the one that got away

I left the house at 0650 this morning, or a minute or two earlier.

I do have this down to a science. Usually, I catch the bus at 0644 that goes towards the campus closest to my house, then catch the shuttle at 0715 towards my campus. But just today, I decided to loosen the reigns on my otherwise rigid, self-imposed schedule, and go the other way, a bus and a train towards the station near Panda's house, so she could pick me up and we'd head to uni together, for Thursday Pancakes.

Heading towards the warmer seasons as we are, the days getting longer, the sun rising earlier, so there was sufficient light for me to see when I stepped outside. It was of the ambiguous variety, with no clear sun to pinpoint as the source, just a grey sort of brightness. I said my salaams to my mother, shut the door, took a few steps before registering the splatter on the pane beside the door.

I'm not really a zombie in the morning; I'm sort of a morning person, but I'm also a bit slow. It looked like someone had thrown some small, juicy red fruit, so that it had splattered, and dripped down, gradually drying as it did. My initial thought, as I slowly processed this, was why would anyone bother? Our house is sort of on a hill. It would take some effort to walk up the steep driveway, or the stairs, to get close enough to take exact aim and hit the glass right. To what purpose. And why. Why, between last night, and this morning, would someone do that.

As these thoughts slowly came together in my head, I gradually became aware of the bigger picture. This dried up red, smudged across the door, on the glass panes in the middle, on the side. Thick, congealed drops on the floor. You wouldn't see this from way out front, but when you go up the final steps to my door, there is another set of steps on the right, that go into a space behind the garage, but in front a tall fence that separates it from the backyard. Even there, there were these smidgens of red, at the top too, like someone had reached over and grasped the top.

My stomach turned over. Blood. It was blood.

In this sort of sickened haze, I knocked quietly and rapidly on the door; my mother had just woken up as I was leaving, everyone else was still asleep. She opened the door, frowning.

"Mum, mum, look," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat and gesturing vaguely.

She went in and called my dad, who was awake, it turns out, just listening to Qu'ran in bed.

I know we discussed this briefly, what was to be done, but even though it was this morning, I can't remember what was said. I know my dad was a bit reluctant to call the police. I said I had to catch my bus. I left.

On the bus, I just. I felt sick. And strangely on the verge of tears.

Last night: it was one of those nights where it was cold, but also warm. I had a bit of a cold sweat going on. My little sister kept waking me up, sporadically, throughout the night, because she was feeling unwell. I only checked the time once - it was about 0250. The whole night went by in this stage between sleep and wake. 

But there was a moment, in the night, somewhere, I'm sure, between 0300 and 0500, maybe 0430, where there was a loud banging. I'm a light sleeper; the slightest sounds can disturb me. I have a tendency to come up with dark theories if I can't automatically detect the cause, and the absurdity of these theories eventually lulls me to sleep. I know that's weird, but honestly. I live in the dullest part of my suburb, quiet, middle to upper class suburbia, with a touch of a retirement living across the street. Nothing. Happens. Here. You've heard me say it before. 

So when I heard this banging sound, I thought to myself: sounds like someone getting hacked to death. Which is, of course, ridiculous in my world.

Also, the sound seemed to becoming towards my sisters' end of the house, which is the back, like my room, but on the other side. Far from the front. When I think about it now, I've heard that human hearing is terrible at pinpointing sources. So maybe that's another reason why it didn't register.

My parents also heard it, apparently. My dad thought it was someone knocking, but my mother assured him it was probably cats. I mean, Kiki knows how to knock on our door. And we've had quite a few cats visiting and kicking up a fuss recently. So my father didn't get out of bed to check either.

All I could think of, on that bus ride, was that somebody, in the night hours of the  morning, was hurt. That they came to our door, banging on it loudly, in search of help. And they didn't get any from us.

On that bus ride, I felt like throwing up. I kept an eye out for bodies, for some kind of disturbance, but I saw nothing.

When I met up with Panda, I called my mother straight away. She told me they had decided to call the police after my dad had come home from work - he drives a school bus, so he just had to drop the kids off. After that, I allowed Panda to reassure me, and I got back into the routine of Pancake Thursdays.

I can't believe I was able to do that. I don't know if others would do the same. But somehow, I managed to put it at the back of my mind. It's not that I didn't think about it at all - I checked my phone frequently, expecting an update if something came up. But I was calm. And I eventually stopped worrying.

I got home earlier than usual, but it was still dark. That was the fastest I have ever walked from the bus stop without a purpose. I was paranoid, my eyes flitted everywhere. The sick feeling came back when I arrived and the dried, drippy blood was still there.

The police hadn't come. My parents had called about 0900, and it was about 1840. 

Some thoughts that had come up since: 

Yes,  I had heard the banging on the door, as had my parents. But we hadn't heard any yelling. No one had tried calling out to us. Why not?

My mother had contacted our neighbours. Our neighbours on the left checked their front gate/door (there house has a difficult layout to explain), and yes, they too found flecks of dried blood. They also heard sounds during the night, but thought it was possums. But our neighbours on our right found nothing. And no one else in our neighbourhood seemed to be kicking up a fuss. Why was it just our two houses - two houses, mind you, that do not have the easiest access to front doors?

