I hate having to decide whether the day is good or bad straight after the driving lesson. All I can say is that I’m scared of failure and the past couple of lessons have been horrid and I can’t help seeing it as a kind of failure. So the days have been bad. But today was ok, I think it’s because we drove for 45min instead of 1h30min. I get overexhausted very quickly whilst driving. Still not used to roundabouts and I’m scared of curves. I wonder when I’ll be doing the practical exam. Hopefully before summer, because I’ve had enough of driving. Just want to put it behind me as soon as possible.

Since I’ve quit the tablets, I feel extremely freer. My mind’s not blocked anymore and I can’t stop writing my mind down. Many creative thoughts and pictures appear in my head and I’ve started to pay attention to them as well as care about them. The only bad thing is that I have trouble sleeping again. My eyes are wide open as soon as I lay myself down. It takes me up to 3 hours to fall asleep and I keep waking up in the middle of the night. I’ve started to dream more than usual as well. And the dreams are usually the cause that I wake up. Not because they are disturbing, but because they are loud for some reason; so the noises in my dreams keep waking me up.

Nine Inch Nails are playing at the Hurricane Festival. The last time they played was in 2005. That’s where I got to know some awesome Canadian guy. He even left me his collection of The Hitchhiker’s Triology (which I still haven’t read). His name was Matt and I often think about him. I don’t know why. I just hate the fact that we never swapped email or numbers. All I know is that he’s from Montréal and that he’s ace at building up tents. It doesn’t take him more than five minutes. I hope he’s alright and that one day I’ll meet him again (well I don’t know how high the chances are). That’s a perfect example of people coming in your life and then disappear a few minutes later. But they are special when you never forget them. Canada is definitely on my list, especially the French part, which is why I want to freshen up my French again.

I want to stand on my feet and take a deep breath, then stretch my arms and look up at the sky. And after three days I will be a different person. A better and stronger person.

The snow touched the tip of my nose and the wind was blowing against my ears. Not very spring-like at all. Tired of seeing traffic lights…if they were only more colourful. Driving includes accelerating, hitting the brakes and re-starting the engine. There are no changes anywhere close to happening. And the lights should be off when you’re not in the room. Photos had been taken years ago. Looking at them brings back memories. Now ask me why I never take pictures. Now the wind has stopped and you can light a cigarette. The same old taste. It’s time for a new brand. Your confidence is kept in a marble for a kid to toss. Win! But it wasn’t you. Kids are stronger. Tired of playing with money…only your moral left to lose. Told you so. You and me alone. What should we do and what should we not. I will be spontaneous, you careful. One step can ruin everything. The will is stronger. You know what you do, but I do not. The flower has changed colour. There is only one lesson to learn. Seize the day. Enjoy the air you breathe, the food you eat and the hands you hold. Check your inbox. An ex has searched for you today. Delete and carry on. Control the voices in your body. Watch where they all come from. Know their motives and intentions. Act humanly. Separate the voices. And re-listen another time. Turn everything down. Sit back. Load it, do it. And the voices will be gone.

I don’t know who the hell I was…talking about love like that in the previous one. I think I was delirious in some way. Now it’s time for the realistic songs…talking about mistakes and realisations. That’s more me at the moment. I was very good at driving today. Even my driving instructor had his eyes wide open due to astonishment. I think my entire head is with me now. It’s not empty, it’s motivated, nevertheless, it’s filled with doubt and has perceived certain mistakes that I have done; mistakes that are inevitable when you listen to the voice in your stomach.

I have started to read “As I lay dying” and I’m finding it tough, as it is written in such a lyrical way that I can’t be bothered with at the moment. But I should always finish what I’ve started. No matter how difficult it is. I got myself through bloody Salman Rushdie, so I really shouldn’t complain. However, I can do with something that’s straightforward.

There are so many things that I want to forget, all the wrongs that I have done. I am so sick of enduring; enduring things that I can’t be fucked with. I keep thinking it is so easy to let go, but at the end of the day I’m still holding on tightly even though I don’t want to carry on like this. Then I begin to ask myself why do you still do this? And then I answer to myself: Because you are not over it yet. You still haven’t learnt what you should have learnt. And you know you will still do the same old mistake again and again.

