Monday
A long weekend, a hangover and a missed call….
This entry is definitely jumbled up. So bear with me…
If working days was actually 4 days a week. Would we be happy? Would it be enough days for us
to recuperate after a week of labouring/whoring ourselves to our work? Would we finally be efficient and competent to face the challenges that we face during 9-5? Why are we Malaysians are so obsessed about our work, that we live to work, not work to live. We are drones. However, without much of this, I would have not appreciated the 3 days weekend break that we just had.
Although that Thursday, after the grand finale event, I ended up sleeping like a dead baby till the celebration of 50th Merdeka was over, at least I know what independence means to me. It meant “ I could bloody h**l sleep, even with loud bangs of the firework, I am not hiding under the bed thinking it’s a bomb!” Either way, being 25, you just lost the willpower to fight through the crowd and jam-packed areas, lining up to enter a party.
Fast-forward it, the next thing I know, it was Sunday all over again. Woke up regretting the game of “ Never Have I ever…(If it wasn’t for that game, I would not be stuck with a headache and a huge appetite for Briyani Gam the next day). I end up cruising around Klang Valley without a smile and thinking I should get a life with the constant thought in my head -I know he is punishing me because I didn’t picked up the damn phone (again, another moment to blame on that game).
So, I end up tossing on turning on the bed, exposing my vulnerable self to him again at 2 in the morning, while he hung up the phone still convinced that I cheated on him. Just because I have big t*t**s, I am labeled for life (okay, fine, truth was I was out with another guy for 2 months while we were going out and he found out about it 3 months ago – but then again, during that time, I didn’t know we were actually together. :P). I never had been in a relationship when someone actually believes that I did spend the night alone, drunk and horny. Stumbled on my heels, threw my bag away, slept under the blanket, drooling with only my panties on.
So.
Why the f**k does it hurt so much over those things he said. And why the f**k, I keep forgetting
that I am pissed at him instead of cursing when I hung up, and when he called it all disappears. When did I master the art to lie bury something painful till I completely erase it from my memory. F**k. Or without realizing, without even fighting, the culture of Malay/ Asian women of swallowing our own bitter pain is just encoded into my f**king DNA. God, we are so tragic!
Anyhow, here I am again. After a great weekend of rest, food and partying with substance, what am I left with. A migraine and dry cough, a boyfriend who is miles away - now convinced that I am screwing somebody else, panda looking eyes-even without eyeliner, and looking like crap in the office today. Don’t we just have it all…
xoxo
Rollo Tomassi
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