I wish I was Katniss Everdeen

A couple of weeks ago, Rachel lent me The Hunger Games trilogy. It took me a while to get back into the habit of reading but I finally finished the first book last weekend and now I've found my pace again and I'm already halfway through book two.

No matter what people say. I am selfish. I know that. I can't be Katniss Everdeen. I don't have her strength or selflessness. I can't marry someone I don't love to ensure the well-being of my family. I thought I was weaker than a fictional character and it's okay because she's not real. But there are Katniss Everdeens in this world. My mother is one of them.

Because, I feel that my situation and worries are nothing compared to the suffering of some people I know, I don't tell my friends anything. Yesterday, I asked my cousin if I could get away with not telling Mark that I would be moving to Wollongong next year.

"Not a chance" He replied. "You're going to bump into him and how are you going to explain that?"

I can't remember the last time I talked to Mark about my life. He promised that he would protect me. But I can't depend on him for happiness. I had to save myself. I had to find an escape myself. Telling him about moving to Wollongong would involve telling him about how I had to endure everything after we broke up. I'm not sure how to do that yet.

April

April to me is the start of a new season. The days are becoming more cold, more windy. I'm writing more now compared to last month where I sat with writer's block. I'm writing every day and it feels great. Everytime I finish a piece, I get a rush of satisfaction. It's so thrilling.

April is National poetry month. I'm also participating in the A to Z April Challenge, where 26 of my poems will be written in alphabetical order. So far it is going great. I love the sound of alliteration so I use it for all my titles. I think X and Z will be a definite difficulty but I'm optimistic.

I can't spend my days wallowing in despair. And I refuse to. Doing these writing challenges makes me feel productive. I haven't written a piece of prose in ages and it's frustrating but I will concentrate on what I can do for now instead of drowning in what I can't.

I am determined to smile brightly every day.

It is another week and another postponed date.

I'm not disappointed.

I saw it coming.

I'm just tired of broken promises.

Self reminder

I think, in my haste to move on, I instead have glued myself to the past.
I have to constantly remind myself that it is okay to go at my own pace. That even though you have already moved on, it doesn't mean I have to also. At least not yet. But it doesn't mean to plague myself with memories and drown. It's okay to take one day at a time.

Memory

When I close my eyes, my mind always go back to that room. Inside your room that was filled with our love. On that day, when I lied curled inside your warmth, I thought that we would be together for a long time. I thought you would never become a memory. I was still innocent then. In a second, everything could change.

Life doesn't give me time to hesitate. I can't keep on reliving memories. I have to walk forward with determination to make up for what I lost. It is only then, that I would be able to control my future.

My pillars of strength

When you finally gather the courage to let someone know your fears, it is not so that they can judge you but so that they know that you need help. I have been feeling really well lately despite the issues I still have to face. I decided that tonight was a good night to tell my parents about my chronic nightmares because I wasn't worried about them anymore.

Hand holding the bottle of pills and crying, I told them about the nightmares. I told them I was killed and abused in every way imaginable. My mother's reply, straight out was, ' It's because you're a bad person.' Tears stopped, I looked at her in disbelief. How could she say that when I was openly showing her my vulnerability? She said, 'It's because you're bad to me that you're being punished.'

I felt myself crumbling apart again. But there were people who held me together. My brothers told me that they appreciate what I do for my family. My best friend told me not to listen to my mother, that I'm a good person. Mark, my ex-boyfriend told me that although we don't communicate much anymore, he still cares about me. Mark says that before he met me, he lost faith in humanity but I alone represent what's good about people. I feel very humble and honoured by his words. I don' think I deserve such appraisal but to know that someone thinks so highly of me gives me strength to smile. He told me about someone he knew who committed suicide today. He worries that I would break down from everything that's been going on. He quoted my own words back to me and told me to remember them, 'I may be small but these wings will fly high.' He says that although he worries, he knows I'm strong. I have always been everyone's pillar.

And these people, who care so much about me are my pillars of strength. I admit that I have thought about suicide once but I won't. Running away does not solve anything. I know there are heaps of people who care about me, I won't ever hurt them by ignoring their support and belief in me.

I am grateful that I am blessed to have these people in my life: my brothers, Rachel, Mark, my cousin and blogger friend B.

