My grampa stands in front of the door after a morning walk, with groceries in his hands. Today’s a Sunday, a day meant for feast. Where everyone gets a day off and enter food comas after a filling meal.
For the unparalleled being that I am, weekends are usually the busiest. My lecturer was unusually fond of trolling me today. I remember him from last year. He failed me in my first semester. ‘The supposedly academic achievement of the family turns out to be a disappointment’, my mind ranted. He laughed like a manic when I told him that I hadn’t watched the titanic. I wonder what was so funny, but I did laugh along, strange…
Grandpa placed two packs of gold marie (biscuit) and a dozen rambutans (fruit) on the redwood table, absolutely monotonous. They’re all red. I began to see red everywhere i turned, rose scented incense; a red drawer that saved up dust, held my late gramma’s kumkum and gold bangles, her dentures too; an overpriced spray can with a red cap where everything’s in chinese; then a cement coloured dress folded neatly that was once red and cherished. What’s so significant about red, I thought, to which my stomach responded with a poke from within, I then held onto my belly rolls in pain. Oh fuck, i’m menstruating.
I peel the blood coloured skin that led me to skin-coloured flesh, and i devoured it slowly, with precision, ensuring that my teeth don’t get too deep to prevent tasting wood, the juice dripped down on me, i did not bite it down indecently, but, piece by piece, leaving no remains. I get my hands on its seed, like a spherical worn out tree, so stiff and cold, and I place it carefully. because everything to ever exist is fragile, like asteroids and men.
The squirrel with a deceitful tail, was a frequent visitor, and likes to rummage through trash bins and drop utensils to announce its presence. We shared a plate today, she ate my leftovers which I attempted to shove down my throat, it felt like assault. My appetite, nowhere to see so i let it be.
This felt like reconciliation with my journal, where I went on about how my day has gone and new thoughts that spawned. I’m still grieving my journal and the sideburns that once hid acne scars. I grieve too much, and I wish all of this were real, that’s exactly how im feeling.
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