You don’t know me. You think you do but really what you see isn’t me.
I’m not the subdued g’mawnin I mumbled to ya a while ago, because really I just tumbled off from dem insane in the membrane beats which poured out my ears, pumped my brains, dripped through my veins; I’m stoked as hell and raring to go go go but all you’ve heard was a quick hello, and that wasn’t me.
I’m not the pretentious organic pasta drizzled with virgin olive oil I ordered for that fashionably belated lunch — see I am more like the canteen one cup of rice, fat-ridden pork chop drizzled with banana ketchup type but all you saw was the girl who ate a stick of a noodle for a meal, and that wasn’t me.
I’m not the whisper of black pants and big black cardigans whose shadow merely passed by you; I’m more like rainbow shit puked out from a land drenched with bubbling hot cocoa streams and cotton candy clouds showering marshmallow goodness on she monsters dressed in sequined mermaid costumes. That ghost gliding along, that wasn’t me.
I am alive, skin and bones and muscles underneath — with failing kidneys, that’s true, though this doesn’t make me feel any less — but I’m human as I’ll ever be and therefore I want and crave for company, to be understood as I want to understand. I’m looking for someone who wants to get to know me, the real me, an unabashed me. The me who thrashes about when hugged but fiercely begs for love at the most inopportune of times and in the most inappropriate of places. Like you and every other sane person I know, what I want is simple but so difficult to get.
You don’t know me, no, not yet. You see through me but I ask you to take a longer look, and linger still; if you take enough time you’ll see what’s me, and what isn’t me.
***
Pictured: Art installation, K11 Mall, Tsim Sha Tsui
Finally Dee 