And it is true. It’s like going backwards in time. I still haven’t learnt how to move forward. I have no idea what to focus on sometimes and I begin to take steps backwards.

I don’t see a point anymore in going to see my doctor, because I just sit there and keep quiet…listen to him preaching about culture and politics. I have given up in trying to express myself to him. I don’t need a doctor, but a philosopher. A french one, please. I think they would know how to deal with me. I think they would just tell me to roll a rock up a hill…until I feel tired. Well, that’s at least something, isn’t it. Whatever, I think I’m just going to dance until I feel exhausted and dazed from the Desperados.

Why did I stop taking the tablets again?

So the sun’s not out today. A shame really, because I would’ve gone outside for a nice smoke. One bad thing about being at home is that you can’t help sitting in front of the TV. Just because you own one. It wasn’t like that in England. I used to spend most of my time reading or writing in the library. There was just nothing else better to do. I never used to be bored; I didn’t even know what it meant to be bored. I always had something to do. I used to be busy doing a lot of things.

Well, today’s going to be the day where I’m going to stop taking those tablets. You want to know the reason? Ha, it’s because they are the cause of me putting on weight easily. It can’t be true that you put on weight when only eating two meals a day. I’ve already cut out on the snacks, so what else could be the reason why I don’t lose weight? I run regularly, which makes me feel good about myself, but I’m sort of losing interest. Still running has become a habit. I can’t have more than two days without running.

Why am I listening to cheesy love songs… And why am I so close to crying because of them? Am I really so moved…I should be the messenger of love. I keep telling everyone that they will find the one and I know they will. And most of them have already found that someone, which makes me smile, but nevertheless, I think I should quit listening to love songs because they make you feel lonely. But if the songs are lonely themselves, you then feel you and the song would make a good couple.

I was talking to my work colleague yesterday. I don’t think she actually likes me, she usually doesn’t talk to me much, but yesterday she was being very curious about me and asked whether I had a boyfriend. I think she was more trying to find out about me for somebody. I’m scared of things like this. Usually I’d back off immediately. Anyways, I said I was going to go back to England and she went “Oh no!” Well, why should she care…

Why am I singing “Shubidu uu…shubidu…” Dreaming again I suppose. Oh well, I like giggling like an anime girl. I am not giggling now, but I know that there always is a reason to giggle. This is as optimistic as I can get. Maybe the love songs do help…the lonely love songs I mean.

It feels weird. I feel like I’m in love with someone or something out there. Someone/something that I’ve never met and don’t even know of. I had the same feeling before years ago and it felt good. Just the fact that there is someone or something for all of us.

Shubidoo ooh

Killwhitneydead. What would I do without this band. Sometimes I wonder how I would have been able to deal with this anger of the past. And sometimes I forget that it is still there. It has been numbed and kept aside. It happens that people tend to poke it and then hold it in front of my face, just so I can see how it is still grinning at me like a clown. Why would you do that for? What are you trying to tell me? I don’t even think it’s anyone’s business. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m everything you despise if that’s what you’re trying to say.
I’m sick of people coming up to me because they need something, because they want to ask me for a fucking favour. I’d do it, yes, but where would they disappear to after? Not even a goodbye, but at least a thank you.
What if I’m not the only one who says that I have hell to pay? But friends and family members tell me that? Does it mean I have serious problems that need to be dealt with? What if I just close my eyes and ears, would they still be there? Oh yeah! Umm well, what to do…err, yeah build a circle and walk round it… The fun thing is it doesn’t even make sense what I’m saying here. So all you can do is laugh at it. And I’ll laugh with you. After all I don’t need you to tell me how to open my eyes, as they are wide open already. You just don’t know what the hell goes on behind those eyes. There is one secret I can tell you: which is, I don’t see things that I want to see, but I see things that I’m too scared to see. I imagine a spider and there would be one crawling over my fingers. Do you know what it’s like? Not being able to control your fear? Oh no, of course not, you’re overconfident, you don’t need to worry about things like that. Consider yourself as perfect. You are so fucking boring.

