Tag Archives: personal

Tactile Surreality.

Passing gradients and swirl dream dyes.

bumps, crackle, white-red sparks
chest expanding lifts,
tippity-top of the brain
rolling eyes.

oxygen widening the tubes
seeping into nubs
tinkling jerks and winces
clench

Smooth rippling tides by gentle lilies.

Self obsession a cure
for redirection
and healthy minds
healthy hearts
healthy lives.

Ease, a belief of connected souls.

snap, crunch, crackle, brittle
seeping, crystals, thick
soft, compact, tough
tender, hurried, curious.

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Jesus wept

two words

Jesus wept

I wept
I am weeping
the beauty of music is its ability to

shock our soul into
recognition of mortality

connection, flimsy contact

shaking and trembling
tears dripping
heart breaking

stiff and agonising realisation
mortal prison of flesh
the soul she cries

for she can not escape and mingle with her fragments
swirling with the universe

trapped shard in meaningless structures
false identities and constructs.

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Understanding my fear of abandonment

Let’s break it down.

Fear of abandonment.
Afraid to be left behind, to be left alone, to be alone.
To be ignored.
Fear of neglect, silence, disregard.

Fear of a lack of care and concern.
Fear that I am unloved and unwanted.
Fear that I am not worth

attention
attraction
affection

Panic sets in with a fog of fury,
rage and discontent,
outrage and offence,
disbelief and shock.

Worry and anxiety
leading to a need for control
to “get them back”

win them back

their attention and attraction back
putting me once again at number one,
the only one,
nothing should precede me and what I mean to them.

Clingy, desperate, eager to please
yes yes yes to everything just to get a positive response,
to know I am wanted and desired again.
With that, I am therefore kept.

I won’t be alone and tossed aside and made worthless,
useless,
not worth time and effort or love.

Nothing else matters but them behaving as I wish them to be,
or even just how they were talking to me a couple minutes ago.
Even if I was the reason for the change in tone

because I suggested we slow things down
and they just leave me because I don’t want them

and they oblige instead of disagreeing and fighting for me

if they Do fight for me, they appear clingy and I get disgusted.

Ironic.

But when I do it, it’s the only thing that I can do. I can’t focus on anything else but trying to “get them back” and get things back to how they were, to being wanted and loved, to having them text me.

I don’t care that it’s 2am now compared to the 7pm then. That they have work tomorrow or are busy right now, even if they are showering. If they aren’t replying, that means they don’t want me anymore and they might even hate me and are going to ignore me and give me the silent treatment and pretend I do not exist.

 

 

My mom gives me the silent treatment and pretends I don’t exist when she’s angry at me.

When I do something wrong, my parents tell me what a disappointment I am, that their years of bringing me up was for nothing because I ended up like this. It was a waste of their time and effort raising me up, useless to have done anything to have loved me.

They said cruel things like I am the worst child, that I am nothing if my mother dies, that they won’t care if I live or die and I can go and die for all they care.

When they get angry at me, I feel like the worst, cruelest human being on earth, that I don’t deserve to have lived and I am evil. Ungrateful, evil, worthless, not worth being looked at or talked to, mentioned by name or acknowledged as a living being. I become nothing. Ranted about in the third person behind closed doors but with loud petty voice who intend for me to hear everything, yet not worth the effort nor for my existence to be acknowledged by even talking about me in front of me and having me be seen.

 

I would watch as they argued and my dad would blame my mom saying she was at fault for everything, while she told him how useless he was.

I listened and took it in too, because it would be used on me too, the same words. Taught not to get a man like my father, here are all the things NOT to get in a man. Anyone who looked at me and called me beautiful and took what I told them, repackaged and gave it back to me, paid me a smidge of attention, was worth my world. Sad.

I accepted these guys though I knew they weren’t good people or healthy for me because I accepted that my worth was that of being second choice. Never first. That’s why all the married men. Justifying with open marriages is but a weak way to assert my false self-worth to stubborn ol’ me. That’s why till now, part of me thinks that my exes’ breaking up with me because I wasn’t worth being the only one when he was still so young, and not talking to me for a whole week (radio silences) because studies > talking to me, which he felt were tedious like updating his life to a jail warden, are somehow justified.

Why should I be afraid to have them not text back or initiate conversations, to have other people in their lives that aren’t me, or not prioritize me over every and anything. That’s so needy. So dependent. I am worth so so much more.

It’s just not apparent enough to myself just how much I’m worth though.

 

Gotta fix the two of them. Self-worth tied to fear of abandonment, and I have to work on them or I will fall forever into this tar pit of murky, cloying desperation and fear, neediness and full-blown panic attacks, extreme behaviours and controlling habits.

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December

It’s the day after my birthday.

No expectations were had and thus I had probably one of the best birthdays ever. Went to the botanical gardens with my ex colleagues and drank mojito, ates chips, talked (read: screamed) about sex and overall just had a ton of fun.

