Tag Archives: heartache

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?

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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.

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up high.

Each climb requires a descend,
but all I desire is to fly,
wasting away high up in the sky.

dripping down melancholy
as I soar through clouds

embracing false evolutionary instinct
as the wind pummels against my eyes.

Even with the agony of sleet
breathlessness
rain-soaked skin

I’d rather never land
and instead keep drifting through
these stratocumulus clouds.

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No more. Moving on

I’m tired of downward spirals.

Mental health, physical health and emotional health will only get better from here on. Mistakes made owned up to, laziness acknowledged and just a whole lot more personal responsibility taken for the shit I do. 

That includes accepting the things I did not do and to love myself consistently, beyond mistake made and mistakes done to me. 

The planets are aligned to allow for self-realisation. All around me couples are ending their old commitments, as are people to themselves. They’re looking out for their own hearts, souls and future by sifting through the past.

I sifted through mine and found my heart still broken, found that behind the anger and hurt and bitterness was the young, innocent, fragile girl broken by the attention her body and energy attracted, broken by separating heart and body, love and sex. The one person she started to give her heart to smashed it to smithereens. He was unavailable and she took it, unable to believe that she could be wanted. She believed she was wanted and dreamed big until he revealed the lies he told through shared dreams and hopes and love.

That girl made an appearance again today when she thought of the boy she rejected for her first boyfriend, the one who she met at a time in her life when she was most detached from her heart, but told him she felt detached from him. The boy who loved so quickly she couldn’t accept it because she couldn’t love herself. And then she learnt that she could, but lost it again when she found out 8 months with her first love was all a lie.

If you’re reading this, Bug, I hope you know how sorry I am for hurting you. And I hope I’ll be able to say I’m sorry for what you had to experience rather than the apology I gave long ago that was simply a pity-party. 

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Deleting you

This isn’t the first.
Months prior, now hours ticking,
but technology is failing my
delusional, heightened momentary sense of
Empowerment.

Delete Chat
led to a lag
then shut down
break down

So Clear Chat,
over 6 months,
then over 30 days,
finally All messages.

Guess I’m thankful you never liked
being public with this relationship.

No pictures to clean out,
no relationship status to switch,
left only with toys and wilted bouquets.

I can clear you out,
one message at a time
at my own discretion,
quietly, secretly.

Tap tap, tap goes the screen.

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