And it’s Sunday again. The sun’s supposed to be out today, which it did for about twenty minutes. It’s grey outside now, which makes me even more tired than I already am. The tiredness comes from a dream that I had. I got lost in a huge building, which was (I suppose) a school. I was looking for a certain room, but could not find it. I spent most time running up and down the stairs without knowing where I was going. It was even too tiring for my mind to hold on to that school and all over the sudden it had changed to some sort of a villa. I had opened doors to other people’s rooms and they were staring at me as if I was some kind of a robber. I kept running up the stairs as quickly as I could until I fell on my face. That was when I woke up with my heart beating so fast as if I had been physically running, not mentally. I had forced myself to open my eyes because I could not take it anymore. I have no idea what I was looking for, I don’t remember. What bothers me is the fact that I was in such a hurry. Usually I’m always in a rush, but in the dream it felt more like a case of life and death.
The weird thing is, when I’m awake I seem to be quite chilled. I don’t even want to think of doing something that needs to be done. But I know it is about time. Application forms in English need to be written, new photos need to be taken and a scholaship + other bursaries need to be applied for. But God, something needs to wake me up very badly.
I’m in need of a hug that awakes ancient feelings. Someone that says everything will be ok.

Mum cut herself again. It is the third time this week. But it always seems to happen when she is not cooking. It often happens that you cut yourself whilst cutting the cabbage or something like that. I always watch mum cooking food and she smiles at me. But not always. Sometimes she tells me to go watch cartoons, but I go up to my room instead to talk to Simon. It somehow bothers mum that I don’t like watching cartoons and that I’m in my room most of the time. Recently she doesn’t even let me go in my room, because I say I’m going to play with Simon. Then she changes her mind and lets me watch her cooking and even help.

“How old is Simon?” mum asks.

“My age.”

“What does he want from you?”

“He just wants to be there and play, mum”, I answer.

I put the cabbage into the pan and fill it with water. I hope she is proud of me for helping her.

“Why don’t you introduce me to Simon?” she wants to know.

“He is shy.”

“What about your classmates?”

“He doesn’t like them.”

Somehow I feel that something is bothering mum and I don’t know what. I feel upset but don’t say anything, not until I have thought of something that will probably cheer her up a little bit.

“I introduce him to you, ok? After dinner.”

She seems more curious now, I think and I’m glad about that. We are having a nice dinner watching Goofy in his car. Mum keeps pointing out scenes, which seem funny, but I don’t laugh, apart from her. After dinner, she says I don’t have to wash up, but I should go to my room and tell Simon that she’s coming up to say hi to him. I enter my room. I change my baggy trousers to jeans and my superman t-shirt to a black sweater. I comb my hair straight in the mirror, although I usually have spiky hair, as mum likes it so. But I comb my hair straight anyway. Lastly I change my slippers to my black shoes, which I usually wear to school. Mum knocks on the door.

I say: “Come in.”

“Kevin?”

“No, I’m Simon.”

Paula Cheung 2005

what a deceitful thing to do
hear him snore hear him mumble
fasten him onto the floor
with thin threads
speak the spell
cut off a bit of the skin
nails, body hair and clothes
as souvenirs of your heroic deed
see him dream in despair
like you and me
dreaming of a woman
for whom he counts the turnips
lying in ambush
and eventually burning up with the forest
but he’ll be back with the sum

(2008)

Batman Spawn! Spiderman vs Green Goblin!

Thomas grabbed a copy of each comic book, which he exactly knew he did not yet own. He knew his mother would buy them for him. They were only 1.99 anyway. She would not mind. All the colors and scenes of action were fascinating him and also stimulating his brains; almost too much, that he cut himself out of reality. He was strongly absorbed by the magnificence of the colors and the smell of the paper.

“Tom! What are you doing there?” Mrs. Andrews asked.

“Sorry, mom…”

He didn’t say anything more, although he had thousand of things going on in his head.

Batman: “Why are you in Gotham and how soon are you leaving?”

“What did you say, Thomas? Are you listening to me? Put these down! You’ve got enough. I can’t keep buying you comics every time we come into this shop! Come on.”

Quietly and carefully he put them all back; making sure they were all in the right order.
After he was sure, that they were standing straight and untouched, he left with his mom.

“I wanted those, mum.”

“I know you love them, darling, but you can’t read them all the time. You know I will get them for you at some point, but do read other books I buy for you, ok? They are colorful as well!”