Went for dinner with them then came home and slept.

It’s been an interesting December.

After 3 months as the content marketing manager and PR manager at a wee startup with a boss who doesn’t know how to run or talk business, nitpicks and is incredibly rude, we find out he didn’t get the investment he’d promise would come in; that that was the only investment the company was banking everything on; that our boss got a new investment late in November and decided thus to reject an offer by a shareholder to take up over 40% of the shares where in return they would hire us all and pay off all his debt. Thus, I lost my job. And haven’t been paid for the last 2 months.

But, I’m waiting to hear from CAAS about the ATCO position, which I really really want because unlike marketing, it makes sense. I’m not manipulating people to buy something that they didn’t necessarily want. I’m helping land planes and make sure planes take off safely, ensuring people get to their families and loved ones all around the world. 

It’s interesting also because I think I’ve grown up quite a bit in the past 3 months. With my focus on growing my career, I’m no longer hung up on the need for “love”, or rather Attention. In this period of waiting, I’m bored and thus downloaded tinder, but now I’m bored of it too cause unlike the past, I no longer need the attention to feel worthy. I know I am. Working gave me that confidence when I saw my ability to grow and take on challenges in 3 months, and I saw my natural talkative self blossom in PR and networking and business development. It was fascinating, confidence building and so very encouraging.

I’ve also cut down on my pills, down to 1 every 4 days and my mood isn’t actually bad between those 4 days. The weight gain with these pills are a little crazy tho, so I’ve been focusing more on my diet. But this lazy girl ain’t working out like she should, so there’s that to work on.

Got a freelance writing job so at least I’ll have some disposable income until I get the job offer and confirmation, up till February when work begins.

I haven’t written in a while. Maybe I’m too bored but there’s nothing for me to really write about. Nothing seeking escape via dreams or words. 

I do miss writing though, so perhaps I’ll start a mini challenge of writing everyday till Christmas day. 

Hope everyone is doing well this festive season, and that y’all are surrounded by loved ones and loving ones.

Lotsa love, Aziel

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Storytelling

Back in 2014, when I was in Abu Dhabi for a Global Shakespeare Festival event hosted by NYUAD, one of the classes that struck me deeply was the one on storytelling. Our TA was telling us about Shakespeare and writing, and his own travelling experiences. Now I can’t fully recall where he was or who he talked to, but I remember very vividly a picture of the man.

He was old, skin folded with years of experiences etched across his face. And his eyes were light, piercing brown, staring deeply into my heart through his projected image, transcending time and medium. So the TA went on in detail about his trip and finally came to the topic of his conversation with this man. The man was telling him about the history of storytellers with his tribe, his ancestors. The importance of their roles as they passed on stories weaved from real life encounters and lessons learnt. That the soul of a storyteller lives on and is almost lying right beneath the surface; a storyteller never escapes their true calling. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about that moment since then. I’m at a stage of my life where I’m looking for a job right now, more specifically a career. It might be where I come from in terms of country and family upbringing but I’m taking the job hunt too seriously. This first job is to make my entire career. I’ve been stuck the past couple of months by fixating on finding a job that is stable financially and career-progression wise. But after lamenting a lack of response from a job I hyped myself up over (since I rejected a job I truly wanted for it), I’ve thrown in the towel: No more jobs that my parents want me to have; no more succumbing to brain-numbing careers. I want me something I care about.

Money is still an issue cause I believe in the whole Work to Live motto, but at the same time I want to try my hand at job opportunities outside of my comfort zone. I’m craving new experiences, I want to learn and grow and push myself. With that comes the need to be slightly picky because I don’t want to settle for a job that gives me nothing right? I know my worth as an employee, so I’m gonna seek our employers and job options that recognise my hard working, experience seeking, eager-eyed self, dammit!

Okay so it’s only been 2 real days since I restarted the job hunt, but I think I’m going about it in a better way. Not limiting myself to those I think I can do but also pushing the applications to those which I want to be able to do. Additionally, I know what I want out of it. A job that allows me to meet people or share a vision is important. Meet people in the sense of creating a connection, talking and sharing. That seems more like personal life perhaps, but I would like to be able to meet people from all walks of life, hold fascinating conversations with, basically engage in storytelling. A little tough when there’s the need for corporate professionalism and my job is most probably to sell the brand/services, but if I could find a way to engage in storytelling and listening while earning a living through it? Damn.

If you guys have any suggestions of such a job, I’ll love to hear it.

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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.

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I am a woman

I am a woman.
I bleed once a month, for typically 7 to 10 days.
I crave food, chips, carbs and sleep the week before,
my mood dips and I cry while laughing at everything.

I am a woman.
I have hair on my legs, under my arm,
on my arm, on my crotch,
between my breasts,
under my belly button.

I am a woman.
I am blessed with the privilege of creating a child in my womb.
I won’t be judged for liking feminine clothes.
I can like men without being labelled “unnatural”.

