Shards

There's something to be said about heartbroken girls who cry in public. We still care about how we look to others despite shards in the vicinity of the heart. Not because we're vain; but because we don't want to disturb others. We hate it when people look at us with pity or, worse yet, awkwardness. We reflexively want to apologize and at the same time raise a figurative middle finger - both of them preferably, if we weren't so busy holding and sobbing onto a tissue.

Speaking of tissues, they get soggy really fast although we don't cry that much. I wonder if there's some weird chemistry that accelerates its disintegration when tears make contact.

And about people looking at you - they usually fall into two categories: those who gape and those who avert their eyes. The former is merely a slower version of the latter. Eventually everyone stops looking at you. But their gaze lingers.

Right before we burst, we would probably say, "I'm not going to cry" or a version of it. That translates to "I'm trying hard not to look weak right now but I know I'm lying."

Big, fat lie.

Some of us break in a spectacular outburst; some sob and catch their breath; others manage (or not) to cover their face and let out in silence. No matter how, the hurt is real for each and everyone.

The hardest part of this whole thing is holding out the tears before and the smile after. Because heartbroken girls who cry in public are expected to cheer up sooner or later. Grief, pain, fatigue, anger, disappointment and despair are matters of the closed doors.

We abide. Oh, how we abide. Because we hate to intrude.

But sometimes we fail.

It's not about drama. Never about making a scene. We are level-headed people who dislike calling attention to ourselves. When the valve turns on, it is never a choice. It's almost physical but I hesitate to call it such - a burp is physical, a fart as well - but tears? Tears imbued with so much feelings?

Perhaps it is self-preservation.


Singapore, 13 August 2015