They carried on shopping until he suddenly saw a Wolverine costume on a shop window and went closer to see it, but his mother noticed it and was trying to get hold of his arm, but his desire was stronger.

“I like this mom”, he said, pointing at it.

“Darling…it’s way too small for you.”

“My size!”

“I told you I was going to sew you something nice for Halloween, do you not want me to, then?”
Despite of trying to sound really upset and hurt, his eyes were still fixed on the costume, as if he didn’t care.

“A Spiderman one…” Thomas mumbled.

“As promised, darling.”

Although Mrs. Andrews knew that she was a good tailor, she was not too sure if her talent was going to satisfy him and she personally found the combination of red and blue more than horrible. Thomas was six foot and in his late thirties. Sometimes when they were walking quietly beside each other, her arm around his (, as his mom is the only person he allowed to touch him), people would think they were an ordinary couple, unless they met their neighbors, especially the Clarks. The Clarks were well-known in the whole neighborhood. They were the only ones with a swimming-pool in the backyard. Their son Dean claimed to be Thomas’ friend, but when given the chance he would corrupt Thomas and cheat him, in order to get his money and then made Mrs. Andrews believe that Thomas had spent his pocket money on sweets, which he was not supposed to eat. After all, Thomas didn’t mind Dean’s company.
One day Thomas got invited to go round to Dean’s, because he offered him a comic trade.

“The wings of the vuu-ture!”

“It’s vulture, you dumbass!” Dean shouted, but there was no reaction coming from Thomas at all. His eyes were fixed on the pictures in the book. Dean was shaking his head.

“I can’t believe what a loser you are, man! …So stupid that he doesn’t even realize that these are his own comics? God, am I talking to myself now?! Hey, dumbass!”

He took the comic out of Thomas’ hands, looking him in the eye, but there was no reaction. He noticed Thomas’ big forehead and how he was becoming bald already.

“You’re so retarded, man…”

“I want them back”, Thomas said, lifting up while lifting up his arm.

“Forget it, dumbass! Who said they were yours?”

“I want to have them back…”

Dean smacked Thomas’ head and grabbed hold of the comics. Suddenly Thomas jumped up, screaming, with his hands covering his head. The comics fell out of Dean’s hands, as he looked at Thomas, who gave the impression of a person who had an epileptic attack. Dean started to shake and slowly stepped back, but as he did, Thomas came towards him and uncontrollably hit him in the face, whereupon he fell over.

Mrs. Andrews was preparing dinner when she received a phone call of the Clarks.
Tears were dripping down her face as she was slowly stirring the stew. She could hear Thomas laughing whilst watching cartoons, which cheered her up a little. Halloween was only about one week away and she was only halfway through his costume. She would sit there sewing until midnight, until she was too tired to keep her eyes open, but Thomas’ excitement kept her going. Customers were already complaining about her delays, but they knew she was the best in town.
Thomas always stirred his stew until it had gone slightly cold; he found it amusing licking the food off the spoon. Mrs. Andrews thought that teaching him table manners was pointless.

“That’s dad, mom!” he said laughing whilst pointing at a photograph on the wall.

“Yes, darling…Finish of your stew. That’s a good boy.”

She always tempted to take the photograph down, but she knew that Thomas would notice it and complain. Everything in the house had to be in its right place, so that he felt he was at home. Exactly at ten in the evening he would have fallen asleep whilst reading Spiderman or Wolverine, which were his favorites and Mrs. Andrews would come into his room to switch the lights off.

“Mrs. Andrews”, Mrs. Clark said “I’m not going to take any offense, because I know your son’s situation, but I can tell you that I don’t want him anywhere near Dean.”

She was certain that the whole village knew about what had happened, since it was the Clarks who were affected. She felt how Mrs. Clark was grudging her, as those words were full of resentment, which were expressed through her stinging eyes.

“I’m sorry”, was all Mrs. Andrews could say.

It was one night before Halloween and Thomas’ mother had finally finished his costume. She had never seen him any happier. He was jumping up into the air.

“Spiderman! Spidermaaaan!”

She was happy with her work and the nylon material she used to create the costume.
It was stretchy, but still looked kind of tight on him as his belly was hanging down.

