Stray Thought 0225

There is, in the farthest corner of my memory, the recollection of complete betrayal, humiliation and isolation. And it comes at the hands of my family.

Among its members, one of the eldest cousins, Pol, is known to be a jokester, to me, intimidating in his stature, as he is very tall, and fit, and his successes in acadmics, sports and career. He is a well-rounded guy, witty, sharp-tongued, admired by us cousins younger than him. The others always did say that growing up, You don’t know this, T, but growing up, Pol was a real dick. And they would laugh as they recounted that time Pol was so mean, my brother just bit him. 

I was in elementary school making daily trips to grandmama’s after class, when Pol, who didn’t do this very often, came to visit grandmama. So it was Pol, and me, and my sister and K.E. and Raf, and we were recounting stories and laughing when I said, giggling, The others told me when you were younger, you were a dick.

But nobody laughed. The three young ones turned their blank gazes toward me, and Pol glared, mouth set, eyes dead, and it was quiet. Don’t you remember? I asked the others, who were there when we shared stories over a game of President, and I was made the asshole, the loser, the dork, and I crawled away to let the kids play with the cool cousin, while I became the alien.

Pol said good bye to me when he left, though I never rejoined them. We hugged and I don’t think I apologized. 

I have never felt comfortable in Pol’s presence, burdened by the guilt and the resentment of that singular moment. When I visited the city up North, to where he moved, and he asked me why I didn’t visit, I didn’t tell him any of this, and I didn’t feel bad about it for long.

I think about this moment a lot.

Stray Thought 1250

It is early Friday morning – or late Thursday night. The clock reads 12:50 AM and I decide now is as good a time as any to brush my teeth. 

I don’t do so idly. I pace the length of the bathroom, thinking about the big red zit on my nose, about downloading the WordPress app so I don’t have to note my thoughts down blindly in my diary, in the dark of my room, illuminated only by the screen of my phone so as to not disturb my sleeping sister. I think about words I havr uttered recently that I should have kept to myself, and the consequences that could arise because of my carelessness. I’d rather think about that, about anything else, everything else, if it means I can ignore the feeling in my chest, pressing heavy against my lungs, that is too reminiscent of a past, broken self I spent so long – too long – fixing.

I am disgustingly bitter, knowing that my former…the person who had once, twice, thrice broken my heart – this person is doing what I wish to be doing: practicing a better routine, and being active in transforming this body into something better?

It is such a trivial concern of mine, and yet, I am angry, because I do not feel like I am achieving what we sought out to do – exercise, be healthy – and she is capable of it. I am angry, and petty, and wonder how to turn this bitterness into motivation.