Being Needy

Dear Diary

Sometimes I feel needy. I want to be told I’m beautiful. That I’m perfect “just the way you are”. To have a song dedicated to me. To have poems written for. To be assured I am a good writer. To being comforted that people do like reading my things.

Then I realised..I do get these validations and needs thrown at me. Well, not the writing part. Most of the time the others delivered their words in kindness. But because they’re not coming from specific people, or about my writing, I feel nothing at all.

I used to daydream about how nice it’d be to have a poet fall for me. Our world would be riddles and crossword puzzles and we could talk in our own language. Then someone like that came. But he went too fast, love poems and all. And liked to show me hoax on the internet and believed they were true. No, no no, I said goodbye.

I used to think how cute it’d be to eventually marry a handsome foreigner. The union would reflect a multicultural generation. Something interesting. When he came he went too fast too. “Do you like me?” he asked the first time we talked after meeting at a surau. He takes a lot of selfies. I said no.

I wondered what would happen if I actually looked back and made eye contact with these guys who looked at me when I’m outside. It’s just girl things. Males of all ages somehow want to look at you. I did that. What would happen? They’d give me their number. Maybe I’m not so ugly after all. I stopped making eye contact with men I have no business with.

Then I thought “Knowing someone through a mutual friend would be interesting.” My name being whispered I heard across the room but then again, I said nope.

I wanted someone who knew the Quran and Islam. Ustazs had come professing their love. “You’re a perfect Muslimah,” I heard. I refuse to be seen as a Perfect Muslimah. You’re an ustaz you’re not supposed to do that! I would shout and walk away.

I know I’m only 24. But my biological clock is ticking.

I am needy. I want to be told I’m everything.
And I do get told I am.

Just not from who I want to hear it from, I guess.

It is brave to face your feelings and tell me how you feel.

But I’m just the one who doesn’t want to open up to other people. It’s me. Not you.

Yours
Fifi

P.S. Please don’t tell me “open your heart” if you can’t even describe how to. I hold the key. I know where it is. Thanks for your concern.

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