Where were you?
I am trying out my wireless keyboard and mouse by typing on my bed instead of my desk. Well, I had to enlarge the text to see and I have loads of typos to fix, but I’m feeling too weak to sit on my desk to write my musings.
And I have plenty of ground to cover as it’s been a while since I’ve blogged. I’m not feeling well again. Been visiting the loo frequently, nauseous, heating up inside while feeling cold and clammy on the outside. I’m taking a day off tomorrow as I don’t feel too great.
I’m sick of EURO 2008 and want it to end. My whole schedule is messed up thanks to the non-stop grind. Despite being able to go to office late, I feel burned out and my illness doesn’t help. I partially blame the drugs I’m on – according to what I read on the net, one of them acts as an immunosuppressant when taken for long periods of time.
And I’m a little angry and upset at my dads – both of them. One is a self-serving, self-centered, calculative manipulator that only wants me when it suits him. The other – considers me as his child whenever it suits him. I’m really sick of being like a rag doll that is played with when wanted then thrown away when not needed. I don’t want a father-figure anymore. It’s over-rated. I’ve managed to do just fine without one.
And I hate the term ‘orphan’ used when atleast the father dies. Why is the father so important? What have they ever done? Donated sperm? What about the mother who goes through nine months of pain, hours of excruciating labor? What does she get? Her name doesn’t count legally. Infact, its considered shameful to take your mother’s name because it implies that you’re a bastard. I hate having my dad’s first name stuck in the middle of my name because I see no reason for him to deserve it.
Where was he when I needed him? When I needed to go to college. He easily forgot his responsibilities and did what he wanted, while mom and I had to struggle to pay for my fees and and keep my scholarship.
I am not going to feel bad for not wanting to talk to him now. Because I feel used. His sudden interest in me came when I expressed interest in going to Canada. Now the phone never stops ringing. But where were your phone calls and emails when I needed guidance and support to apply for college? Ii’d understand if he sent one reply saying “As much as I’d love to help, I’m in no position to be able to give anything. But know I am always there for you”. I would have understood. But no. All I got was silence.
I lost two years of my life because I needed time to figure out where to go, hoping you’d reply. But nothing. I finally did what I wanted, even though it wasn’t something I fully believed I could do. But I did it. And I was – and am – good. I’m making myself. But that isn’t respectable enough for you. I’m only worth something if I do it your way.
But I’m not hoping or waiting for your approval anymore. Because I know I’ll never be good enough for you. And I don’t care anymore. I’m angry for abandoning me. And I’m not sure I can forgive yet.
I know you tried to emotionally blackmail me by saying your sick, but I don’t believe you. And the sad truth is, even if you were, I don’t think I have enough in me to give anymore to you.
I wish you cared about me even through my failures, disappointments and heartbreaks. I wish you’d just be happy for me – whatever I do.
Where were you dad?
Am I Muslim?
I love P to bits. But one reason I can’t be more than just friends is because I keep feeling like I need to explain myself to him. I have to keep defending my religion. That he looks down on me. It’s exhausting at times. I never said I was a good Muslim, nor that I am the know-all on Islam. I’m not exactly proud that I’m not religious, but it is my choice and ultimately, I will deal with the consequences. I don’t need a self-righteous Muslim – or non-Muslim – to make me feel worse than I already do.
I’m not sure what my beliefs are, but I believe in a Supreme Deity – and in goodwill, kindness and humanity. Of not harming others and living in tolerance. Of supporting each other and love. Charity. Humility. All that is good in the world. Perhaps a karmic thing – what goes around, comes around. And I believe all religions, including Islam, are founded on that concept of goodwill and humanity. That everyone is equal and all go to Heaven/Hell depending on their deeds, not on which religion they were.
Yea, I’m sick of hearing how barbaric and cruel Islam or the general Muslim population are and how we live on violence, bloodshed and intolerance. How we rock are socks off and go to Heaven for blowing up people – oh sorry, “infidels”. And that we do all this because all we think about is sex and our promised 70 virgins in Heaven. Those people aren’t Muslim in my definition.
Because Islam, as far as my understanding goes, chooses the right of life over most basic human rights. And to violate that right is as good as saying that there’s more than one god. The only time it is OK to take a life is when you have to protect your own. Like if a guy is standing over you with a knife on your throat. Even then, if you could kick him in the balls and run, that is more honorable than sticking the said knife into him. Because you’re alive, and so is he. We have no right to take another life than it is to decide who goes to Heaven or Hell. Ultimately, that is the Creator’s choice.
I may not be a good Muslim, but I do believe that I am still a Muslim. I treasure life…except for cockroaches. The big flying ones…
Issues…
I’ve been on my back the entire day (not ‘cos of THAT pervs!). I had a bout of food poisoning and therefore didn’t go to work today. Felt miserable.
I can’t sleep hence the late night posting. I hope everything went ok at the arena. I guess I’ll only know tomorrow.
P looks better. But I think he’s still upset. Duh he would be. It isn’t everyday hope gets squashed like a bug and the girl you hoped would be your wife runs off and marries someone else.
I have a confession to make. I think my anti-depressants aren’t working as I hoped. Because I think about him all the time. Not P, my ex. The past week I dream about him – more like have nightmares about him. About what he did. About how everything ended. And everyday things just trigger off raw emotions which are hard to control at times. I imagine the times we made love, been together and then I remember what he’s done – and what he’s probably doing now. It hurts. I don’t want him back. I can’t imagine going back to him after all this time and hurt.