“Don’t get too excited, darling!” she said worried, because there was sweat dripping down from his forehead. “Calm down!”
He carried on singing and jumping against the walls, whereupon Mrs. Andrews became very nervous. Suddenly he started choking in his own laughter. Thomas was coughing heavily, upon which she had to rub his back softly.

“I told you…Won’t you listen to me, Thomas…Take your medicine and go to sleep ok…Be a good boy.”

The day after he was still very excited and would not even eat his cereal, but instead he was reading The Coming of the Hulk in his Spiderman costume. Mrs. Andrews had to catch up with all her customers’ requests, which was why she couldn’t go out with him and therefore she asked Thomas’ schoolmate’s mother to take him out with them.
It was already dark when Thomas and his friend Dave knocked on their first door.
Before Dave could say anything, Thomas was already shouting:

“Trick-o-treaties!”

The old lady looked slightly irritated, but gave them sweets nonetheless. Before they reached the next door, they met Dean, dressed as the Green Goblin. His face was painted green and he wore a purple costume and a purple hat.

“Hi there people!”

“You alright, Dean…” Dave said.

All over the sudden Thomas jumped back and spread his arm as if he was shooting cobwebs out of his wrists like Spiderman.

“Oh dear…” Dave moaned.

“Can I borrow him for a while?” Dean asked.

“Help yourself.”

They were on their way to Dean’s house, because Thomas was told that he would get his comics back. On the way to his, Thomas was constantly trying to shoot cobwebs at the Green
Goblin, but it wasn’t happening. There was only spit dripping down Thomas’ mouth.
Dean was quiet and walked slowly whilst looking around him. Just before they had reached his house, Dean stopped in the middle of the empty path, as he could hear something. A second later, screaming kids jumped out of the bushes from across the road and ran towards them. Dean got off their way as they all jumped on Thomas, hitting his head, kicking his stomach and spitting on him. Dean was standing there stiff and motionless, watching. Thomas’ cry wasn’t heard, but still sounded terribly loud in Dean’s ears that he suddenly turned cold. Thomas was still trying to shoot cobwebs with his wrists, but nothing ever came. As his screaming had stopped, the kids had stopped as well. They laughed at Dean and then ran away. Thomas’ eyes were looking straight into Dean’s, as he was standing there looking at him, shaking heavily and drooling uncontrollably. Thomas slowly tried to lift his arm, in order to shoot at Dean, but instead, his eyes closed and his arm fell back down to the ground.

Paula Cheung 2005

There he is, sitting by the bathtub, shaking like he has been sitting on the electrical chair, but he is still alive. His hand is touching a Valentine’s Day card saying “To Nick”. He feels sick and throws up into the toilet, hoping that he could maybe choke on his own puke.

