Her Pandora’s Box

Dear sugarplum fairy,

I think Lebaran’s a little too soon, no? This year sucks. Period.

Morning of Raya; Initial plan ver. 1.1

• Rise out of bed really early. (Alarm clock, checked.)
• Without fixing an appointment and relying on solely luck, i was going to get my nails done. HA-HA-HA! I had to fix my toes so shut up.
• Run out to get my hair done. This is a must. My hair is pathetic.
• And like as though the world was going to wait for me, i wanted to get a corset. Like a hot, grrr-looking white corset for the outfit. HA-HA-HA.

Morning of Raya; The real deal

As predicted, i couldn’t hear my alarm or maybe even the ‘fat boy’ atomic bomb as a matter of fact. I woke up really late. So i had only half of the entire ‘vainity test task’ accomplished. Much less in fact. Conclusively, i only had my hair done. Yup, i left my nails the way it disgustingly is for the world to see. I’m such a champion.

I wish things didn’t have to happen so raya would’ve been special.

Selamat Hari Raya Maaf Zahir Batin, for the fact that i don’t restrain myself from writing whatever i feel like, somethings might’ve offended you, i’m sorry. To everyone else, have a great Hari Raya! Semoga sihat makan kueh tart.

Dear sugarplum fairy,

I took one last look back at Ramadan and decided i wasn’t going to give it another. Ramadan has been terrifying, difficult, painful and sad.

A week before Ramadan, i began to fall under the pressure of school and some bits of my life; i was depressed and was suspected ‘anorexic’ by my doctor. I struggled with it till mid-month where i began to lean onto Sally for that comfort i much needed and encouragement to get better and i did. I love Sally.

I was happier for awhile until i realised, i had lost my greatest friend, sister, a huge part of me and eight years of ass-kicking friendship with: Nina. There was a series of not just unfortunate but also strange events that came along with it. Nina was as good as gone and its far too much and too hard too handle. I collapsed again. And whilst recovering from that news, i was then shakened by another. Another great person in my life, was pregnant.

She hardly had any choice at all. The father of the child was a screwed ass bumming motherfucker to start with. For as much as she’d love to nurture and take care of the baby, she had to abort her child and then later deal with the mental trauma and physical pain by herself. She went through the entire nightmare alone. By the time she let it all out, i was guilty of negligence. My absolute, absolute negligence.

And to wrap it all up nicely, I began to feel like there was no Muhammad Yasin for me anymore. I felt alone. Very extremely far away from him. Before i knew it i began to slowly walk out on him..

By the end of Ramadan, i barely even knew what there was left to smile about.

Not until i met Zai while i was en route back home. After two years not seeing him: there i was standing in front of Zai, looking up at him, his hair trimmed and straight with no locks and of course the mirror image of my mole on his face.

The only things i could blurt out was :"Oh my god.. Zai? What the fuck?" and it all came down pretty neat.

Lately also, the girls and i have decided to be by each other more often than not. Losing Nina was such a blow that the gap’s naturally closing in and strengthening. And we’re all praying to have our dolly bestfriend back.

And what about Yas? I can never be without Yas. What was i thinking?

Dear sugarplum fairy,

Some weeks ago, a classmate asked if i had ‘a sad past/childhood’. I just HAD to frown and like as if she caught sight of the question mark stringing above my head, she continued on and said "Because i see it in your dance. When you dance, it shows. I cannot make out what it is."

Owkay, fuck.

And so like reflex, I remembered freezing into an ice sculpture of myself and murmured some lousy statement of defense, denying. Before long, i became shifty and queasy and then started transmitting waves of discomfort into both the conversation and the air leaving it tense, stiff, awkward. We then moved on and chatted over something else. It bothered me.

I sat across from her at the dinner table. Occasionally, i glance up at her and try to sort out in my head an ice-breaker for a decent conversation. I gave up. I hated the fact that i had actually truly missed her. The last time i saw her, t-rex still walked the earth. Historic. I cooked up gazillion excuses for me not to go see her and when dad started being pushy about it, i became desperate and decide to work on days they were going out to visit her.

Soon, i shattered the front and vomitted the ugly truth to my dad. He asked why, though i’ve always believed he knew, i told him anyway: "I don’t have a grandmother. I never did. And if i did, i was never her’s anyway."

Dad was devastated, held back his tears and told me to forgive her. He struggles to reason with me and lost.

It doesn’t hurt to know she never loved me, in fact even hate me. But it kills me to not know why. I was the brightest of them all, most well-behaved, the only girl and one who always tries to be a part of her.

But too bad and too late. Far too late.

Dear sugarplum fairy,

You can sit and try pull yourself together, though you know when the clock ticks a minute after, you’d be back where you started: dispersed.

So i keep lying to myself, kept trying. Failing and still working on it.

Good girl/idiot.