When you're young you have this image of your life:
That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.
And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,
And if you happen to you wake completely lost.
-Missy Higgins: The Special Two
That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.
And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,
And if you happen to you wake completely lost.
-Missy Higgins: The Special Two
She was all alone, suffering from depression. Sick of the backstabbing, the stories, the rumours. Sick of the happy shiny faces that hid cruel metallic laughter. Sick of kindess that translated to contempt the moment she was out of sight.
She made a promise to herself that if she ever had a problem with anyone, she would tell them to their faces. They would either take it or leave it. If they were strong enough, they would stay. If they didn't, then too bad. For them, for her. It was a pity, but it wasn't the end of the world.
Then the real world outside the goldfish bowl came crashing in.
There was no black and white. No one really was ever wrong. The best villans are always the ones who think that they're right.
She learnt to temper her temper. She learnt not to bottle up so many emotions, leaving them on a shelf to simmer. She learnt the art of brokerage. She learnt tact in neccessary situations. She learnt how to play the game. How to play and beat the game of harlequin.
She still preferred to offset her forthright tendencies with tact, but she was able to play the game as well as anyone else.
+
It had been a long time coming. Tempers simmering.
She still preferred to tell people up front. She knew she would. It was too deeply ingrained.
Plenty was at stake. Egos, the fact that she was circumventing the hierachy, her friendship.
It was better that she came out and said it, she reasoned. She was not one of those backstabbers. It was better that the recipient hear it from her, a person who liked them, than to hear it being thrown at her in harsh words and fresh ink over officiating watchful eyes. It was better that she prepare her for what was to come.
She closed her eyes. This was the beginning. The crux. The matter with it all.
She realised she could lose everything. She realised that she was playing with fire, a game of quicksilver harlequin. She could lose the tenuous friendship, and most of all, her happiness.
She slept on it.
She made a promise to herself that if she ever had a problem with anyone, she would tell them to their faces. They would either take it or leave it. If they were strong enough, they would stay. If they didn't, then too bad. For them, for her. It was a pity, but it wasn't the end of the world.
Then the real world outside the goldfish bowl came crashing in.
There was no black and white. No one really was ever wrong. The best villans are always the ones who think that they're right.
She learnt to temper her temper. She learnt not to bottle up so many emotions, leaving them on a shelf to simmer. She learnt the art of brokerage. She learnt tact in neccessary situations. She learnt how to play the game. How to play and beat the game of harlequin.
She still preferred to offset her forthright tendencies with tact, but she was able to play the game as well as anyone else.
+
It had been a long time coming. Tempers simmering.
She still preferred to tell people up front. She knew she would. It was too deeply ingrained.
Plenty was at stake. Egos, the fact that she was circumventing the hierachy, her friendship.
It was better that she came out and said it, she reasoned. She was not one of those backstabbers. It was better that the recipient hear it from her, a person who liked them, than to hear it being thrown at her in harsh words and fresh ink over officiating watchful eyes. It was better that she prepare her for what was to come.
She closed her eyes. This was the beginning. The crux. The matter with it all.
She realised she could lose everything. She realised that she was playing with fire, a game of quicksilver harlequin. She could lose the tenuous friendship, and most of all, her happiness.
She slept on it.
Listening to: Sinead O' Connor- One More Day
2 comments:
*hugs*
you may be playing with fire but in the long run, it's better that way. when we keep things bottled up, things start to feel like thin ice. think mr and mrs smith :)
i love you dark choc.
LOL, I was wondering if it was or not, but sarcasm doesn't really come up all too obviously in typed letters. Maybe next time, add a smiley or some sort of indicator? Yeah I'm dense where online sarcasm is concerned. ;p
And regarding your post, gimme the ugly truth over sugar-coated words anytime. My only condition is that it be true.
>Nove
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