***

I studied her well. People never change once they passed twenty; they try to feel young again and realize that there’s something wrong. The older you grow, the colder your blood becomes: “The same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying”. Daisy cheated on me six times in two years, which means she’d fucked seven men in two years. She loved me, she loved me not, she loved me – I simply didn’t know. I tried to give her anything she ever wanted; I had never made so much effort for someone in my life before. I even cooked for Daisy, even if I just came home from work – tired. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I just felt sorry for her or if I really did want to do all that for her. Her mother was a “courtesan” in her words and I never knew if she meant prostitute or what, but I knew her mother was a whore just like her. She never knew her father and neither did her mother. She had an elder half brother as well from her mother’s first marriage, but I’d never met him. I only knew that she adored him as a brother. She described him as tall with strong shoulders, always nicely tanned and shiny blue eyes.
Daisy was scared of being alone. I always thought that was a man’s problem, but no, it was Daisy’s problem. She was special; like the sunshine in my room on a warm afternoon in May. Just like Hemingway I knew there always would be spring. Wishing Daisy and me a new beginning after each row was very important to me. It had to be in spring. Though she never started cheating me on me during spring time; I wouldn’t have been able to cope with it. But that spring was an exception – unfortunately. It was worse than the last 6 1/2 times. I started carrying one single condom with me every time I went out, which I never ever did before. I wanted some sort of revenge, which I knew I wouldn’t be able to manage.
One time she had left a party, drunk, and I was about to pick her up, because she wouldn’t answer the phone. I saw her with him. Her laugh resembled that of a choking hyena and the body of a whore, which I adored. He had his arms around her waist and one hand pretending that it had accidentally touched her breasts. She swung her hair into his face like she’d never done to me. As they were walking down the road, he pulled a condom out of his pocket, which she immediately threw away.
“I’m on the pill you dumb shit!”
But he didn’t look impressed and friendly shook his head: “No, Daisy, sorry. I don’t do that…”
She started freaking out like she would do with me when I wouldn’t do things her way. Why did she treat everyone the same? Slowly he started walking back to the party and waved goodbye to her.
“Prick!” she shouted.
After that incident I started walking towards her with hot blood and clenched fists.
“Oh hullo baby, there you are! Take me home!”
She flung her arms around me and I felt like having a snake around my neck. But my blood turned cold and I didn’t know what was going on. I just smelled vodka and cigarettes on her, which prevented me from responding to her hug. But I didn’t want to start an argument, so I faked the way I held her. She noticed no difference.
“Where’s your car?”
“I’m not with a car…”
“What?!”
I wondered whether she had kissed that guy or not.
“What are you like? Picking me up without a car?!”
Maybe he had already fingered her at the party. I wondered if she was wearing any underwear at that moment.
“For fuck’s sake! Screw you!”
“Walking is a good way to get sober again, though.”
“I said screw you!”
As she began to walk back to the party, I grabbed her shoulders and turned her violently back to me. I kissed her very hard and dragged her away from the road. Before she put her hand into my trousers, I put my hand under her skirt and felt her underwear. I kissed her even harder and pressed her against the lamppost, which was the way a whore would love. As I was penetrating her, I saw her breathing heavily and she put both her arms around the lamppost, as if she was chained to it. I knew I was good, but why couldn’t she just be mine?
Back at home she would always do the same: throwing my books on the floor, saying how much she hated them and the fact that they were all over the place in our apartment. I could’ve said that about her shoes, but I didn’t. She started tidying or packing, one or the other. I wasn’t sure, although I was watching her attentively, but she didn’t seem to know what she was doing, apart from freaking out.
Saturdays were the worst days ever created. Those days would swallow her up like an alcoholic would gulp his sixteen large cans of beer; and all those in a single night.
I would follow her out into clubs and pubs, breathing in all the smoke, taking in every man’s comment about Daisy, when she was dancing. I wondered which of them she would kiss, before coming home. So, instead of lying awake all night, I’d just follow her out – uninvited. No one would even notice me, not even Daisy. She blindly chatted me up before, but it was too dark for her to recognize my face. However, the idea of her chatting up her own boyfriend made me very proud. I didn’t see her drinking much that night and she had been with her female friends all the time. She looked preoccupied, rather unhappy, which surprised me, because she was never like that on Saturdays, unless she was with me. I enjoyed watching her unhappy, it sort of warmed up my body. Nevertheless, this changed as soon as a bloke started talking to her. Her eyes awoke in curiosity; she checked him out from bottom to top, whereas he did it the other way round. He was tall, tanned so dark that he looked foreign and his blue eyes were so shiny that they hurt my eyes. They were hugging each other already, as if they’d known each other for ages. She started laughing and I had had enough. I left and went to the park, where I sat down on a bench next to a lamppost and started reading Othello, until a middle aged woman in miniskirt came up to me asking for a lighter. I recognized Daisy’s mother on the spot, but she had no idea who I was, because she was off her fucking head. I only had matches to offer, because I loved the smell of them. As soon as she had lit her cigarette I realized that it was a joint; it smelt like burnt rubber. She was exactly Daisy, fifteen to twenty years older, but with dyed red hair instead of blonde.
