If you ask me to tell or to describe my life in three words, I assure you that the answer will be ‘I don’t know’. My life has been separated by parts. By parts I mean there’s real life, virtual life, the me when I am with my friends and family, the me when I am with strangers, the me when I am alone and etcetera. It’s not that I didn’t try to make myself act and react when I am alone which the time when I’m being the real me, I just can’t. It never works.
I never depict myself that I kept secrets. Never approve of that. I do kept secrets of others, you know when people ask you to keep theirs, I did that. But for them, never for myself. I kept feelings. My feelings. And I pour them here, by blogging and writing. But still there’re two or three or numbers, that I can’t remember that only God knows. You know I’m so good at keeping feelings.
It’s not that I don’t trust others. I once trust someone. But in the end, they gone. They will all go. People come and go. So to make yourself better, don’t tell anyone. God’s always there for you. Once, I cried in front of animals. Eventho I know they never understand but at least they won’t judge me. Yes I am a person whose afraid of judgement tho I know I shouldn’t.
Sometimes, I don’t even know why am I writing or what I’m writing. It sounds really pathetic. I write here and there, but I don’t believe in myself. Sometimes, I keep them in a draft. Until one time, it’ll be like a whole lot in there and I don’t even know anymore whether I should keep it or delete it cause I know I won’t publish it. And some of it had gone into trash.
That sometimes I feel such regrets but I can’t turn back time.
I stare at my friend’s cat. I stare right through its eyes. Then I wonder, is it just me or its eyes really look tired? Brian, her cat’s name, really had this longing expressions in its eyes several times I stared at them before. That sometimes, it makes me wanna cry.
Brian, who was a kitten, was brought back home by my friend as she saw him running across the road. Her brother came and did save Brian from terrible accident that might had happen. Brian was really small and the two siblings decided to bring Brian back home. My friend said that it was really hard to take a good care of him by the fact that Brian still a kitten back then plus she never raise one before. It’s really nice of her, really.
Brian is almost 2 years with her, with us. Yes, she’s taking Brian with her everywhere she goes, even at the college where pets are strictly prohibited. I can’t even imagine how she takes care of Brian like he's her own baby. Brian turns out to be a really cute and good cat where everyone loves him.
The thing is that, when I look into his eyes, I always wonder how is it feels to be a cat? Or a pet. Is it so bad that you had the longing looks? Or is it because you really miss your mom that abandoned you? I keep wondering and wondering. That sometimes how I wish if I could talk to animals. It must be felt real great.
Do cats think about God? Do cats always worship God? Do cats always thanks God? Do cats thought about why they were born into this brutal world? What cats thought about humans and humanisme? How does it feels to eat cat’s food rather than human’s food?
Don’t them cats wanna ever talk about their problems? Or when they try to snatch a fish in someone’s sink they get whipped that they feel so so sad and hurt and hungry? What it feels like to have a really rough tongue whenever you lick on your body, some of your furs went off? If they could talk, how’s their voice sounds like?
I know prophet Solomon a.s could talk to animals. I know that sometimes I wish I had that specialty. He talked to ants, birds, I mean animals and that’s really amazing. He could talk to genies too. That I really envy him, in a good way. I know he’s a prophet and he’s a lot wayyyyy better than me. I just wanna see him talking to animals and asks the animals all the questions that haunting me like forever. But I know that, that questions never have answers. Maybe not until the day of judgement. At least.
If you ask me, there’re times when you know your feelings, you know what it is like cause you’re the one experienced it but you just don’t know how to express it in a way that you could possibly understand people how you feel. Tho you’ve wrote thousands of sheets, million of words, this seems harder to evince to. Maybe because you’d rather keep it to yourself, or cause writing it is severer.