I am a human.
I am able to feel a plethora of emotions and
I am also able to feel nothing at all.
I am a female human.
I am a woman.

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Falling back

Since 5th July, I’ve been down and out. Falling back into cruel depressed routine. Must be cause I’ve stopped taking fluoxetine for about a month and the long half-life pills can’t help me out after a month long hiatus. 

Waiting for a job offer, waiting for graduation. The ceremony is on the 27th but I’m torn between wanting everyone I love to be there, and not going at all. My best friend won’t be able to make it because she’s in Malaysia. I don’t have enough tickets for my sister and her family to come. I don’t really have that many close friends to invite, plus those that I do have are working adults and the ceremony is on a Wednesday. 

If I start work before the 27th, will I have to go back to the office? I wonder if I will be celebrating after the ceremony. If I will take pictures of course mates. I don’t even want to see anyone. 

I so desperately want to be in love and be in comfortable togetherness but my need to have someone else fix my problems and make me feel better constantly is toxic, for both parties. Until I can control my problems better, through medicine and counselling or other means, I shouldn’t date nor even allow myself to fall in love.

But how do you control your heart without losing the ability to love fully? Need my magical pills again.

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dandelion

Real dandelion ring , dandelion seed jewelry , good luck ring , dandelion wish , mini terrarium jewellery , botanical jewelry , make a wish

(Real Dandelion Ring, Ruby Robin Boutique)
(Old Cabin – Where Did You Go)

fingerprints melded with heated sand
sunlight shy of heat
embalmed with memories and longing

night sky drifting, spinning, glorious ascent
floating beneath starry gazes
watching as life springs up under cool soil

musky wood, bonfires, community
dreams and wishes, soft breath
counting the hours on puffs of dandelion

sink into smoky wisps, curling,
the fire sparks and flits
captivating potential for destruction
locking eyes, thorned connection.

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The guilt of being raped

I’ve been doing so much searching and reading since I’ve come to the realisation that I was raped. Searching for things like ‘was it rape if I don’t remember’, ‘not remembering my rape’, ‘not remembering my rape and feeling okay’.

All I’ve been able to find are recounts by women who explicitly said no, struggled physically, crawled away, felt pain in their vaginas after, cried, were afraid to say no, had flashes of memories where the men were on top or in them.

My sole memory was of his head between my legs, and I remembered it feeling good.

To know logically and be told by the people I was out with the night before that I was intoxicated, stumbling around drunk with no memories of most of the night; to know that the people I was with told me that I needed to go back cause I was too drunk, and that he offered to send me back cause he wanted to head back anyways; knowing he was completely sober; remembering him telling us about his wife and his promise to keep sober to her. Yet, even knowing all these, to doubt that I was raped and that it was possibly my fault, even asking my friend the next day if I was hitting on him and thus caused the encounter to happen. They all weigh on my mind and heart so deeply and heavily.

I can’t find a single account that would help me feel okay with what happened, to justify that my rape was real, that it happened to me, that I’m not falsely accusing him of taking advantage of me. With each article I read, each forum, each comment, all I feel is guilt that my experience, my memory of what happened, was not ‘good enough’, was not ‘proper’.

As though being a victim of rape needed guidelines:

  • You can’t trust men anymore
  • You can’t feel sexual desire anymore
  • You must have remembered instances of the sexual assault
  • You must have been physically hurting from the encounter
  • You must be psychologically scarred from the encounter
  • You’re never going to want to be alone with men again
  • You’re never going to want to drink in public again

But I barely have any of these, and I feel bad, like I’m a fraud. Like I’m not a ‘good example’ of a rape victim and therefore I might not be… entitled to that label. To proclaim or even mention that I went through a rape.

I’m told by feminist friends to stop drinking so much, to not trust guys so easily, to take better care of myself from now on. I was firmly told by doctors that I should report the rape because I need to do my job and help protect other women out there from being at a risk of him in the future. Sure, they said things like “omg I’m so sorry babe” and was ‘comforted’ by their verbal bashings of him, but at the end of the day, I still feel responsible for what happened. Yes he sucks, but they still give advice on how I can prevent it because “there will always be men out there who are not right in the head and will rape you if they can, so you need to protect yourself.” And I’m left feeling simultaneously guilty for allowing the rape to happen, and potentially not being applicable for the title of rape victim.

So this post is for every person out there who was raped while drunk and couldn’t remember anything. For every person out there who trusted that married, sober guy who promised he would take care of you. For the people who were able to feel pleasure. Who aren’t sure if you were penetrated by his penis. Who feel guilty for not being aware till a week later that you were actually raped.

Your rape experience was real. No one can take that away from you. You deserve to feel hurt and vulnerable. You deserve to feel a plethora of emotions, even if it’s not what you think it should be. There are no rules to being raped, to being a victim or a survivor of rape. It’s okay, I’m here for you, my loves. 

Keep strong, I’m rooting for you.

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