Psychic Seething

The day was ok, pretty nice actually. Cool windy breeze fluffing through the trees, clear azure skies. Then night fell, and with it came her own brand of darkness. "Why has your mum not called me?" was the clear message on my cellphone. Sighing, I called my mum up on my cellphone and it doesn't take a genius to understand that we were both controlling our fiery tempers. She has been avoiding the issue at question for a very very long time. And I of all people know how well my mum can evade and parry. The usual excuses..."I've been busy...you know your dad's been sick." Yeah, I get it. Here's a newsflash...it takes less than a minute to dial a phone number. I don't know why pride runs so deep in my family. Disagreements can stretch up to years. Sure, I resent. Hell, right now I'm simmering and ready to rip someone's head off. But I try my darndest not to let ill feelings fester and grow cancerous. Eventually it will destroy a relationship, as my love life has taught me. You say you wish to talk to me, fine. I have planned everything out meticulously, and if need be, I will pull out all stops to see that my one simple requirement is met. I say nothing about the constant invasions of my privacy. I hate it when people try to intrude into my personal space. But I have allowed such trangsressions to pass, and I have turned the other cheek. But in this I'm afraid I must insist. I do not have much time left...and before my star burns out, I wish to ensure that I have perfected what I know I can be good at. Potential is nothing without practice. And really, after two years, I think it is high time I wrought some change in this stagnant cesspool my life has become. It starts with a simple yes from both parties. A change in arrangements will probably be beneficial too. My temper has reached breaking point in this situation. I am still trembling, trying to rein in the heat that has gripped my heart. You say you wish to have a talk with me, but you end up slamming the door in my face. There are certain etiquettes in civil conversation, and door slamming, I'm sure, is a major no-no. Faux pas, maman. I cannot reiterate this point enough. I may not have the shining certificates most students have. I may not possess qualifications that will impress a rocket scientist. There are only two things I'm good at that are worth mentioning. Language, and music. Plain and simple, cold hard facts for those of you who are so steeped in science you like everything laid out in empirical evidence. I am crafting small pieces of writing, and knowing that I have a wicked sense of writing flair helps because, let's face it, no one wants to read a story that reads like a Britannica. Given the many controversies that surround my every move, I'm sure I'll have no problem selling novels, even if I have to sit by the roadside to peddle handwritten copies. That's besides the point, people! I'm good, I can write. But I am also good at the piano, I can master pieces that take people days to figure out. I can improvise extremely well, but at the same time...this skill has been on a steady decline because I'm just so tired of the fights that erupt whenever I return home to practice on my piano. And no, I will not give up the money that I have in reserve for the move. Consider my account frozen until further notice. It is for my piano, not for material things like clothes or food. I will find a way to make ends meet, but that money has been explicitly set aside for my piano. I am running out of time, people. I'm not kidding. No one knows it, I have not acknowledged it to either friends or family, but I know it. Deprive me of food, dress me up in rags, I don't give a damn. But when it comes to this subject that lights a spark within me, I will have to insist that for once, do it my way. I cannot go home just to play the piano. You're keeping it for all the wrong reasons. You cannot bind me against my will. I'm not depriving anyone of anything except my presence, and really...why is that a bad thing? It irks me to find that obstacles in my path are just silly nonsensical fabrications created by the human mind. As an illusionist, I am impressed. But as a person deprived of the one thing that sustains me and gives me hope...it just annoys the hell out of me. I don't care if your pride gets in your way of apologising to someone you've hurt just because you were PMS-ing. The fountain of apologies will start now, and just to prove to you how much I really want the piano here and the incessant fighting to cease, I will make the first move. Many revelations will ripple out from my one move, and I have to say...I really don't care what else happens because I only want my piano. Simple. I. Want. My. Piano. There. Kids these days have certificates, education. I'll be the first to admit I have no formal education past O's. I don't follow the herd, but I'm no shepherd either. I'm a lone wolf. I scavenge, I pick my own path, I've lived for the most part for myself. But recently I've found myself starting to care for others, even if I can never admit it to their faces. But guess what? I do care. I care about Yushaa. Very very much. Phoebe, Elina. Amin even. I've seen that guy in pain, and believe you me, that is one very unpleasant experience because I didn't know how to ease his pain. I care about Kenneth deeply, Yzanne, Gina, Yiling, Melissa. I even care for Zheng Jie, distant as he is. I care. You won't see this sentiment echoed again in such detail on the rest of my blog. I don't say it. But it is there all the same, the way something as intangible as air surrounds you unseen. I don't know how I feel about my family, extended or otherwise. Don't ask me again, because right now....right here, I'm telling you...I don't know. Heck, I'm new to all this emotional stuff. I cry, yeah. But until recently, my only outlet for my frustrations were the pen and my piano. I'm still trying to figure out how much you can need a person, where all the invisible lines that define boundaries are. I never want to see the people I care about in pain. Because, fuck. It hurts to see that they're hurting. And sometimes, more than once, I silently wish I could absorb that pain, take it all for myself, bear their burdens when it seems they've taken all they can. But I can't. I'm no angel. I'm only me, and I don't even know what that word means right now. ME. All I have are my fingers and mind and soul that allow me to be who I am, a pianist, a wickedly funny person, a versatile writer capable of delving into a wide sea of subjects. That is all I have. Against the whole world of degree holders, and an entire army of graduates, do you honestly think I can survive? Even I know I can't. So before the world catches up with me, let me have a few moments of peace with my instrument and my thoughts. Because when it does, I can promise you...I am not Atlas. I cannot bear the weight of the world, and I will collapse. I have only one request. Take away anything you want, except my friends and my skills. These are the only two treasures that I will guard fiercely and jealously. That is all. I am still seething, but I'm starting to calm down. I believe it is time to start planning a strategy, because if it's one thing I do not know, it is defeat. I may fall, yes. But each time I have risen from the dust, and this time is no different. The shadows still blanket me in velvet, but I have spawned a light of my own.