Malice
I think I forget who I am sometimes. What I need. I forget that I need to tend to myself every now and again. I forget that I need the space and the time and the silence to think.
That’s what I miss most I think.
The silence.
China is nice, and amazing, and everything I have ever missed about home but it’s also so incredibly loud. It’s full of noise. Too much noise and I don’t have a second to just sit and collect my thoughts and allow me to really rehash my day and nights.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t seem to escape that ringing in my ears. That ringing that comes from poking my thumbs in my ears and trying to silence that harsh woman’s voice as she echoes thoughout our carpetless home.
I don’t know her. I just know that she’s some sort of friend to my grandparents and that she cannot keep her voice down and at 9 at night it would be nice if she tried.
It’s not the volume I dislike about her, not even her aggression. It’s just her. Something about her takes me back to the 4 year old me who hides in her closet or her bedroom or under the pillows as my parents, grandparents, or whatever fight and I just remember how much I absolutely hate hate hate shouting.
Malice, I can deal with, high voices for passionate discussions is absolutely fine, hell I can deal with hate but I cannot deal with shouting. There is nothing in this world I dislike more than shouting, than yelling, than just being plain old fucking ridiculously loud that kills me.
Strikes me inside to the point where I just want to cry and sleep and everything comforting again.
I don’t like this woman. I don’t like this woman because she makes me invisible again. She makes me want to cry and she makes me hurt in ways that can’t be seen by anyone else it seems. She reminds me that I only have so much time here. That I’m going to have to say goodbye soon, and that I don’t want to leave. She reminds me that I will be waving goodbye in some-odd days from an airplane as tears spill down my cheeks and wishing that for once in my life I can just have my family to myself.
I suppose I’m jealous. Jealous of the fact that she’s the one soaking up the attention from the people I haven’t seen in years. Jealous that she gets to stay and I don’t.
Jealous because I’m not ready to say goodbye and yet I’m counting down the days to takeoff.
I’m scared and I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave because I just got here and I don’t know when I’ll be coming back.
I’m not thinking straight. I’m talking in circles and acting like a child. I’m acting like a spoiled brat with tears and tantrums thrown when she doesn’t get her way. I thought I grew up but something about this place just takes me back to 1999. The only difference is that I care now about how I’m acting and sometimes I wish I didn’t.
