the dirtiest girl.

It wasn't the first time I have been in a position where I find myself conflicting with myself.

Credit to: Emily (insta: @emilyppeace)

I am not sure if you have ever felt the same way before. It was a torn apart feeling, like you don't know if you are currently a wonderwoman or you are a cinderella. 

Basically I "suffer" from this thing called ladylike. 

-- 

When I was 11, I moved to a big city from a small undeveloped town. It wasn't a good feeling at that time, but I was grateful for the move. I finally opened my eyes and saw how different ones' life can be. We used to do cycling when on the evening and play badminton even before the sun was set. We did two sports back to back. I remembered cycling too fast that emergency break couldn't work, I found myself and my bike stucked between the big longkang, and got myself wounded here and there. 

Moving to city opened my mind. Seeing how people have living more comfortably and ettiquette was a new thing to me. 

It was the first time I swept classroom floor for the year during recess time. I was good at optimising my time. I grabbed my bun and put them into my mouth. I was literally eating breakfast and sweeping the floor at the same time. My class teacher stopped me from sweeping the floor after she saw me doing this 'animal-like' action. She told me it was very dirty to do so. 

It was the dirtiest moment in my life. 

-- 

When I went back my hometown every year and people asked me this same question a lot - do you like KL more or Bintulu? The first two years I answered Bintulu. The following years I realised saying both or neither is a legit answer without punishment. Their question followed by another question - what's the difference of living in these two different places? 

It is the ettiquette. The boys in my class in Bintulu would run around in the classroom and hit the tables, made the whole role of tables looking like a snake. After recess time, you would expect to see an aftermath of World War 2 in class. The boys in KL would go canteen together and bought ate. They would play in the canteen (I thought so, because I didn't see them often in class during recess, and I didn't really pay much attention to the guys). Classroom is definitely tidier in KL than Bintulu. Bintulu's needed higher maintenance. 

--

I received this wikihow link from my sister the beginning of this year (https://www.wikihow.com/Be-a-Classy-Girl). She told me to not talk too much, not too loud and do not simply laugh. I used to laugh 2 years ago. I got the message she wanted to deliver. It is a pinch of salt and a gentle rub in my heart. 

I was told my skirt was too short and short skirt made my thigh looked buff. I was told my fancy floral pants should not reveal my legs so much. I was told my watch was too "low-class", I was told I shouldn't be rough. 

--

So, I dropped little bit of tears when I sang What a Beautiful Name. 

I always sang loudly when it is praise and worship time. I don't deny that I like singing and embrace singing, even though I don't know if I had ever sung out of tune before. It is a moment to reminisce and chewing the lyrics and enjoy the rhythm, tunes and music, of how Great God is. 

Not until one day, I got a bit sore throat after singing. 

And I was told that I always sang too loud. 

My heart sank like an anchor into the deepest ocean, hoping that I could be drowned forever, so I will forever be unseen. 

"Should I be ladylike when I sing?", I asked this to myself before I was suffocated in the ocean.

Why have I been so dirty throughout my life?

--

Seriously, why give a 💩when people comment on how you express praise in song to God? Why give a 💩to people when you are committing your life for the Kingdom and glory of God?

Elisa X

At night, Alone.

At Night, Alone.

The sky was light purple tinted mixed with light grey colour. We paced ourselves nicely and chatted about career, interviews and study plan. It was a relief for her this week. I salute for organised people who know how to plan their everyday life. It is as if they have never left something behind, all the boxes drawn on the sticky note are ticked. 

We separated at the traffic light. We shouted 'get home safely' to each other while we parted to respective ways. I reminded myself 'I need to get home as soon as possible'. After crossing the road and tram route, two guards sitting in the middle of the road. I had to walk pass them in order to get home. 

As I stepped forward, they shouted and told me I had to walk around the square. The square is like a round about in the middle of the road, except that it is a square and it is twice as big as the normal round about. I sighed. 

I walked on the tram line, tears started to drip down. This year has been the most tears year. The same old Adelaide, the different Elisa. I walked and cried silently. I hate the distance of my house from here deep down in my heart. 

It was a windy night. I was extremely thankful that it was night, 2 something. This fact reassured me that no many people would actually witness my cry. 

I thought to myself again and again, wondering why there is always this kind of emptiness in my heart. The constant pressure of being a lady, constant request of achieving something great, the unending envious thought that I have for every Christian lady in my fellowship and church, the non-stoppable complaints and disappointment of myself and the random thoughts of what if I end my life today. 

If I leave Adelaide for good one day, Wakefield street will be the street that I wouldn't want to remember. I will never forget the route from West side River Torrens to China Town.

Every time I ask myself if I have become someone better than I used to be. I never have an answer ready for myself. 

This 2 weeks had a lot of 'Welcome Nights'. It is that kind of formal party that you meet freshies and get to eat a lot of junk food and drink cups and cups of carbonated drinks. Participants indulge in every bite that they take, but that is not the real deal. The real deal is each of the participant has the chance to introduce themselves to whole lots of stranger faces, Freshies meet and greet eye to eye, wearing big smile as if they have eaten the sweetest candy ever. The year 2 and above greet politely, with enthusiasm but you can see a bit of tiredness in their eyes. 

Believe me, our eyes won't lie. Why? Because they can't talk, they express your soul. 

I used to face that kind of smiley and energetic expression 2 years ago in the mirror. Now all I see in the mirror is a wounded soul.

Wakefield street is not long. From Victoria Square to my house is as short as Rundle Mall to Rundle Street. Just that when I have things at my back and my only transport is legs, every second lasts an infinite long. 

2 years of experience, maturity, learning and accumulation of wounds, heartbreaks one after another. Burden in my mind is as much as using a string to lift up tofu. I always wish to write a full-stop to each of this burden. 

No, I am definitely not lonely, but I just want to write out this at night, alone. 

I am indifferent from Mike Posner who wrote this album "At Night, Alone", except the facts that he is a he, I am not a baller and I can never spend much on guys and shoes. 

X