Hawa

I called Mother on the way to work, and she was happy that I would be wearing the hijab. “Why don’t you just wear the hijab [even in your private life]? You are much prettier with the hijab on.”

I get that it’s her attempt to persuade me, but I feel some kind of way about it. I mean I’m on a journey to learn to love myself, all aspects of myself, but the jab still kinda lands, you know? Like I’m not exactly insecure about the way I look, but I’m not fully convinced that I’m pretty either, although I should be.

But more to the point, tho, my objection to the hijab is not about the way it makes me look, but rather what it symbolises – that every part of my existence is sinful. Like, just by default. Every inch of a woman’s skin, save that of her face and palms, is a sin that must be covered, hidden, purified. Every inch.

Why? Why did god make me if my entire existence is offensive?

Trust your instincts

I have kicked Mr. Virgo out of my life.

I should have listened to my guts when I tried to disentangle before. Instead, he gave me his salesmanship pitch, I want you to be in my life, and despite all signs up to then being to the contrary, I gave him a second chance.

Then a third and a fourth and a fifth.

But now I think, I can’t go on letting him leave me unread – yep, not even on read – for hours and hours on end. I mean I get that we’re busy people, but he acts the same even during times when he’s supposed to be free. I have told him that if he wanted to be left alone to please just tell me that and don’t let my insecurities run amok, but he keeps ignoring that request. I mean I know I’m not his girlfriend, but that’s just basic courtesy for someone you wanted in your life, right?

What’s worse than that is that I really get a sense that he doesn’t want me in his life at all unless we’re having sex. He kept making vague plans with me, and then come the day and I’ll say so when are we doing that, and he’s like, oh let’s go a bit later. And I’ll wait till the afternoon and he’ll say, you know what, I’m actually quite tired can we postpone till tomorrow morning? And then tomorrow morning it’s the same story all over again.

I mean I wanna be that chill, accommodating girl, but I gotta have some self-respect, right?

Me, deconstructed

I ended everything with my two misters yesterday. They triggered my abandonment issues and I responded with the classic defence mechanism of abandoning them before they could abandon me.

I mean I kinda know that I have abandonment issues. I must have known that, given things I have written on here, and yet I was still blindsided by the whole thing. In retrospect, what must have triggered me into going on the dating apps and subsequently dating the two misters must have been a sense of being abandoned by Lil Sis, even if I didn’t realise it at the time and couldn’t have articulated it before yesterday.

Realising-not-realising my abandonment issues is one thing. The bigger thing was finally learning that as a side effect of my upbringing, I actually have insecure attachment style. Just to give an example, if the two misters were slightly delayed in responding to my texts I would already have 10,000 thoughts running in my head about how they no longer want anything to do with me, when in reality they’re all just really busy people. I guess it’s worse with Mr. Atheist because he’s open about having multiple girls in his life, and he’s even mentioned that he considers needing constant attention a red flag. So there I was desperately wanting attention and yet trapped because he’s said not to be needy. But where was the line, you know? Was I supposed to just wait there like a wallflower when he leaves messages unread for days? Even under normal circumstances that would signal utter uninterest, don’t you think?

Anyway, insecure attachment style? Really? Me? Insecure? But I’ve never been insecure? Okay that’s a lie, but I’m more confident than most, no? I mean no one could dampen my sense of self-worth and I have happily been a single dog all these while. How can we say that I have not only insecure attachment style but the worst type – disorganised aka fearful-avoidant?

But everything slots in now. It would explain so many things, like why my self-worth was seemingly impervious before, why I never tried to be in a relationship, and why, despite that, I always had imaginary boyfriends. Because subconsciously I must have understood it all: the only person who would not disappoint me, and hence whose opinion should matter, was me myself. But the criterion that sets apart disorganised attachment style from avoidant was that the disorganised style wants to have relationships despite fearing them. Because I couldn’t trust anyone real to date I ended up dating imaginary boyfriends of whose thoughts and actions I was in complete control. I guess previously I was content with my imaginary boyfriends because Lil Sis was in the picture, but since Lil Sis is getting married soon, it’s put me in a pickle, hasn’t it?

Mr. Atheist skeedadled the moment I said the reason I was leaving was because I needed more than what he was offering. Mr. Virgo, bless his soul, said not to be hasty and that we might or we might not get there, but we should give ourselves a chance. A relationship takes time. He even says to take sex out of the equation until we figure things out.

