Twist and Tear | Chapter 1: Maybe this is the Truth
I did not know what got into me.
It just did.
Heart breaks, heart aches… you name it, I have been through it.
But somehow, something just got into me, and made me chase disappointments, one after another.
I never understood what mum meant by ‘having someone you will love for a lifetime’, or what my stepdad meant by ‘having someone by your side for a lifetime’, or what my dad meant by ‘having someone who will cherish you for a lifetime’.
A ‘lifetime’. It sounds so easy. Like it can be measured and recorded on a scale. A highway that has a visible start and end.
And that ‘someone’ sounds so accessible. Like a piece of scrap paper you can obtain effortlessly somewhere on your messy work desk. Like how your right hand can nimbly grab your left arm.
Love, or whatever the connection is called between two intimate human beings, never seems to last though, despite what they all said.
Not with mum and dad, not with mum and her former lover, not with my stepdad and his ex-wife.
When I was younger, you know what they always say – you will always believe in some sort of fairy tale or stories that end with ‘happily ever after’.
But contrary to common belief, I did not believe in any of those.
Not a single one of them.
When I was 5, I remember something clicked in me.
I stacked the fairy tale books up neatly, the ones given to me by my relatives and my oblivious mother, quietly went to get a match in the kitchen, and then stroked it. I stood in front of the books and tried to burn them on the wooden dining room floor, with a match lit by my clumsy 5-year-old fingers.
“They are lying, mama, dada,” I remember I said, turning my head to face my shocked parents who decided to come out of their room to check on me.
“They are not telling the truth. We should burn them,” I reinforced my determination in destroying them, by saying something that made sense to 5-year-old me.
But for rational and responsible adults like my parents, burning was certainly not the way to go.
Dad went somewhere after few whispers into my mum’s ear.
“No, darling, listen to me,” My mum said.
“No, mama, listen to me. I am right. They are wrong. Why do people lie?”
“Royane, darling, please calm down…”
“I am very calm. Why do I have to calm down? Why can’t I calm up?”
That was the moment when my dad got a cup of water and poured it down my lit match and my hand. I looked at the match, and the pile of water that formed on the floor. I then sat on the wet floor and started laughing.
Mum and dad exchanged a look that I didn’t know the meaning of back then. But soon after, I realised that was when they decided to take me to a psychologist.
“There is nothing wrong with your daughter. All the test results we did, show her as a normal child. I guess she might just be different from other children, maybe even gifted.”
My mum and dad again exchanged a look, and from their facial expressions, I could tell that they were not convinced, and had no choice but to go with it.
I was never keen on reading refined, loving and dreamy fairy tales.
Maybe something got to me in my childhood that made me realise none of them are realistic? Or maybe it just occurred to me that ‘happily ever after’ was something made up.
Either way, those fairy tale books were safe from the impulse of a 5-year-old child, the 5-year-old child was safe from having a fire-related accident, and any fire-related accidents were further prevented as my parents locked all the matches and lighters away.
I still didn’t want the fairy tale books to be in my sight or accompany me as bed time stories, so my mum gave them all away.
“I know you want the truth darling, but fire is not to be used without us supervising, okay?” My mum soothed me before I go to sleep, after the day we went to the psychologist’s office.
“Okay, mama.”
“Now go to sleep. Dad and I will always love you. We will always be here when you need us.”
“Okay, mama.”
‘Always’ never comes easy.
Few years later when I was in middle school, mum and dad divorced, due to their lack of passion, plus boredom from each other.
“It is not because of you, Royane darling. I will still be there when you need me,” My dad said, before he packed up and left.
“I know. This is between you and mum. You guys didn’t work out. That is the truth,” I said, with cognizance.
“You are always so considerate.”
“It is what I have to be when facing my parents’ divorce.”
Dad looked at me as if I was from an outside world, like I was some alien.
He must have thought, how on earth does this young child know so much? How can she be so fair-minded and so grown up?
I looked up at him, registered his forced smile as he looked down at me, and his back when he left to put his luggage in the car.
I was left with mum, who was unusually quiet, as if she wasn’t already quiet from all the fuss they been through.
