Tired
Nov 27, 2004 in Curse-spouter
Dina's blog post made my eyes wet today as I struggled to keep afloat amidst the tension at work and in my personal life.
'Cookies and footprints.'
Where have I heard those before? My name is an omen. Every Friday, we go to Subang Parade, and I pass by Amos and his famous cookies send whiffs of Chocolate Chip bits to my nostrils. I almost swoon, almost.
And then the memory of it all overwhelms me. I look at my friends, and I force a realistic chuckle to fit in. The jokes they tell don't gel; in my mind, I'm always thinking of something else.
Sometimes I wish Mum didn't give me a name that rings as an immediate term of endearment.
'COOKIES.'
The lines are like neat lists in the cabinets of my mind, labeled and filed. A… B… C…
'Cookies with you?'
'Cookie please?'
'I'll get you cookies.'
'I asked my mum to bake you cookies.'
'Can I call you cookie?'
'You're my cookie you know.'
'You're like a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I never know what I'm going to get next.'
'Where's my cookie???'
'Dearest Cookie… I love you…'
When I was in uniforms, they had cookie dedication days, and I would receive nicely wrapped cookies in pink and white wrapping tissue. 'Be my cookie?'
My very first Valentine's Day gift was a delivered bouquet of pink roses from the Blooming Florist, with a copy of Titanic's OST and a 400 g bag of Famous Amos's Chocolate Chip and Pecan Nut cookies. I didn't like the bloke, but I was flattered he knew my favourite variety.
I was called 'cookie monster'… for many many years… and some friends still call me that.
I've had enough.
I'm not in denial, but I've always been wearing a mask. And lately, I'm getting really, really tired of it. Maybe the strings around the ears have gone lose, maybe my face has shrunk. I'm not sure. But this mask doesn't fit anymore.
Behind the mask, behind the smiles, I feel trapped. It's like a huge box I'm in… there's an exit to this, but it's nowhere near me.
I want to move on to acceptance, but I seem to be stuck forever in this container. I've banged my head against the glass, but it seems unbreakable.
There is an opening at the end. I see it. I run towards it. My, how I run, how I run….
But there's an invisible pull that keeps me from sprinting out of it.
But I've not admitted it until now. Now. Now.
What's the truth?
I'm exhausted. Stifled. Cramped. Sick. Irritated. Disgusted. I'm tired of waiting.