I am being really, really brave now in giving our relationship a chance. The insecurity in me is screaming that I have ruined any chance I might have with Mr. Virgo by my self-sabotage, but he seems patient enough to try and understand what he’s dealing with. I’m worried that he’s going to think it might be too much work dealing with me and he will decide not to take the trouble. But what he thinks is his prerogative and I mustn’t worry myself about it, at least that’s what all the resources that I have on the attachment styles are saying. All I can do is try to heal myself and take that brave step of trusting somebody.

It’s difficult, and even at this very moment I’m remembering my college literature teacher’s decision to transfer due to a family situation, a decision that I took as a betrayal and which cemented my belief that the only person who you could trust to never disappoint you is yourself. That was a pivotal incident in my life, and I guess I have never forgiven her, huh? Like, not that I keep grudges, and I hope she’s happy wherever she is now, but I have never considered things from her perspective, that at the end of the day we were a job but her family was her family. Of couse there was no question about which she should have prioritised. But on my end, I was discovering a love of literature at that point and no one previously had touched my soul when it came to reading and I must have unconsciously imprinted on her, especially as she had promised that she wouldn’t transfer until after the exams. That must have been why the perceived betrayal hit me so hard that 15 years later I’m still messed up from it. But it wasn’t her fault, and whatever success I have today some parts of it could be directly traced back to her.

Who knew Lil Sis marrying Mr. Konk would force me to confront my trauma? I’m in an uncomfortable position right now, but I’m also quite excited about the future. Sure there’s a lot of work to be done, but the prospect of becoming a secure, confident, and mature woman after addressing my trauma brings a smile to my face and makes me hopeful. Here’s to a brighter future.

Surrogates

What do I want out of my relationships with people?

I don’t know what happened but I’m not in a healthy place emotionally. I used to be content to be alone. I used to be happy bingeing on dramas for hours on end. I don’t know what changed but I’m no longer there.

And I find that I want to be the centre of someone’s universe. I mean I know that sounds selfish, but I don’t mean it in the literal, toxic kind of way. I just want to be someone’s priority and for that someone to be happy that they are prioritising me.

I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by Lil Sis. I know she is not in a good place, but every time she calls me it’s to unload. Besides the fact that nothing happy ever happens in her life nowadays, she’s completely overlooked my place in the interaction. Did my day go well? Did my day go badly? She’s not interested. Because her day sucked, she had no energy to consider my day. It almost made me cry when I went on the solo trip and I wanted to gush about my discoveries and daydream about a time when we can go to these or similar places together, and she completely dismissed it out of hand.

She still doesn’t know that I’ve slept with Mr. Virgo. Three times. Three satisfying times. Come to think of it, I think she also doesn’t know that Mr. Atheist took my virginity. How did that happen? For me to have something so big and not be able to tell her?

Maybe Lil Sis is what happened. My life, you’re aware, is slightly to the left. I can’t tell things that happen in my life to anyone, even closest friends that I genuinely value, except for Lil Sis. She’s the only one who really, really knows. But now, due to her job, her mental health, and her getting married – I have lost her, haven’t I?

And I’m trying to find someone to replace her in a classic case of transference, aren’t I? And while the sex is cool, the two misters in my life aren’t exactly looking for emotional engagement, and that leaves me feeling frustrated. I don’t like this word here, but that’s the fact isn’t it?

I’m suddenly remembering the film Her and I’ve suddenly understood it.

Harem

Mr. Atheist took me out last night to watch Eternals, but both of us were fully aware that this was a pretext. I mean, he requested that I came sans bra and I complied, so we all know what’s going on here.

Last night was a night of firsts for me: first date, first sip of beer (horrendous, by the way. Like stale fermented things, eurgh), first kiss; he touched and sucked my tits, and he tried to feel me up but my jeans got in the way. He said, wear a skirt next time. And then, realising, you do have a skirt? Awww sweets.

Before any of the shenanigans began, I asked him how many girls he was kissing at the moment. A purely practical question, you know. I need to know in order to be safe. If counting me, it’d be three.