Good

These days, I wake up from dreams smiling. They're strange dreams with no meaning at all. I can't remember the last time I had nonsensical dreams that weren't nightmares. They're not happy dreams but they're not bad ones either. That for me is good enough for now.

Recently, I have been calm and collected again.  It's been a while but I feel like I have control over my emotions now. I'm not emotionally unstable anymore. I don't cry at every little thing or feel like I'm crumbling away. I don't feel broken anymore.

Maybe this is partially because of Antenex and partially because I have finally come to terms with myself and others around me. Things are slowly progressing the way I want them. Inch by inch. There are still complications but I'm not worried anymore. I don't know how long this feeling will last but I'm cherishing it while I still have it.

What keeps me going is that this time next year, I will be in Wollongong. I will be living in a sea side city where beaches are within walking distance. I will finally be studying a degree in creative writing. Something, I had dreamt of since I was 11 years old. I will finally be free. But it doesn't mean I'm abandoning my family. I will come visit during weekends and student holidays. I won't ever stop caring about them. This isn't running away like a spoilt teenager. This is me finding my independence.

As soon as I pay my residence fees, I'm telling everyone of my decision.

Days

Slowly the days go by. Day one. Day two. Day three. The number of days we don't speak gradually accumulate on my calender. The paragraphs we used to write have become sentences. One day, we might stop talking altogether.

There used to be days where we spent every waking second talking about everything and anything. Now I'll be lucky if you shared anything with me at all. There used to be days where we used to travel half-way across the state just to spend a few hours together. Just to see your smile. Just to feel your warmth. I miss those moments. I miss our stolen moments together.

Those days are gone now. But I'm sure there will come a day when I won't hurt anymore. A day where I will stop blaming myself for letting go and you for not holding onto me. Because I have accepted that our past is our past. It won't become our future. But I will always remember the way you used to look at me. Nothing will change my memory of your blue eyes. Because it always showed that you loved me.

Question of morality

I wanted to ask my mother for advice tonight. Between my fingers, I fiddled with the bottle of Antenex. I wanted to know if I should continue taking the medication. I wanted her to know that I have a problem. But I felt almost silly in wanting to tell her about the nightmares. My problems feel so insignificant compared to everything she's been through. It feels so little compared to what my family is going through right now.

My mother thinks I'm a bad person. She's asking me to make an extremely big sacrifice for this family. But I can't comply with her request. If it was anything else, I would have agreed. I can't do what she did. I can't marry someone I don't love. I am not as selfless as she. I can't make that sacrifice. It's not only my happiness at stake, but also my future career. I can't pursue what I want to do in life if I become bound to this marriage.

What's the measurement of goodness? What makes a person good? The amount of charities they do? The number of sacrifices they make? I try to be a good person, I really do. I know I'm not a saint. I am selfish at times but I never thought that I was actually a bad person. So when she told me that she thought I was, I tucked away the pills into my pocket.

She doesn't need to know.

Last night

Last night, I spent about an hour picking up and putting down the bottle of pills. I so desperately wanted to sleep without the fear of having nightmares that in real life would make the bravest of men tremble. But I worried that I would grow dependent of these drugs. Mark, (ex-boyfriend, best-guyfriend and trusted confidant) said that I should find other means of stopping the nightmares and only use medication as a last resort. My best-friend, Rachel also agreed with Mark but I decided to listen to the doctor and give Antenex a try. One night couldn't hurt right?

Right. Last night was the first time in ages that I went to bed feeling happy. About 10 minutes after swallowing the pill, I started feeling relaxed and a general feeling of euphoria. It was like that one time, I got drunk on tequila. But around 4 in the morning, I woke up, went to the bathroom, came back to bed and couldn't return to sleep. I tossed and turn for an hour before becoming exhausted and drifted off, thinking, 'Is this going to happen every night?'

Antenex 2

This morning, I went to my family doctor about my problem with nightmares. It felt weird to finally verbally admit to someone that I may have a problem. Someone that actually listened, even if it's their job to. A month ago, I tried telling my mother that I've been having chronic nightmares but she shut me down before I even finished the sentence.

