Skeleton in my Closet

I've too many skeletons in my closet and some of them wear dress.
Say you have them too. Years past and next thing you know you'd have a collection of facts, those of which, in your opinion, may better be hidden, or concealed from, people in general, a specific group of people, or even a particular person for various reasons such as, to protect them from maybe pain - be it physical or psychological - or maybe, selfishly yourself. The metaphor 'skeleton' is used to reflect the nature of the fact it carries. Dark, dirty, deceitful they maybe but not necessarily. Some things are just not meant to be known, some must wait for the 'right time' to be let out, and some are just plain insignificant. But, either way they must come out. Sooner or later, they must and they will.

The trouble with these skeletons are, keeping it in too long might, or rather will, cause serious consequences. Unlike real bones, they will start to rot. They will start to stink and once they do, others will notice. Imagine you have a beautifully decorated bedroom, clean and tidy but there's a sharp nose piercing odor coming out of the closet and others walked into the room. You figure it out.

Think of it metaphorically. And, think of it from other peoples' point of view. What would they think? What would they feel? Something must be wrong, that's what. And at that point, whether or not they saw your skeletons, and whether or not those skeletons of yours has a dark side, or whether or not they knew the purpose of them being kept for so long, don't matter much more. Your intention of letting them out one day is now left in vain. The facts of which you had been concealing, be it bright or dark, now symbolize dishonesty, and intention to deceit. Whatever plans you have post skeletal disposal is now pointless. Premature discovery of them, turns honest mistakes and dark pasts that were, into lies. Try to deny it, try to save yourself, the ball is just not in your court no more.

You are now seen as a lying bastard, or cheating son of a bitch. The trust is now gone. You are back to square one. "GO TO JAIL!! DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT 200". All you have now are regrets, disappointment, hatred towards yourself, and not a single trace of self esteem. You get depressed, and try to share with those who think they know you well but you know better. With that many skeletons, no one really knows you that well, and as much consolation as they could possibly give, it just won't make you feel any better. You'd just want to bang your head really hard on the wall that you brain would explode. A knife in the heart, sounds very inviting. You just want to tie yourself on the railroad so it all will soon be over. This is when sanity comes into play. Facing it with sanity is like having an open heart surgery performed on you while you're wide awake, without any kind of anesthetics and it's not even an option. It hurts like a bitch, you can see and feel everything that's being done on you and there's nothing you can do about it but try hard to stay still. It will feel like forever. You feel like you're going to die which is ironic because it is exactly the one thing that will keep you alive.

There are only two possible outcomes. One, you'll die. The other, you'll make it through. One thing for sure though, if you did make it through, it will leave an ugly scar so obvious that you will never ever be able to forget and really get over it.

It stays with you forever. You will ever be haunted. Just like me.

-taukamal

Evolved

You know I'm a dreamer
But my heart's of gold
I had to run away high
So I wouldn't come home low
Just when things went right
Doesn't mean they're always wrong
Just take this song and you'll never feel left all alone
-
(Motley Crew-Home Sweet Home)

I am a dreamer indeed. A man full of hope and desire. A man who believes in the greater good, a man who believes in Disney ending. I am a hopeless romantic. As many have known, I left home five years ago to pursue a dream. I left the place i called by many names - shit hole, junk yard, pantat kawah - just to finally go back to 'her', kneeling, and begging for her to take me back in, with arms wide open, and make me feel, something that I have never felt in a long long time, BELONG.

And four months of hot summer that's exactly how she made me feel. I was home. Not anymore a shit hole, not anymore a pantat kawah. I was finally home.

Home is not quite a glamorous place to be in, not a place you could rent an apartment and fill it with IKEA furniture after two months of working. It is where you sleep on a mattress in a low cost flat. It is not a place where you drive a German car, but you ride in a tin can on wheels instead. Nor home is the place where your 'human rights' are taken care of. It is where you work like a dog and get shitty pay. Home is not a place you could save up enough for annual ski vacation in the Alps. It is where having KFC once a month is a luxurious treat. Home is not about Scotch over lunch and Merlot over dinner. It's ais kosong and teh ais when you can afford one. And home is not about working and studying during week days, longing for another weekend of drunken nights and meaningless sex just to wake up on Monday morning with a hangover and praying so the girl from last night won't miss her period cycle. Home, is about hard work during weekdays and spending quality time with your family over the weekend. Home is where you stay focus in what you do, a place where you set your goals and actually go for it, a place where live your life. Home is sweet, home is home, home-sweet-home.

Four months at home taught me lessons. Lessons, that I had been longing for throughout my exile. Five years of floating and drifting, looking for the answer, and of all the places I could have found it, I found it resting at my very own home. There, a moment of realization. To appreciate home I had to first despise it.

I love the life in a foreign land. I did not have to worry about, well, anything. Everything was made easy. Not once in my life time had I need to face hardship and difficulty. Not once. I had roof over my head wherever I go, never had to starve, and clothes, those that many cant even imagine to have, I have them lined up nicely starched and ironed in the closet. I love the life in a foreign land. I get amused by all the small things. Being all classy, stylish, and looking good in all occasion. While some of my collegues had to decide on which brand of canned tuna would be the cheapest one, I, a pompous pretentious spoilt brat would be all dressed up dining in a gourmet restaurant, enjoying my fresh mussels, with a glass of chardonay in hand. What a life huh?

Back to my four months of summer. It lasted a life time. I was happy, heart broken, revived, resurrected, and heartbroken again, many many times. And guess to whom I fell back to? The warm hands of my parents and, of course, God almighty. Obviously I am by far not the cover boy of Islam, nor am I an obedient kid. But over the months mending my broken self, I did go to 'meet' God with my old man. Soothing. It was like the first time I had ever experienced joy in my life. I also managed to have a few rather pleasant conversations with the sweet lady who carried me in her for nine long dreadful months, some 23 years ago.

Alone I sat in a multi-billion dollar coffee shop franchise in one of the greatest establishments in the country, I thought, "Am i going to leave all these for a bunch of overpriced coats, and some fancy restaurants, and getting hammered off my backside every weekend??? Hell no". Well, there was one reason why I wanted to stay. Not the overpriced coats, nor was it the fancy restaurants, but 'something' else. One thing that I, a pompous, pretentious, spoilt brat, could never have. I wanted 'it', and still very much desire 'it', and undoubtedly, in love with 'it'. But I just can't have 'it'. That explains why I wanted it so bad doesn't it?

Other than 'it', and 80 quids a day pay I could make in this foreign land, I have got nothing much to gain here. But at home in the other hand, I've got the whole country to explore, the whole system to exploit, and most importantly, my entire life to built.

So, bring on the low cost flat and the mattress, bring on the tin-can car, throw my human rights out the window, pay me dirt, shove the KFC down my throat and water it down with ais kosong, spare me the drunkenness, give me sobriety, and sex... it can wait until the day I tie the knot. I just want to get home, I just want to be home. I'm tired of running, living in denial. I'm done dissing my home and giving it names. I am going home, and this time I'm going home, for good.

-taukamal