I Hate You, Mdm Aton Osman.

Saturday 6th May 2006

Getting married was real easy.

It's the staying married part that sometimes makes me feel like I should have been a lesbian. Well, more than most, it's been lovely being married, going through my best and worst days with my pillar of strength within my reach, planning the future and making the present, waking up with him, being only with him, being able to hold his hand tightly and kiss him endearingly in front of the parental units and know that they can't give an unhalal hoot about it. It's been lovely and that's because he's been lovely and above all else, I love him, my curly-haired Babushuknya, my Bionic SuperAzim, my other half, my significant other. There are days, though few and far between, that would totally stump me and I'd sit in the midst of this thing I call a "mirthful maelstrom" and wonder if I am really too goddamn young to be having to deal with this kind of married adult shit from a select few of the shitstirrers.

And the worst part of it all is that, where Azim and I have a really good thing going on, with our unshaken love for each other, our faith in forever after with each other and our good geographical distance from all the shitstirrers, we still have that little bit of trauma to deal with when we get to Singapore. Family trauma, that is. From closely related people who think they've got every right to dictate what they want from us -the young, married couple who normally don't give a shit to what the respective makcik-makcik kaypos think but who remain filial, polite and courteous. For it stands firm in our moral handbook that they are our elders and they are for us to respect. But the longer we are married and the more smiles we put on for them, the more these people think they can put their respective Melayu noses into our business and throw their freaking tantrums, pull their freaking long faces, unroll their laser toungues and jangle their barang-kemas-Golden-Chance in our very tak-kuasa faces.

And I've had it up to here, here and yes, MAKcik-MAKcik AND KAKAK-KAKAK, HERE!!! Right where you want it! Damn, you're lucky my Azim is so tolerant of makcik situations like these. Damn, you're lucky my Azim still knows his boundaries. Damn, you're lucky my Azim still has what he has for you....all that respect and attention you think you deserve from us. Damn, you're lucky my Azim does not know the whole truth of who you really are and what you're capable of.....yet. Damn, you're lucky my Azim is who he is, the good husband and son he is....no thanks to YOU actually.

But thanks to you, I lost my cool, I lost my mind and I lost myself yesterday. And I am regretting that regression every bit. Because I'm usually cooler than that. Because I'm usually better than that. But you, my dear little MAKcik, with your fake, plastic smile and your fake plastic words, have managed to sway me and him and you have managed to hurt me and him. For this part, MAKcik, you win. You and your glib little belachan toungue. And for this part, savour your sweet success and cherish this rare taste of victory. For this part is the last part I will ever let you win. For I will never ever let you in.

And now that I'm sober from the exhiliration of anger, I sit here alone in silence for yesterday I've cried aloud. With Azim four hours away from where I am and our usual parting incomplete, I am, for once, feeling terribly alone. And when I cry alone, it hurts and I hate hurting. I cried till my eyes were swollen and I cried till I fell asleep. And damn it, I have not cried for a long, long time. Why am I crying? Because I don't deserve this shit. Because Azim doesn't deserve this shit. Why am I hurting? Because all this while, I was constantly keeping myself in check with these makciks and their feelings, making sure Azim and I have never made them feel like we have disrespected them in any way and saying the nice things I should say to curve over any little bumps they might pose. Why am I reacting? Because all this while, they, especially one particular scheming makcik, never gave a damn to how I felt or how Azim felt but put up such an Oscar-worthy show of caring and sharing, Sharity Elephant and Barney would look like a pair of drunken pimps.

But with all my heart and all my being, Azim, I love you and I'm sorry. Come here, come home and come hug. No one said it would be easy but I know we'll be okay. But whoever lays claim to marriage being a perfect bed of roses obviously lied about the thorns and needs a real good thorn shoved up where the sun don't shine.


(_I_)