My doctor gave me prescription to a drug called Antenex 2. It's supposed to relieve anxiety. I did some research and found that your emotions before you sleep affects your dreams. So if you go to sleep stressed or unhappy, that could increase the chances of nightmares. Antenex is only meant for temporary purposes so I don't know what will happen after I finish them. I know that nightmares are caused by stress and the nightmares add to my anxiety so it's a double edge sword. So maybe, if the medication works, I'll be able to focus to on fixing other aspects of my life.

Parents vs children

I don't know if it's an Asian thing or a Vietnamese thing or it's just my parents. And I wouldn't have ever realised this on my own because I was raised this way. It wasn't until my ex-boyfriend pointed it out to me that I realised that maybe he was right. My parents taught me to not fight for my beliefs.

Ever since I could remember, when my brothers and I were being lectured by my parents, we were never given an opportunity to speak up. There were so many incidents of being accused of something we didn't do and if we even tried to open our mouths to defend ourselves, to give our opinion on a matter, we were shut down and called, 'disrespectful children'. But we weren't disrespecting them, we were merely trying to defend our beliefs.

Somewhere in these 20 years, I gave up trying to make them understand. I learnt that the quickest and least painful method with dealing with these situations was to merely stand quietly and let their anger wash over me. But it's so wrong. It's so wrong.

This morning, I watched as my step-father discipline my youngest brother. He was lecturing my brother about watching tv and playing at the park. He said that all my brother does all day is play around. That's not true. I make sure that this is not true. Everyday, I make sure he does his homework, reads for at least 30 minutes and does writing exercises (we're working on his handwriting). My step-father works from afternoon til night so he is never home after school on weekdays. I know he works hard to provide for our family. He cares for our education and future. But it's not only my step-father, my mother also doesn't like my brother playing outside after school.

There is nothing wrong with playing outside with friends after school. Education is vitally important, we all understand this but what my parents don't understand is that we're not robots. We have feelings and emotions. And they're being neglected. My parents aren't bad parents. They do a wonderful job of ensuring our future but being good parents means listening to your children. Because children have opinions that matter too.

My brother couldn't defend himself. He tried to speak up and tell his father that he does pay attention to his education but all his sentences were being cut off. And I couldn't defend him either. The last time I questioned my parents' disciplining, I was almost thrown out of the family. We were taught to never question authority because apparently they're always right and we're always wrong.

That's not true. That cannot be right. That is not what parents should be telling their children. Parents should not teach children to be defenceless against others. If we can't even defend our beliefs inside the safety of our own home, how could we possibly fight for our beliefs in the bigger world?

Nightmares

I'll let you on a secret. Sometimes, I'm afraid to sleep so I stay up as late as possible into the night and watch as the hours go by my window. I'd rather be tired than embraced by the decaying arms of zombies and psychotic murderers. But I always fall asleep somewhere between fear and dawn.

This has been going on for more than a year now. The nightmares come once or twice a month, sometimes 3 or 4 times a month. I'll tell you another secret. Sometimes, I feel like a child again, waking up and crying in distress. I'm a complete emotional mess. My shoulders shake violently and the tears don't stop. And I know it's all just a really horrible dream but my emotions are already in haywire, they don't listen. All they know is that those situations were as real as it could be. There was so much blood. Such graphic scenes. Was the person I was killing really a zombie or my friend from high school?

I'm at my wit's end. I think I'm slowly losing my mind. The line between reality and fantasy are blurring. I can't take these nightmares anymore. They have to end. I don't know how but I have to find a way to put a stop to them. Before I go insane.

I'm happy that you're happy.
I just feel so sick in the stomach. 

Steganography

Words are a blank canvas inside my head.
They are the night sky without the twinkling stars.
There used to be days where we would count the empty spaces like the alphabet.
One is the letter A: without the support beam; it is merely a broken down tent.
Two is the letter B: a butterfly with half its wings clipped out.
Three is the letter C: an incomplete circle of me and the cut out piece of you.

What happened to those days where Knights of the Round Table practised courtship?
When “I love you” meant a promise of forever?
And not these little mind games that end at the tip over of an hour glass.
Where sand buries memories like ancient cities that may never have existed. 

