by Szeying Tan
I don't feel inadequate. Seriously, I don't.
I just feel angry all the time.
Well, sometimes.. most times, I don't feel anything.
I could never understand how I could feel this much rage.
Maybe, I accumulated it along the way...
23 years of living...
just 15, I guess, not counting the years of oblivious bliss.
15 years yet I don't know why people can make me feel so inadequate.
Inadequate and angry. Hopeless.
Pain can be addictive and trivial matters may hurt.
Anger brings desperation, heartache, a dulling desperate pain,
a choking feeling in my throat.. so caustic that I have to remind myself to breathe.
And yet, the breathing gets easier, and time passes and I go on.
One hour after another, one day piled on another, one year.. one life..
Like all things transient, it all passes me swiftly by. Finally, I've succumbed to the role of an observer, hanging from some ledge, observing my world, my loves, my people..
My life nonchalantly nipping at my toes.. passing me by.
Catching yourself while you fall is not an easy thing.
Both hands hanging on by a thread and feet dangling.
Will I soar if I let go?
Or will I just plummet into nothing.
And if I do drown into blackness, will someone notice?
About the Author:
Szeying Tan's prose piece "Disintegration" appeared in the December, 1997 issue of Grrowl!.
What do you think?
[pennies] [you don't bring me flowers anymore] [her bittersweet revenge]