“It is okay,” I patted my mum on the back, “I know that you and dad didn’t work out and it is fine. It is reality, not everyone works out, and endings aren’t always happy.”
My mum wiped off some fallen tears, and smiled weakly at me.
Remembering that smile still tears my heart to this very day.
“I loved your dad. But we just don’t feel our love for each other anymore, and I cannot bear living the same day with him every day.”
“I know. I am here when you need me.”
My mum held and hugged me tightly, but just enough for me to breathe.
I felt her shiver.
“It is okay mum. It happens.”
It didn’t work out for her and her later lover either. They were together for a while, but they didn’t even look at each other the same way mum looked at dad when I was younger.
Looks can be deceiving. I always knew that, from a young age. Someone can look totally fine, but they can feel the absolute opposite. People can say one thing, and mean the other.
I was always alienated and isolated from the others.
I didn’t fit.
They believed in fairy tales, for a ‘prince’ to come and rescue, for a ‘princess’ to be saved.
I never did, and I knew I could not be the only one who thought that.
“I am just being very realistic, but somehow people think that means being very pessimistic. Like, I don’t talk about suicide, murder or torture, and somehow talking about reality makes me pessimistic,” I said to one of my friends one time when we were having lunch.
I was in high school and had a group of friends who were considered outcasts. They didn’t believe in happy endings, but instead, believe in the sad but true reality, just like me.
“They are just conventional,” One of my friends said.
“And not being ‘conventional’ doesn’t mean we are not ‘normal’, whatever that means.”
“Guess we are stuck together unless some of us suddenly change their mindsets entirely.”
We laughed and shared a great time together.
I miss those days.
Carefree with no heart straining matters to think about. No misbehaved partners, no cheating disappointments, no ghosting by physical human beings. Just five girls with thoughts contrary to common standards and beliefs, who joked on others’ common beliefs.
I was a girl who never believed in happy endings, a girl who almost burned down the house by trying to destroy things that talked about happy endings, a girl who based her life solely on understanding and realising the cruel and sane reality.
But it got into me. Despite not believing it, this girl still chased after it.
It will never last. The phrase involuntarily appeared in my head after my first kiss with a boy at my graduation prom.
He was my prom date, a guy who chased after me over and over, trying to win my heart. My heart was no one’s to give, but somehow he touched a small part of me, and I let him kiss me on the way back home on the bus.
It will never last.
We said goodbye and went to our homes. We talked on the phone and texted each other. He also asked me out a few times. I wasn’t really mentally prepared for a relationship, because I never had one before. But when he said he was leaving, leaving me and the country, somehow a part of me felt lost.
It will never last.
And it didn’t.
Things just went downhill from there.
I don’t know if I was never ready, or I was too ready, as my feelings always ended up getting beaten after every single relationship.
I do have feelings, I do.
But it seemed like in all of my past relationships, they never understood.
“Royane, I love you, but I don’t feel you.”
One of them said when we were holding hands and walking to our university classes.
“I am right here.”
“I don’t mean that.”
“I love you too.”
“Words are not enough.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I smiled at him, shook my head, and said nothing in the end.
When he last kissed me goodbye, I wanted to tell him again, and I did.
“I really do love you.”
He paused.
He thought for a bit then said, “I never felt your love… And it is too late.”
He walked out on me, walked out on us.
Our memories of walking around, laughing at jokes, holding hands, kissing, feeling each other’s presence… Weren’t they what a relationship is built upon, a two-way on going accompaniment of each other?
Maybe I never understood love. Maybe I was always too shy or uncertain about my love. Or maybe I was simply incapable of showing my love, due to my lack of passion in things that cannot be quantified or measured.
Maybe it was because I never did things that made them feel like even in my subconscious, their presence was important and that I was truly and emotionally attached to them.
Maybe it was because I never witnessed a long lasting relationship that made me lose faith.
Or maybe it was that phrase.
It will never last.
Then, Keson came into place.
Like a long waited drink at the side table no one noticed before, and when it was noticed, it became the rescue to a lost soul.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
©Yolanda Yip (Wintsarye)
It just did.
