Princess
Roll out the red carpet and allow me to walk alongside honesty for a change. The Princess wants to breathe fresh air for a while.
I ran to the mirror, braided my hair quickly before bowing down to the “white throne”. There in less than two seconds, I puked my soul out. It was my body’s way of telling me that it’s time for a break, a rather long one for everything else but the body. It has been tense for the past year.
I flushed. I wiped the tears from my eyes before flushing again. I grabbed the lavender rose air freshener and sprayed my bathroom until I felt the urge to puke once more. So I did. Afterwards, I decided to see what’s left of me in the mirror and frankly it wasn’t much. My eyes were bit swollen with mascara sponged all over the place accompanied by the usual eye bags. My hair tangled, cheeks red and lips chapped from the dry weather lately.
You’re an exquisite beauty, Princess; I scoffed at my reflection before crawling underneath the covers. Oh, at that moment I so wanted to feel like a Princess again being in the company of those haughty over rated royalties I’ve always managed to ridicule both in silence and directly. I remember the many moments where Pappa and I stood as royals in a courtyard full of them, disbelieving every word they said and mocking every constitution they embraced.
“I am born in the wrong family,” I whispered to him during one of our little gatherings.
“Pretend you’re in a movie of some sort then,” Pappa tried to console the both of us.
“So how come the director isn’t saying “Cut!”
“How about an 80 season TV series?” He joked.
Oh, that was then when I had the royals up to my neck. Yet hugging my pillow all alone in that pathetic room in the middle of a small town in
Thailand , I was hungry for my comfort. As shameful or cowardly as it may sound, I confessed to my mother over the phone that the only thing I need at that moment was a maid. I wanted her to get me all my favorite food, have her spoon-feed a few bites to me. As a mother she understood, though giggled endlessly.
“You can’t avoid your father’s blood no matter where you want to run to in this world!” She stated laughing. For the past 23 years, I have been utterly offended over that particular comment of hers. Placing myself amongst people I never believed in was never an ambition of mine. On the contrary, since the day I was informed of the burden running through my veins, for the past 10 years I have been on the run.
Yet clutching to my blanket and head screaming out in agony, I gave in and allowed myself to be enslaved by cravings for gratuitous pampering that were once enemies.
“Your husband’s blood and yours.” I pointed out. “You expected me to be absolutely commoner-minded?”
“No, we need a miracle for that.” She smiled. I silenced. “Be a royal because of what you do, not because of heritage.” My mother continued.
“Not everybody can be like you.” I stated half regretting that I made such phone call.
“My flesh and blood can.” She ordered politely.
“You are pursuing a morality discussion with the mentally ill. Consider it inadequate, Mamma.” I stated boldly only to hear her crisp laughter.
She informed me that ever since she moved to a quieter neighborhood, they hired a new maid who stayed with them at the house. How superb, I thought. I so wanted to meet and greet that woman before telling her to make my favorite breakfast and serve it to me. I made my mother promise that she’ll call up my personal missus and have her oil massage me, just the way I always liked it. Oh, I miss her hands, firm and amazingly healing, unlike those rip off Thai massages that have only thinned my wallet yet upset more of my muscles.
I want to spend a day bicycling along the coastline of North Bali and cursing out every man who decides to annoy me simply because it’s my goddamn territory. I want to walk topless at Sanur Beach simply because I can do anything I want and get away with it. I want to shut and lock the door to one of Gramp’s bungalows until the next morning so one of his staff can bring me my toast and hot ginger tea.
I thought about the sea breeze, the early boat ride at dawn and dolphin spotting, the 5-hour nude tanning under that scorching sun, the relaxing walk around Kuta area with only my beach apparel on. I want to isolate myself at Gramp’s house in the hills, dip my naked body in his little hot spring in the backyard, and eat Gram’s nicest food before dozing off under the mango tree listening to his birds and that beautiful white feathered yet obnoxiously deafening parakeet. (Oh, what’s his face….?)
I want to climb and pick the ripest papaya for Grams so she can whip up some of her famous papaya salad I love most. I miss those ripe green and pink guavas and striking red pomegranates near their little temple.
I thought of how good it feels to walk around any street with people talking to me because they want to, because they feel the urge to greet me, because it’s all for the sake of being friendly. Not having any man thinking I am a Thai eligible for a one, oh perhaps two night stands, just because again…it’s my goddamn territory. Oh, it’s been horrendous here in Thailand. I have been stuck in such an unhealthy charade where a woman is worth about $50 a night.
I gathered my thoughts and threw it out the window before reaching out for a few Neurofen and a bottle of water.
———-
The clock said 03.17 AM and I realized I dozed off for 7 hours. I bowed down to my ‘white throne’ once more, spilled what’s left of dinner, and flushed.
I groaned for a bit and realized that Princess wants to breathe fresh air for more than a while. She wants to be noticed and acknowledged. She wants to roam free for a change instead of stuffed at the darkest corner of the closet. She wants to scream to the world that she’s very much alive and she can’t stand being all alone trying relentlessly to be everything that she is not.
January 29th, 2007 at 6:07 am
i thought the princess is deleting her blog :p
January 29th, 2007 at 6:10 am
she said she’s deleting her blog. she never said she’s not making another one.
January 29th, 2007 at 8:02 am
After nearly 7 years of constantly being a nomad, it still happens to me, occasionally, that I dream of my MAIDS! I thought I was better off without them and liked my ‘total independency’ but then there are still times when I miss being at home and having them around
I guess we’ll have to work our a** off to be ‘royal’ by ‘what we do’ then… (read: trying to be like Martha Stewart - without going to jail, of course). Or marry a royalty? That’s another option *can’t stop laughing at myself now.. must be the Monday thing..
January 29th, 2007 at 5:01 pm
Don’t ever wake up when you want to be a princess. I can never relate your feeling, born form a middle class family. My father a soldier, and my Mother a teacher and we are six, we sure had assigned task each day and night.
As a child I grew up dreaming to be rich, having everything, anything of fancy. My father constantly bugging us to read and study. Eat well, so we can understand what the teacher is saying.
We all finished school, they are both retired, I thank them for that long years of love, care and support.
Now that I’m here in the land of milk and honey, I tried them for tourist interview and luckily granted visas. They came and stayed for three months, three weeks after my wedding. Their being able to come made a big difference in our home town. Its something to treasure for life.
January 29th, 2007 at 9:46 pm
It’s actually easy for me to quit and regain habits, for example being independent. Habits appear because of peer pressure or mere culture absorbtion as a cause of moving to a new country. But when it’s as deep as whatever that runs through your veins, I do find myself struggling. And what is harder than a battle against your own self?
I don’t need a maid. But I can’t avoid cravings that have been mentally planted on me.