Poetry is the incomplete heart beat of words I’ll never say out loud.
They are the whispers of wishes without a genie from the lamp.
There used to be days where we would watch dreams flutter by my window.
Spring was when we played chasies with young puppy love.
Summer was when sleepless nights meant losing ourselves in the war of depression.
Autumn is our chance to let go of baggage to make room for new smiles.  

Because, memories are meant only as keepsakes.
Precious little diary scrawls locked away at the bottom of my bedside table.
They’re not supposed to burden the world on our shoulders like Atlas.
Love can always be found, if not with another, then at least inside your own heart.  

Ready set go

Ever since I could remember, we have always been either fighting or running away from our problems. My earliest memories were filled with days of angry voices booming through my bedroom door. After my parents' divorce, my mother remarried. It was the first time she truly loved a man. And he loved her too.

But he was a broken man. His love was twisted. His emotions were poisoned by the alcohol he drank and his mind was messed up by the long hours of gambling. I'm sure he wasn't always like that. There must have been a time where he had control of his life. I just never saw it. All I remember were the nights where I listened to the sounds of smashed up hearts and broken up tea pots. I remember days where my mother and I ran away, vowed to never come back but we always did. Because, she loved him. She thought that he would eventually realise that too but he never did. He was driven by his imaginery ideas of infidelity.

One day, we did eventually leave for good. By then, I had been in and out of school so many times that the women's refuge was already my second home. This time, we stayed there for half a year until my mother had things stabilized. I attended a local school where teachers watched out for me especially, concerned that I was affected by my circumstances. They said that I had come from a broken home. 6 year old me didn't understand it's meaning.

Ever since I could remember, my mind had developed a survival mechanism. It was a psychological fight or flight response. If I was in a stressful situation and unable to physically run away, my mind would automatically shut down. Chronic fainting was my way of escaping situations I couldn't handle. I haven't fainted in 2 years. I would like to think I've become mentally stonger, even if only a little. Every time, I've been put under a difficult situation where I'm emotionally stressed out, even though my knees felt like jelly and my hands shook violently, I willed myself to stand and see through to the end of the argument. Because, I know running away is to lose and let your opponent win. And even though they won the battle, every time I stand firm, is a little victory for myself.

The beginning

When I think about the beginning. From start til now, how I became the person that I am and how I got here, I always go back to my parents. My mother doesn't believe in love. At least, not romantic love. But she loves family. She is the most filial person I know. She would do anything for my grandparents.

Her marriage to my father was a business deal. One that she readily agreed upon. He was to leave Vietnam for a better life and his parents needed someone capable to look after him. They were willing to pay in gold. My mother agreed. Her family needed the money. After the Vietnam war, her family suffered and left in poverty. My grandfather, who used to hold a high military position was stripped of his job and became a fisherman. Fishing was not enough to feed two ageing adults and four growing adolescents. My mother, the eldest child, made the ultimate sacrifice. At age 21, she married my father, left her family, left the country on a tiny boat and escaped to another country, in hopes of starting a better life, not only for herself, but for the family she left on shore.

My parents lived in Malaysia for 2 years before they arrived in Hobart, Australia. It was 1991, the year I was born. My fear of being alone and my obsession with the search for true love, I think stems from this very day. On the day I was born, my mother was alone in the hospital. My father was not there to welcome me into this world.

Because, on the day I was born, he was too busy playing chess.

I will always remember the hurt in my mother's eyes when she told me that my beginning was the start to their end.

 I never blamed myself for their divorce though. I never once believed that a child is at fault for the failings of their parents. Because, children are born innocent. And even though my father was not at my birth, he was there to name me. He gave me my middle name. He based my name off a bird because he wanted to set me free.

Anonymous writer

A friend told me that when we experience hard times, it is important to be able to release our emotions. I am a shaken up coke bottle with it's lid screwed on tightly. And I know that is unhealthy but I didn't know how to let go of my pent up emotions when I am constantly surrounded by people I can't share these emotions with. The same friend suggested to start an anonymous blog in order to freely express myself.

So here I am. This blog is a way for my voice to be heard when it is usually supressed. Everyone that will be mentioned in this blog will be under an alias as although other people's lives are entwined with mine, it doesn't give me the right to expose them to the world without their knowing. I am hoping that with the creation of this blog, I will be able to regain the footing I lost last year and be on the path to self discovery.