The night before, my sister and I got home late from soccer. We brought a friend home, because her parents had gone out, and they said they would pick her up from our house. My sister let her out when her parents came, but half in this world and half in the virtual world of her phone as she is, she did not lock the door. That night, this morning, the door was not locked. Whoever was banging on our door tried to climb over our back fence - you can see the stains on the top. All they had to do was try the door and they could have gotten in. It's not that I wanted them to, or not; it's just that for some reason, the possibility sends chills down my spine.

Anyway, my sister called again, about 1915. They said they would come. It's 2316 now and they haven't shown. What does one have to do to get the police to show up? I'm not usually overly cynical about law enforcement as a general rule, but today, I have lost all my faith in them.

And I'm scared. I'm not sure what I'm scared of exactly, but I am. Maybe there's a reasonable explanation for this, one that isn't dark. Maybe some silly person went bike riding at this odd hour for kicks, had a bit of an accident, and came staggering up our driveway in the hopes of getting us to call an ambulance or something. Maybe it was some sick person's idea of a prank.  I don't know. I just don't know. And I guess it's this not knowing that is scary. I don't want to think about the other possibilities, but they're there, they're in my head. I can't get rid of them. At times like this, I crave oblivion. Or just some kind of comfort, someone to hold on to. But I know if I get my little sister to sleep in my bed, I'll just end up scaring her.

Remember when I said I wished I'd have a story to tell? Spoke too soon, I guess. I want normal again. The kind of normal where all the variables are known, the dramas are petty, the kind of boredom that is safe. 

Peace in,
Laila

#WeArePretenders

So, in light of Lisi Harrison's new series 'Pretenders', she sort of started a little trend (it reminds me of a little virtual revolution) where you confess your sins the way you pretend in the real world... I don't really know how to explain it, so I'll give you a few examples:

And my favourite:

I'm not entirely sure you guys read Lisi Harrison, but I do love her, maybe just as a person if not a writer (I feel like I can't say as a writer considering I haven't read all that many of her books). I started reading her Clique series when I was pretty young, it's all about rich girls in a fancy school, and although it sounds really superficial with all the extensive clothes descriptions and whatnot, I don't know, there was always something in it that clicked with me. As cliche as it sounds, maybe it's just that despite all that glamour, they really are just like 'normal' girls. And although I haven't actually finished reading the series, nor have I read any others by her, because I don't have access to them, I've been following her blog for ayyyyges and I think she's just amazing and I love her ♥

And I like this idea. 

I know the ones I've shown you guys are pretty exaggerated, but there are more 'realistic' ones, and you know, I thought I'd give it a go. Just for fun. So yeah. Here it is.

1: I'm a pretender in the sense that I act like I'm a dedicated tomboy because I don't want to give my older sister the satisfaction of knowing that I've 'grown up' in some ways, but I'm really excited now that she's on holiday, because I have full access to her wardrobe :)

2: I'm a pretender in that I tell my mother the sole reason for my choosing to become a midwife/paramedic is because it's a kind of selfless, helpful job, so my mother can't argue with me, but my choice also relates to a certain kind of adrenaline rush. I'm halfway into it for the thrills.

3: I'm a pretender because some people seem to think that I'm super confident and comfy wearing my headscarf everywhere, but sometimes I really do feel...well, you know.

4: I'm a pretender because sometimes, when my mother tells me to do things, I say I'll do it, and she'll keep repeating it, and I'll keep saying I will, and it will end with this whole: I'LL DO EEEET, OK? ... And then I don't.

5: I'm a pretender because I often check my phone like I actually expect something new or important to pop up, when I know, and you know, and probably everyone knows that that's not going to happen.

6: I'm a pretender because I act like I play music while I vacuum just to make the chore fun, but in reality, it's so I can sing along really loudly and not have to acknowledge my cat-being-strangled voice. And... I like vacuuming.

7: I'm a pretender because I roll my eyes and make sarcastic comments when I watch soppy love stories and cheesiness with my friends, but really I'm a sucker for happy endings. I also love Full House.

8: I'm a pretender because I shuffle my feet and bob awkwardly when I'm forced onto the dance floor at parties, insisting that I don't dance, but I'm liable to going all out and everywhere when I'm at home.

This is seriously me at home

9: I'm a pretender because I give the impression I'm an English nerd at school, but in reality, I have no idea what I'm doing when I write an essay, and I still don't understand what I'm doing right sometimes. (But hey, I'm not complaining.) 

10: I'm a pretender because I like to think I blog for me and no one else, but I can't help screaming a little inside, when one of you comment, or I get a new follower :P

So there. #WeArePretenders.

Are you?

Peace in,
Laila

Secret Lives

Some time last term, Star turned to me during lunchtime and said, maybe with a little surprise: 'You have friends.'

This is very nice to know. It might seem like such a weird thing to say, because usually you don't really expect your friend to say something like that, but it has its importance. I remember mentioning, a post or two or three ago, that I don't have too many close friends because I keep people at bay.

