I hyper-ventilated with anger last night. Shivered. Down to the core of my being. It was all a bout of SMSing with that Asshole – but I am more at peace now. I know that he will never heal from the scars that I can inflict on him. It leaves me feeling that at least one woman would be avenged the thousand of wrongs that men inflict.
I also learned yesterday that those letters that passed between Do and I might be published! The funny thing is that I half don’t remember what is in those mails – I dread seeing them actually, fearing that it might open a fresh tear on a newly stitched wound.
What strange times I am going through though. On one hand, I am excited and nervous about this opportunity – it would be wonderful if it really can click. And then on the other, I am wondering about my own path in life – not just on the job front but on the life front. This whole mess of a life I have led the past two years – the months in China were a blessing in between – my thoughts that have drifted across meaningless deserts that know no oasis – and my words that drifted across this desert like sand on paper – flitting but never resting. I feel I am getting those words back – I feel the desire to write – and I feel part of this desire has arisen from old feelings of pain and anger. I wonder why we should suffer to write. Why can’t writing be a happy process? Why can’t happiness be creative? Why is that only pain and angst, distress and anger result in words scarred like a beautiful ray on a razor’s edge?
I have also had a rather busy past few days compared to the sloth of the past few weeks. There were guests from the US, a birthday party to attend, and books to read. I finished reading “The Good Women of China” – a book that shocked me.
I realized how naive I was during my first visit to China, and even on my second. I was not looking at the country as much as I was trying to find my own vacuum – my own space – my own void in a blankness that was all enveloping. I was too self-centered but then again, I had no self to center myself on. I was not looking at China as much as I was looking to China. To find a way in a muddle, to find the mess out the muddle of my life – I never did see China. I did not see its evils. I was trying too hard to escape them. Why seek them afresh in another country?
Is that we travel? To see more or to see less? I wish that there were some answers sailing in the wind. I find my mind too much of a morass to seek the questions behind the answers behind the questions. Perhaps I never knew…