On the one hand, I think it would be great to be in a committed relationship with this guy. Because, as I told him last night, looking at you is like looking in a mirror. There’s probably a narcissistic disorder of some kind to diagnose there, but that’s a story for a different time. On the other hand, despite how smart and funny he seems to be, he’s either psychologically damaged or stunted. Just, stuck somewhere. Stuck on the ex that broke his heart all those years ago (he’s been on dating apps since the ex left seven years ago and he’s still there); stuck on what it means to be an atheist; stuck on what he thinks being a wordly man is.

Ms Martyr, who’s aware of my little tryst – you should always let someone know if you went out with someone from dating apps, safety and all that – asked me if I would be okay if he ghosted me after sleeping together (if it gets to that point). I answered her in all honesty that, maybe my heart will break, I don’t know, I can’t say that I’m sure it won’t, but I’m prepared for it. After all, this guy directly told me:

The fact that it stung – really stung – when he said that alerted me to the fact that I might be in danger zone when it came to this guy. I toyed with the idea of calling it quits with him before my heart became even more vulnerable. I mean, that’s my default coping mechanism, right – cut your losses as early as possible.

Cause he was affecting my mood – he really was – because sometimes I would text him and it would take him hours to respond and I’ll wonder if he was busy or if he was ignoring me. Honestly, I didn’t mind if he was busy or even busy texting other girls – one time he replied to say that he was on a date – and I actually didn’t mind it and was pleased that he had informed me of that so I knew not to wait for his texts and to leave him alone – but if he was ignoring me…

It would be a lie to say that before Mr. Atheist came along I didn’t know I was insecure, but my coping mechanism for that issue was to avoid situations in which insecurity could rise up altogether. He asked me yesterday, but men must have asked you out, right? Not really. But it’s easier to deal with that sense of rejection when you frame it as men are generally too intimidated to ask you out in the first place.

Even today, I wonder if Mr. Atheist would want anything further to do with me. It’s not a happy place to be. But out of all these questions, clarity. In the beginning I thought what a laughable notion it was that I would survive as a fourth wife when I was seething with jealousy like this. And for a guy who I’ve not yet met at that point. But gradually it dawned on me that this was not a fourth wife situation, but it’s a harem where the men and women all have different objectives and sometimes they overlap and sometimes they don’t. And this analogy fitted so much better once I realised that I wasn’t jealous of the other girls in his life; I just wanted his attention. And, in the same way that concubines give the emperor a wide berth because he’s a busy guy, I’m content for Mr. Atheist to run around town, so long as when he’s with me he’s with me.

Some might ask why I would demean myself to be in his little harem like this, but the thing is, he didn’t put me in his harem; I put me there myself. I’ll remain there as long as I’m happy to be and as long as he’s meeting my needs. One day I might fly away, or I might remain indefinitely. I don’t know. It all depends on how things go. I only hope that I’m actually Wei Yingluo and not Xian Fei.

Hoarder

I hoard words like dragons hoard gold. Ferociously, quietly, secret. Which is counterproductive for an author.

For an author is what I aspire to be. In my head, I already am.

Does it matter that I am unpublished? That I have never written anything for that matter?

What makes a person anything? Who gets to decide? If I say that I am an author, who would come up and challenge me? And in any case, how long does a piece of writing have to be anyway for someone to qualify as an author? The mumblings in my diary – don’t they count?

It is not that I do now want to write, but it seems a futile endeavor. What does it matter? What does any of it matter? When someone says something, writes something, sometimes I turn my head and shut my eyes and block my ears: I really don’t care. And because I don’t care about what somebody else has to say, why would anyone care about what I have to say?

Not that I have anything to say.

No, that is not true. I have a lot to say. I just do not know how to say them. Many a times I have sat myself down and tried jotting a few words and a few words are what they remain to be. I have snippets of genius and disjointed scenes and sometimes whole climaxes – I just can’t seem to put them together.

But then again, if I’m to be terribly honest, I didn’t even try. Not really.

All authors have said this: that they cry and sweat and bleed for their art. They stare at the screen until their eyes go and pull at their hair until they are bald. Me I’ve sat at the computer on a few one afternoons and wrote down my jumbled scenes and then gave up.

One afternoon. One afternoon is all I have given myself. If divine inspiration does not strike then writing is not for me.

Even I know that to be untrue. But to work – to work! To cry sweat bleed go blind go bald – what if I do all these and still have nothing to show for it at the end?

And that’s the truth isn’t it? That even bigger than my indolence is my cowardice: what if I’m not good enough? What if after all of it my only reward is the tangible proof that I am a disappointment, a failure?