Keeper of Secrets

It's amazing how snugly I've fit in to the place I now call home. Going there every day is a basket of joy, because I get to spend time with my people. Never have I met such a congregation of... whatever I am. We match like socks and it's just too amazing for me. I've never fit in so well anywhere else before, much less liked. It's a delight, really, but it also comes off as a shock, haha.

It's okay, though. I'm transitioning just fine.

Giggles and fun are mostly part of the daily routine, but there are also the burden and mystery of secrets. Apparently, I've established myself trustworthy enough to receive secrets from... well, several people! Even from those I never even expected to receive secrets and trust from, especially in a relatively short amount of time. It means we just click so well. Or because they're all rash in making decisions like me. Or arrogant/overconfident (although there were some who went over the top, but I've nipped that one in the bud).

For the people who are in my circle of friends, we just seem to have that same way of thinking and parring level of intelligence that made us so comfortable with each other.

Since my recent improvement, yes, I have discovered that I have a knack for being there, everywhere. Therefore, again, I have become a middleman which access to various sides of the story. A confidante. A mouse who chisels her way through the cracks. A keeper of secrets.

The Broken Wall

It's going to fall on me.

It's going to fall on my head, while I'm asleep, and I'm going to die.

I wouldn't see it coming, but it's going to fall on me.

Blood would seep out of my physical body, draining me, rendering me thoughtless.

I can see the cracks ever growing on the walls.

They will continue to form until they are complete, and it's going to fall on me.

It would hurt my head, and I would be rendered thoughtless.

I can't think anymore.

I can't.

The Stronghearted

Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show. - Terry Pratchett.

People flock from one show to the next as fleetingly as seasons come and go. But there had been certain individuals who stayed to watch the show and applaud it, however unlike the other people in the crowd, who have long gone. These individuals stayed because they wanted to. They liked it. They felt a kinship for this particular show.

Here, a congregation of the strong hearts, for they were once wounded and have fallen with their faces planted on the muddy ground, but got up again.

They understood this.

They understand.

And they vow not to be a 'people', but a 'person'.

Family of Dogs

You said it yourself.

"It's a dog-eat-dog world. Deal with it."

Oh yeah?

Well, I'm not a harmless little puppy anymore.

I'm a big, mean bitch trained to bite back.

Even you.

Deal with that.

Flowery Death

I smiled at him when he first stepped in.
It was an invitation for him to sit next to me.
He smelled nice, like flowers.
It was a nice Friday night to go out.
But he was alone.

As the bus moved,
I worked out a way to start a conversation,
but I couldn't find the right words,
so I stayed silent until we reached the train station,
where we missed the first train,
and had to wait for the second one.

I asked where he was going,
and he replied,
"Just going out for a drink or two,
then, straight back home,"
I nodded. I understood.
But he was alone.

The figure that followed behind him,
from the bus,
It was waiting.

He smelled nice.
He smelled a flowery death.

He was not alone.

Mistaken

Why? Why do you have to lash out at me for trying to do something good? Why am I always being seen as the bad guy when all I wanted was to do good? Do you really want me to go rogue? Would you really like it better if I really did become the villain? Is that what you want?

What the fuck do you want from me?!

They who created me

"Damn it! Deal with it! Learn how to like it!" he shouted as he pounded on the dining table. "It disgusts me to see you disliking this and that. Be a Malay, will you?" I stared at the nasi lemak in front of me; a meal I don't even like.

It's not my fault I don't like it. I don't like it, so I don't like it. What the hell do you want me to do? Why don't you like pizza or pasta? They're all foods. It doesn't matter which culture made it. I never denied my Malay heritage, even though I don't eat 'Malay foods'. Heck, I keep boasting that I'm Malay. I am damn proud of it, but how would you know what my thoughts are? We don't talk. You don't know me. You say you do, but you don't.

After all my 20 years of existence, you still don't know what I like and dislike? It goes to show how much we actually take time to communicate with each other. Same goes to your wife, who keeps serving me foods I don't like, more than those I actually like. Speaking of her...

"What do you want to do next? Do you want to marry?" she asked in a kind voice. I almost broke out into a grin to say, "Yes, I want to wait for him," but she cut me off. "I'll find you a nice, rich, non-criminal man for you to marry." She said all this while stroking my head gently, like it's a good thing. How could she? "He's not a criminal," I muttered, as she left.