Burn her!

It only dawned on me today that I am probably too late. The reason why I admire E. is because she is beyond beautiful and has a fantastic job. And she gets the men she wants. Whereas I am continuously rejecting those that I don’t want – no matter how wonderful they are. I am not looking for anyone who is wonderful. I just want someone to ignite the fire so I can make myself suffer by telling myself I cannot have him. At least I am being reminded that I am alive. The last time felt like this was four years ago and it held on for over a year. Pain and bliss together. Every time I fall in love I seem to get closer and closer to the chance of being loved back. But how will I feel if it ever happens? I do not remember how it feels.

I had a creepy dream in which that bastard found me. He grabbed hold of my hand tightly and I couldn’t escape. I almost chopped my own hand off so that I could escape from him. I realized it’s not just him, but my friends also remind me of my stupidity. Their blindness reminds me of what a fool I myself used to be. This is why love is best when you can’t have it (, although I wouldn’t mind hugging him). When you can’t have it, you go mad and you remain disciplined at the same time. You lose weight by not feeling hunger. Only falling asleep is a pain.

I have this feeling that some of the student writers that I’m working with are currently living a very mundane life because they are not digging deep enough in their hearts. I don’t know where they are going and I’m not sure if they know where they are heading to, either. If I see no trace of honesty and confession making, I just lose interest. I want to see at least an attempt of wanting to retrace the deeply entombed memory or whatever the fuck had a great impact on them. Maybe some writers have never gone crazy or they are cowards. But then they cannot call themselves writers. You write to make yourself feel better. There are no further reasons.

In the last couple of weeks I have learnt a lot about my writing persona thanks to certain wonderful people. I have become more aware of what I put onto paper and most importantly: why.  Why have I bought a ticket for this particular journey? I finally know, although it was obvious, but coming to realize it is another thing. E. is going through the same phase. I see the parallels clearly in my head, except that her end is clear and mine is still uncertain.
Here’s another thing: E. is more courageous than I. And yet, people will mistake E.’s courage for mine. At the end of the day she is someone I want to be, I don’t just admire her. This is the truth. And a terrible lie that I will never forgive myself for.

Once the journey is over, all feminists will hate me. I want them all to shout: “Burn her! Burn her! Traitor! Burn her!” And only genuine women AND men will be able to see beneath the surface.

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