return to the womb

i have the most kind, motherly, mother on earth.

there is an idea inside my head, one that speaks to tell of this relationship between the family and the individual, for i am greatly attached to the family.

tapi saya tak balik raya pun tahun ni.

syahdu.

i want to be able to write everyday, with much more comprehensibility on my part, so that when i look back at this, i’d be able to understand what it is that i have wanted to do with my life.

reading Plath’s journals helps. she fleshes out these little funny ideas on life and marriage and self-love and graduation and purpose and the cause and on suicide on writing and the like. on love. on accomplishing life. i suppose it doesn’t hurt to actually read her as i grow up, as i bloom into the age of thirty, to actually be able to bridge and map out experience and see if we ever coincide or not. i need to be in touch with the feminine. not one of the loud feminist types who argue of mundane things such as shaving your armpits in toilets or the ability of express your thoughts squeakily on a little platform for women, but one so personal so anguished so private one whose every thought is pregnant with that want to give everything away to relinquish herself yet remain mute in her nameless suffering.

i take that back because that sounds like something out of Ombak Rindu.

there should be a quality of nobility attached to it. one that immediately demands call forth, respect or awe over her selflessness. can a woman be so selflessly proud?