But Star's comment came with the realisation that while not many people know about the workings of my head or my 'personal' life, people still talk to me. Or they have been this year, more than before. And when they make their confessions and unburden their woes, I realise that I seem to have uncovered a whole new underbelly in my high school. Sort of.

Now, with what I might tell you now, you might go 'awww', because it's a serious case of delusional naivety. You see, I know what teenagers theoretically get up to. The parties, the drinks, and what happens under the covers. But because I hadn't physically witnessed it before my eyes, never having been to one of these things, it never occurred to me that this actually happened with people in my school. Or maybe I knew, at the back of my mind, but never really comprehended it.

But last term, as I sat with one of the school captains who I'd newly made friends with, and some others asked her about something that happened at her birthday party...my God. It happens. It's all there. And although no one was talking to me, I was blushing mentally because for some reason it just felt so shocking and scandalous.

In a way, to me, it felt like a majority of the teenagers in our school led a secret night life. Of course it's a stupid notion, they're not exactly bashful about it, but just in my stupid head it felt like it.

Then it sort've runs deeper. As I mentioned, I had recently made friends with one of the school captains. Let's call her Helen. I think she's lovely, I do. I mean, she's been around since the beginning of high school, but I had never spoken to her because our social circles were so far apart... and they still are, for that matter. At least, I figured from what she told me.

See, one day she looked stressed, so I asked her how she was doing, and she sort of sighed and said it was all the 'drama'. My expression must have been sort of blank, because she kind of gaped at me, and said: "You mean... you don't know?"

Cue the embarrassed nod.

"Well, I don't want to tell you... because I don't want to backstab, nor do I want to weigh you down," she said. But she explained that because she's the social butterfly that she is, she has a wide range of friends who are forever having fights. They fight, they break up; they kiss, they make up. Every. Single. Day. Kind of like my friends and I in grade two.

And poor Helen gets caught up in this because they're always trying to make her take sides. Most of the time she gets away with playing Switzerland, but recently it's been one of her closest friends, and she mentions this girl... and I'm bamboozled. Because I've seen this girl, I've shared classes with her, I know her vaguely, and she's always so bright and bubbly and happygolucky, and I absolutely cannot fathom her being the sort of petty prima donna that engages in this sort of activity.

No judgement, but once again, it makes me feel like everyone is having this secret life that I'm unaware of.

Anyway, this post is not really about my oblivion. It's about how Helen tells me these intimate things without the detailed gossip (because that's only some of the stuff she's stressed about), things she can't say to her real friends, and I wonder why. I wonder if she realises how little she knows of me, too. And I wonder what else I'm missing from the facade of my seemingly carefree peers.

She's not the only one. I have another friend, this one is more long-term. Lettuce call her Preity. Last term, again, Preity was chatting with Star and I, and I have to let you know: she's what you call really bright and bubbly, happygolucky, hyperactive, made of love. We were talking about things, and one thing led to another, and eventually she told us her father was an alcoholic, he would get angry with her older brothers (who, you could say, are old enough to take care of themselves) he'd hit them, and her mother would faint during these episodes. He never hurt her, though. I don't know how commonly this occurs in her life, but...  yeah. And also, for all her high school life up til like, two weeks ago, her parents have never let her go out with friends. Ever. EVER. And - and this is a normal Asian thing, I suppose ^_^ - her parents have forced her to take all the scienceymaths subjects, which are just not meant for her. Her personality doesn't fit it, and I don't want to be mean, but I don't think she'll do that well. And she doesn't think so either, because they weren't subjects she wanted, nor is she good at them.

("And I thought your parents were strict," Star says to me. I have never thought of my parents as strict, but now I know that if I ever do... well. Well.)

And no one knew about this, at all. We were trying to pep talk her on how to deal with this, and we kept saying she shouldn't have to live like this, but - and this is why I say she's the real bright and bubbly, happygolucky, hyperactive, made of love of person - she was telling all this to us with this big beam on her face. And when we prodded her, she sort of just sighed carelessly and said: 'Well, yeah, I know, but I mean... they're my family. I know they're not perfect, but I still love them anyway.'

And in a weird sort of way, I understand her, and I couldn't push her any further because I felt like somehow, making her change that would ruin her happiness. She's the kind of person who would only be happy if she could make her parents happy. Nevertheless, I've told her that she can spill to me or call me whenever...

... but once again, how doesn't anyone know this stuff? I've known her for almost five years! FIVE! And I didn't know this!

Two of my friends' mothers have cancer. For one, she told me, but it's still a Big Secret, and for the other, my mother told me, and that friend doesn't know that I know.

And to think of the things that I don't tell my friends - it frightens me at all the possibilities of what everyone could be hiding. 

Recently, around the table in my kitchen, I've been hearing things. About the Swindler. About his house. About sending people to check for cameras. About going there at night. About getting the money back in not very nice ways.

And it terrifies me, because there's an underbelly going on in my very own home and I don't know what it is, but I can feel it's something big and it might explode and drag us all down.

Peace in,
Laila