But I miss the feeling I had. The sense of belonging. Of being in love. And being in love with him. The moments spent were magical. Except now they’re tainted with his betrayal and abandonment. People tell me I walked into that. I was too giving, too involved. Perhaps. But does that mean I had to face what I did?
Just the thought of him makes me feel so vulnerable and angry and sad and this whole mixture of emotions. I’d hate to imagine what would happen if I ever met him again. I could curse him to eternity, but that still won’t make me feel any better, nor make the pain any less. I try forgetting, just burying the memories – but they always come back to bite me in the ass when I least expect or want it.
I haven’t dated in over a year – P doesn’t count, we’re friends, weird as it is. I can’t get myself to open up. I mean casual meetings, friendly cafe hook-ups – I can do that. But I keep them at arms length. I can’t go through all of that again.I remember him and stop. That last look in his eyes as he walked away – that hatred, that disgust.
P is probably one of the things that keep me going. And my job. And my career plans. But everything seems so hollow and empty sometimes. I wonder why I even bother myself. But I don’t like P that way, and vice-versa. He’s comforting though. He’s been there for me as a friend, and sometimes more of an elder figure than my dad ever could be, except he isn’t my dad or entirely platonic. It’s weird to describe my relation with P. I just know that I depend on him as a friend since many of them aren’t in town.
I have issues…
Hot Chocolate…
Came across this recipe while surfing my fave blogs and it made me remember this one time I had the most exquisite hot chocolate ever. No matter where I have been and the numerous shops and cafes I’ve tried, none can compare.
It was summer, but winter as I was down south. I went to visit my aunt in Pretoria, but flew in from Jo’berg. As we were heading to the airport, we stopped en route from Pretoria to Jo’berg for a toilet break. It was in this nice plaza with fountains and restaurants and cafes lining the area. I don’t remember. I wish I did.
It was that time of the month and I wasn’t feeling too pleased, all cranky and crampy. So I order my ultimate comfort food: hot chocolate. It was an Italian grill and restaurant as far as I remember. And it came in this tall, Irish-coffee-type clear glass mug. And it was delicious. It was like having molten dark chocolate. It really eased my discomfort.
And I never experienced hot chocolate like that again. It’s either too milky or watery or sugary. I try to recreate at home, but it misses the creaminess and thickness of that divine drink. *sigh*
That aside, I haven’t been keeping very well. It’s that time of the month, and with the immunosuppressants and hormones that are in me, I’ve been under the weather. Plus the heat. And night shifts. I want to just curl into a ball and sleep.
P is feeling crushed. Turns out the ex got engaged. So all hopes of getting back are gone. I feel bad for him. But I’m always there for him as a friend.
Got to go now. Laters.
Mumblings…
Looooooong day. But thankfully, all the tech glitches were solved and we broadcasted the SHOOFcup in Fan Park live! yeay!
I just got pissed off with one of my colleagues. She just breezed in, criticized and left. One of those argh! moments.
The food is wayyyy too expensive inside, although the only thing worth eating is their garlic potato wedges. I should bring my own grub to eat.
I’m very sleepy. Probably write less gibberish on waking.
Soccer (and) Fever…
I’m currently sitting on a beanbag at Fan Park and wondering what to do. It seems like my colleagues have disappeared. Oh well.
I’ve been feeling ill and have been spending most of my days sleeping. I didn’t even go to work on Thursday. And today the night duty begins….oh bummer.
I am now on 5 different pills, all to be taken at different times. I feel like a drug-pusher.
My dad mailed me. It wasn’t a very nice mail. A bit threatening and emotional black-mailing. It makes me sad.
I don’t want to be here. I want to curl up into a ball and keep sleeping until this nausea and dizziness goes away.
Yummo..
I thought I’d catch up on some blogs I frequent – The Fat Expat being one of them. I’ve always been a foodie and was delighted by the recipes and food guide I found.
The Fat Expat’s potato dish was also another surprise. Because I make a very similar dish and my mom just informed me that there is Dhaka paneer in the house!!! So I shall be indulging myself in some of that. I may even post the recipe in the near future.
Back to watching Bones…
Fan Park…
Found out a day or two ago that I will have no social life this June due to our station being the media partner/sponsor/god knows for EURO 2008 Fan Park in Madinat Arena. Should be fun – if I were a soccer fan.
‘If’ being the operative word. *yawn* I know quite a few readers would kill to watch the games on such a huge screen, but this event means no life for me. I suppose the only good thing is that I don’t have to get up so early in the morning since I’ll be doing night shifts.
That aside, I’m getting addicted to watching “Bones”. Although I shouldn’t watch it while I’m eating. Porn and gruesome gunk are not meant to be watched with food. All that carnage kinda turns you off the dead carcass and dead vegetables in front of you.
My libido has gone for a toss with the nauseating cocktail of hormones I’m on. I don’t feel suicidal, but I feel sluggish all the same. Maybe it’s the heat.
I need romance. More than lust. I want the being driven around, taken to nice, fancy places and being treated like a lady – not being taken for fast food and then being driven around, the guy hoping to park somewhere dark and get a BJ.
*sigh*