Heart breaks, heart aches… you name it, I have been through it.
But somehow, something just got into me, and made me chase disappointments, one after another.
I never understood what mum meant by ‘having someone you will love for a lifetime’, or what my stepdad meant by ‘having someone by your side for a lifetime’, or what my dad meant by ‘having someone who will cherish you for a lifetime’.
A ‘lifetime’. It sounds so easy. Like it can be measured and recorded on a scale. A highway that has a visible start and end.
And that ‘someone’ sounds so accessible. Like a piece of scrap paper you can obtain effortlessly somewhere on your messy work desk. Like how your right hand can nimbly grab your left arm.
Love, or whatever the connection is called between two intimate human beings, never seems to last though, despite what they all said.
Not with mum and dad, not with mum and her former lover, not with my stepdad and his ex-wife.
When I was younger, you know what they always say – you will always believe in some sort of fairy tale or stories that end with ‘happily ever after’.
But contrary to common belief, I did not believe in any of those.
Not a single one of them.
When I was 5, I remember something clicked in me.
I stacked the fairy tale books up neatly, the ones given to me by my relatives and my oblivious mother, quietly went to get a match in the kitchen, and then stroked it. I stood in front of the books and tried to burn them on the wooden dining room floor, with a match lit by my clumsy 5-year-old fingers.
“They are lying, mama, dada,” I remember I said, turning my head to face my shocked parents who decided to come out of their room to check on me.
“They are not telling the truth. We should burn them,” I reinforced my determination in destroying them, by saying something that made sense to 5-year-old me.
But for rational and responsible adults like my parents, burning was certainly not the way to go.
Dad went somewhere after few whispers into my mum’s ear.
“No, darling, listen to me,” My mum said.
“No, mama, listen to me. I am right. They are wrong. Why do people lie?”
“Royane, darling, please calm down…”
“I am very calm. Why do I have to calm down? Why can’t I calm up?”
That was the moment when my dad got a cup of water and poured it down my lit match and my hand. I looked at the match, and the pile of water that formed on the floor. I then sat on the wet floor and started laughing.
Mum and dad exchanged a look that I didn’t know the meaning of back then. But soon after, I realised that was when they decided to take me to a psychologist.
“There is nothing wrong with your daughter. All the test results we did, show her as a normal child. I guess she might just be different from other children, maybe even gifted.”
My mum and dad again exchanged a look, and from their facial expressions, I could tell that they were not convinced, and had no choice but to go with it.
I was never keen on reading refined, loving and dreamy fairy tales.
Maybe something got to me in my childhood that made me realise none of them are realistic? Or maybe it just occurred to me that ‘happily ever after’ was something made up.
Either way, those fairy tale books were safe from the impulse of a 5-year-old child, the 5-year-old child was safe from having a fire-related accident, and any fire-related accidents were further prevented as my parents locked all the matches and lighters away.
I still didn’t want the fairy tale books to be in my sight or accompany me as bed time stories, so my mum gave them all away.
“I know you want the truth darling, but fire is not to be used without us supervising, okay?” My mum soothed me before I go to sleep, after the day we went to the psychologist’s office.
“Okay, mama.”
“Now go to sleep. Dad and I will always love you. We will always be here when you need us.”
“Okay, mama.”
‘Always’ never comes easy.
Few years later when I was in middle school, mum and dad divorced, due to their lack of passion, plus boredom from each other.
“It is not because of you, Royane darling. I will still be there when you need me,” My dad said, before he packed up and left.
“I know. This is between you and mum. You guys didn’t work out. That is the truth,” I said, with cognizance.
“You are always so considerate.”
“It is what I have to be when facing my parents’ divorce.”
Dad looked at me as if I was from an outside world, like I was some alien.
He must have thought, how on earth does this young child know so much? How can she be so fair-minded and so grown up?
I looked up at him, registered his forced smile as he looked down at me, and his back when he left to put his luggage in the car.
I was left with mum, who was unusually quiet, as if she wasn’t already quiet from all the fuss they been through.
