Tag Archives: commitment

In which, I Potato.

There’s a phrase called Jiak Kan Tang, meaning to eat potatoes. It’s used in slight mockery of those who were born Asian but are more westernised in thought and behaviour. That is to say, preferring potatoes over rice.

Potato is also a great meme for the awkward girl, potating away in potatoland, awkwardly poting about while embodying both the essence and physicality of the potato.

I’m both.

I believe it is this Potato Identity that has often left me in a perpetual state of singledom. Not just single and ready to mingle. Or even just single and happy. I’m just, potato. Even when I’m in a relationship, I’m just preparing myself to be launched from a potato missile into singlehood.

Bitter and mouth-curling when raw with emotions, crumbly and mushy when heated. God I’m such a potato.

True, a potato can be delicious, but it’s tiring just being seen as delicious when embellished with someone else’s favourite garnish or sauce. Then again, I wouldn’t have me raw, or cooked and plain.

Even when I do meet people who seem to like the potato that is me, all I can think about is: Why? Too many YouTube good channels have taught me that potatoes in their natural state or least worked on are the worst state of potating. They may insist they like a nice, steaming, clean baked potato, but all I see is the crumbly, dry rubble of my innards. Or perhaps they exclaim that they admire the intensity of my raw emotions, yet all I hear is that they enjoy the vulnerability, that they see me for the potential not yet achieved.

It’s easiest to say I do best when discarded, forgotten and left alone. You see buds sprouting in abandoned potatoes after all. Yet I can’t seem to realise that loving nurture, water and nutrients help me become a plant, not just the sprouting of some weak shoots that wilt in weeks.

As I long for the quiet, dark dirt to bury me in self-pity, self-hatred, and self-sabotage, I’m resigned to be dug up by sharp claws and snivelling snouts. When all you know are cuts and intrusive smothering, a gentle touch still feels like a shimmering bolt of lightning.

Oh my Potato self, oh Potato me. Won’t you allow him to hold and grow you into a green, leafy plant? Why do you revert to staying rooted in your ways?

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Shifting plates

Swaying with the autumn wind,
Swept about with every gust
Never landing, never settling

So far from her branch
Broken off and now
Drifting along with the torrential tides high

Wave upon wave of uncertainty
Ripples of opinions
So far from the pebbly beach

Withdrawing after each crash
Each crush
Falling past the edge of cliffs

Down the rabbit hole
Through the clouds
Two feet always on shifting plates.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

In-between love and _____

Softly
En Pointe
Through eggshells,
Glass fragments
Shattered mirror shards.

Quietly pushing
Confrontation
Needle-point in cracks
Faint hairlines engorged

Crackles, thunderous
Silent treatments
Deafening distance
Tormenting anxiety

Haunted mansions in the air,
Pull and push in limbo,
They lived uncommunicative ever after.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Anxiety 

Jumping between sweet nostalgia and fear lumping in the throat. Panic at the thought of meeting up and connecting, talking and sharing, fear and inability to breathe, constricted throat, wife awake tight lungs.

Sadness, salty singular drops down one cheek and tiny cold winds spreading across the chest before they’re sacked back in or blown away

by the suffocating paralysing fear of connecting and communicating and potentially reconnecting. 

Hunched shoulders making the body small tiny invulnerable protected and hidden 

The fear is big and swallowing me whole starting from the blocked throat tempting me to drag in deep puffs of oxygen and revive the cruel paradox of survival instincts, reaching throughout my belly and soles leaving them knotted and cold, that chill that can not be touched between the layer of atoms preventing us from truly touching anything, forever apart and forbidden true contact with everything for all we feel is the repelling of atoms against ours so the love and touch we draw our comfort from is false. A lie. We are only feeling their repulsion their rejection.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Advertisements
%d bloggers like this: