthermore, I read my new favourite blog and hear the same sighs of another 20-something-reassessing-heart-ashamedly. It makes me smile that I’m not alone in my heavy clouded thoughts, but she reminded me of elements I wish to neglect because it’s so hard to care about everything worth caring about. It makes you want to blame somebody for not loving enough and accusing whoever’s responsible for birthing a hopeless, helpless, or loveless collective of people. I want to scream “YOU SHOULD HAVE LOVED HER! SOMEBODY LOVE HIM!”, except that when one finger points out, three shoot back at me.

Bible, bible, bible, let me chew your pages, grow me an answer, please.

I KNOW THIS POST IS USELESS! I considered deleting it twice, but then thought it might guilt somebody else into hating such life of comfort.


One Response

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  1. Rleebaba said, on 02/02/2010 at 6:10 PM


    Girl, I always look forward to reading your posts

    you and your endless zest for life… you are so cool

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