“What are you doing this time at night, sweetheart? Looking for love?”
I kept silent for a while and in fact, her question raised a kind of curiosity in me.
“Yes.”
“Have you got twenty five on you?”
I gave her the money and simply waited for what was going to happen next. She passed me her joint, which I rejected.
“I’m doing discount for you, sweetheart. Yours or mine?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“We going yours or mine?”
“Why not just stay here?”
She was laughing her head off and stood up, walking around the lamppost.
“Come here to me.”
I stood up and approached her only slowly. I had a lot going on in my head that night and I had the impression that she was way softer than Daisy was. I was seeing something maternal in her, but I wasn’t too sure. It struck me that she didn’t even recognize her future son-in-law. Though, on the other hand who ever did recognize me? Daisy?
As I reached the lamppost, she started pressing me against it and I felt like I was in the wrong position. Her fingers were stroking my dick and slowly unbuttoning my trousers.
She knelt down and looked at me and I saw Daisy’s face all over the sudden. My beautiful Daisy. As she took it out, I realized that it wasn’t Daisy and twitched.
“You ok, sweetheart?”
“No, unless you let me use this.”
I took the condom out of my pocket and gave it to her with my shaky hands. I noticed how heavily I was breathing and that sweat was running down my forehead. She began to laugh her head off again; this time it sounded even worse, it hurt my ears and irritated me vehemently.
“An out of date condom for a blow-job? You must think I’ve got aids or something!”
“Shut up!”
But she wouldn’t stop laughing at me. When I thought I heard someone, I put my dick back into my trousers and began to run. I remembered that I had forgotten my book, but it was more important to me to save myself from that evil laugh. I felt humiliated and disgusted. I stopped, in order to make myself sick and then I began to walk back home.
Daisy was in bed and I thought it must’ve been about three in the morning, but it was only half past one. She was lying there with her back facing me. I could smell that she had had a bath, which was unusual, because she usually had one in the morning. She smelt very nice and clean, I didn’t smell any smoke, except partly on me.
“Where have you been?” She never asked me that before, but that was probably because I was never out.
“In the park and left my book there”, I answered.
She sounded soft and quiet and didn’t raise her voice once.
“You seen anyone nice tonight?” I suddenly asked with a very unfriendly and nearly attacking manner. I didn’t know why I asked her, probably because I saw her with someone and I just wanted to see what she would tell me.
“No.”
I clenched my fists and forced myself to sleep.
It was Valentine’s Day and she mentioned that she wanted some white roses, but
I refused. If she really wanted roses, I’d only get her red ones. After all, she ended up buying white ones herself. I didn’t speak to her that day; neither did she talk to me. I simply didn’t want to start a fight, but I didn’t want her to leave me on my own that day, either. However, I ended up sitting on my own in the apartment, reading.
The ring I got her was kept safe; although I knew that I kept it in the third drawer, but found it in the second one. I didn’t expect a present from her; she never did get any for me, for whatever occasion. She didn’t have a bath before she went out, because she’d already had one the night before she went to bed. Before carrying on with reading, I found a note on the floor, saying: “Meet you at Frankie’s Diner at half three.”
I couldn’t figure out whether it was her handwriting or not, but I didn’t care, because we had a date and it was already twenty-five past. I was in such a hurry that I even forgot to take her ring with me. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself, if I had arrived late. But as soon as I was standing across the road from Frankie’s Diner, I saw her with him. It was that guy from the club the night before with the heavy tan and stinging blue eyes. My heart was standing still and my body was shaking so hard, as if I was sitting on the electrical chair. I was standing there for at least half an hour, watching her laugh with a Valentine’s Day gift bag on the table. I was waiting for her to open it, but she never did. I walked back into the park and found Othello torn into pieces. I was sitting there next to the lamppost, with children and their mothers walking past me. I was sitting in the park for at least two hours till it got slightly dark and then I started walking home.
When I got to the apartment I smelt roses coming from the bathroom and I heard music, too, but I felt too numb to recognize what it was. I walked quietly into the kitchen to get a knife and eventually I found myself standing in front of the white roses and the Valentine’s Day gift of him, which she still hadn’t yet opened. I didn’t know what I did to my hands, as they were bleeding; bleeding onto the roses. If they only had thorns, I thought. Quietly I walked into the bathroom, slowly opening the door and the music got louder. She was reading a Valentine’s card.
“Oh Christ, you made me jump! What’s up with you? Where have you been?”
She looked so beautiful, but there were no more white roses and never would be.
I picked up the radio of the floor and ensured that it was plugged in. She let go of the card, which fell beside the toilet. For some reason I had Lady Macbeth and Desdemona in my head.
“Darling?” she asked with scared, wide open eyes and I was glad that it was her last
word. A last word to close my mind with.

Paula Cheung 2005