Beauty

It's a slow simmering that comes to a constant boil. And then as it boils at a constant heat, the good leaves the pot as steam and what remains is just a dried up muck stuck at the bottom, stuck so bad that you just have to throw out the entire pot. My anger, my patience, my emptying shell, that's what that all was.

I have never felt like I belonged anywhere. In social groups, I've never fully been a part of the Malays, nor the Chinese. In my family, I've never fully been a part of the Hamid's, nor the Poon's. Individually, I've never wanted the norm of having a partner, getting married, starting a family. I don't feel normal. On good days, this would empower me. On bad days, I just end up getting lost in a downwards spiral.

I don't think I've had a good day in a very long time. A good moment, yes. But not a day goes by that I don't think, "You know, if I die now I think I'll be ok." I feel like I'm constantly spiralling. The good moments give the illusion of me being happy but it actually really is just my spiral coming to a slow. It has never stopped. 

I don't plan ahead of my future. I want to simply live a day at a time. But my days are mundane and routined that I can't help but feel that they are meaningless. 

I used to think that if I die, I want to continue being a wandering spirit to watch over my loved ones, maybe see how they deal with life after me. But honestly now I just want to go. There's nothing here left for me. 

Money? Enough. 

Life? Enough. 

Regrets? None.

I see beauty in death, I really do. And not in a completely suicidal way but rather, the liberation for one and everyone. It's renewing.