Fighting in the Fog

 

This is what it feels like: guilt and anger, overwhelming fatigue, a hopeless sense of loneliness.

For the past few months, I’ve been feeling more tired than I’d like to admit. Dreams are getting harder to come by. It’s getting harder and harder to listen and to encourage. My words lack sincerity and depth. It’s a shallow kind of understanding. My heart feels so empty and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel. But oh, I feel so much, this isolation. No one knows.

Which is something I don’t understand. I really have nothing to be upset about. I’ve thought about it, I have everything. I have a good job, good working hours, enough money to get by, food on the table, a roof over my head, clothes to wear, family, friends, a boyfriend, a church, a ministry to serve. There is no way I should always feel this lonely. I’m surrounded by people.

But sometimes, more lately than usual, I think I could just evaporate, and people won’t notice until it’s too late.

I have nothing to be unhappy about. I know it. I’ve repeated it to myself over and over again. I believe in it whole heartedly. I know the people around me who have it a whole lot worse. They’re going though recession and pregnancy and bereavement and relationship issues and self esteem issues and family problems and long working hours and bosses from hell and toxic relationships and a whole host of other legitimate reasons why they should be unhappy. Not me. I have none of that.

I’m just so tired. So, so, tired. I’m not sure anyone can see that, through the fog of problems they’re going through.

It’s so strange, my body, despite its bulk should feel this tired. You’d think with the amount of food I’m eating everyday and the carefully calculated amount of calories with the right portions of roughage and vitamins. It’s so strange that something this large can still be tired. But it is.

I have nothing to be sad about. But I feel like my heart is broken and I don’t know why.

The problem with laundry....

...is keeping my white shirts white, and not fading to a musty cream after they had a few rounds in the wash. 

We used to have a helper who hand washed our clothes, but as she has retired since then, I've been using the washing machine to wash my working shirts. I'm probably not very good at it yet, because I've just stained my most expensive cotton shirts working shirts a light pink. (On the plus side, hey, new working shirt!)

When staring at my shirt in horror, the mother came and told me off for putting my working shirts in the washing machine instead of handwashing them (apparently, all this could be averted if only I had just been more industrious by immediately washing my shirts after I've worn them, instead of chucking them all in the wash). 

But... what's the point of owning a washing machine if I'm going to end up washing all my working shirts by hand anyway? 

Next time, I'll just separate the whites from the color clothes when doing laundry. To heck with water conservation and all.

Photography Hobby

Sometimes, I close my eyes and dream of places I’d like to be. On seashores with seashells where the gentle sunlight warms my shoulders. In a street market, where a riot of colors and languages prevail, and vendors peddle their goods in honey jars. Sometimes, I am on a boat, and sometimes, I am looking down from a mountain. And sometimes, I think I know these places where I am at, I’ve seen them before in High Definition(™) and I’ve always known that those places would be exactly the way I’ve seen them. I am always walking in Dream Istanbul and Dream Barcelona.

In those dreams, I am always in a colorful dress and a camera (and sensible shoes, because we all know that in dreams, we will walk a lot).

In these dream places, the island air blows my chocolate brown hair into my eyes, and I always feel reborn, renewed with each breath. I wonder idly whether I will have time to explore the nooks and crannies of the city before we catch the next plane.

One day, it’s my dream that I will be able to take up photography. I would like to compose pictures, like those images which stamp themselves behind my eyelids. It’ll be like having an eye in that part of my mind where I see still life and movement, and where I could store each and every one of those memories that I shall make.

(one day, I will buy a camera, I promise).

Acquaintances

Hello, my name is Melissa.

Here are things that you may like to know about me.

I like handwritten notes and colorful dresses and rainy mornings and ice cream on sunny days. I also like sandy feet and creamy coffee and cloud watching. I adore windy evenings and when I grow up, I’d like to be Audrey Hepburn. One day, I’ll take up photography and live in a house with a husband and two dogs. I may or may not visit Machu Piccu, but I’ll definitely be seeing the Northern Lights (let me know and I’ll drop you a postcard if you like).

I also like dreaming, but you probably would have known that.