“It is okay,” I patted my mum on the back, “I know that you and dad didn’t work out and it is fine. It is reality, not everyone works out, and endings aren’t always happy.”
My mum wiped off some fallen tears, and smiled weakly at me.
Remembering that smile still tears my heart to this very day.
“I loved your dad. But we just don’t feel our love for each other anymore, and I cannot bear living the same day with him every day.”
“I know. I am here when you need me.”
My mum held and hugged me tightly, but just enough for me to breathe.
I felt her shiver.
“It is okay mum. It happens.”
It didn’t work out for her and her later lover either. They were together for a while, but they didn’t even look at each other the same way mum looked at dad when I was younger.
Looks can be deceiving. I always knew that, from a young age. Someone can look totally fine, but they can feel the absolute opposite. People can say one thing, and mean the other.
I was always alienated and isolated from the others.
I didn’t fit.
They believed in fairy tales, for a ‘prince’ to come and rescue, for a ‘princess’ to be saved.
I never did, and I knew I could not be the only one who thought that.
“I am just being very realistic, but somehow people think that means being very pessimistic. Like, I don’t talk about suicide, murder or torture, and somehow talking about reality makes me pessimistic,” I said to one of my friends one time when we were having lunch.
I was in high school and had a group of friends who were considered outcasts. They didn’t believe in happy endings, but instead, believe in the sad but true reality, just like me.
“They are just conventional,” One of my friends said.
“And not being ‘conventional’ doesn’t mean we are not ‘normal’, whatever that means.”
“Guess we are stuck together unless some of us suddenly change their mindsets entirely.”
We laughed and shared a great time together.
I miss those days.
Carefree with no heart straining matters to think about. No misbehaved partners, no cheating disappointments, no ghosting by physical human beings. Just five girls with thoughts contrary to common standards and beliefs, who joked on others’ common beliefs.
I was a girl who never believed in happy endings, a girl who almost burned down the house by trying to destroy things that talked about happy endings, a girl who based her life solely on understanding and realising the cruel and sane reality.
But it got into me. Despite not believing it, this girl still chased after it.
It will never last. The phrase involuntarily appeared in my head after my first kiss with a boy at my graduation prom.
He was my prom date, a guy who chased after me over and over, trying to win my heart. My heart was no one’s to give, but somehow he touched a small part of me, and I let him kiss me on the way back home on the bus.
It will never last.
We said goodbye and went to our homes. We talked on the phone and texted each other. He also asked me out a few times. I wasn’t really mentally prepared for a relationship, because I never had one before. But when he said he was leaving, leaving me and the country, somehow a part of me felt lost.
It will never last.
And it didn’t.
Things just went downhill from there.
I don’t know if I was never ready, or I was too ready, as my feelings always ended up getting beaten after every single relationship.
I do have feelings, I do.
But it seemed like in all of my past relationships, they never understood.
“Royane, I love you, but I don’t feel you.”
One of them said when we were holding hands and walking to our university classes.
“I am right here.”
“I don’t mean that.”
“I love you too.”
“Words are not enough.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I smiled at him, shook my head, and said nothing in the end.
When he last kissed me goodbye, I wanted to tell him again, and I did.
“I really do love you.”
He paused.
He thought for a bit then said, “I never felt your love… And it is too late.”
He walked out on me, walked out on us.
Our memories of walking around, laughing at jokes, holding hands, kissing, feeling each other’s presence… Weren’t they what a relationship is built upon, a two-way on going accompaniment of each other?
Maybe I never understood love. Maybe I was always too shy or uncertain about my love. Or maybe I was simply incapable of showing my love, due to my lack of passion in things that cannot be quantified or measured.
Maybe it was because I never did things that made them feel like even in my subconscious, their presence was important and that I was truly and emotionally attached to them.
Maybe it was because I never witnessed a long lasting relationship that made me lose faith.
Or maybe it was that phrase.
It will never last.
Then, Keson came into place.
Like a long waited drink at the side table no one noticed before, and when it was noticed, it became the rescue to a lost soul.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
©Yolanda Yip (Wintsarye)
Comments
Post a Comment