Hurt / “Hey sorry i apologize about not responding”

 

Ummi Rahima’s fabric and polyester sculptures are like tissue boxes from whose centre bloom pink and white flowers. The softness of the pillows draws you in, and makes you dream momentarily of burying your face in them and falling into a deep, deep sleep. Juxtaposed against the plain grey are little ponds of baby blue: puddles of tears. The pastel colours evoke the comfort of infancy, where crying would bring the teat of the warm milk bottle to you and you to the mesh hammock or the crib, where you would stare at the planets spinning above and hug your bolster ever more tightly towards your chest.


Whereas as adults, emotions are suppressed or disguised—one seldom says what they mean to say. At the gallery, the critic may be moved to write words and sentences that tremble, but not shed a tear, still preserve detachment. It is only back in his room that wet drops bloom into puddles into lakes that merge into the sea then the sky in a pillow or a shrivelling tissue, and he becomes a baby sniffling with a teddy bear in hand, wondering how to wade his little legs out of this ocean of sadness.


Hurt people hurt people, it is often said. No matter how sweet and gentle you are, no matter if you are into cute. L


is ‘into cute’, and it was his softness that struck me, a softness that permeated his porcelain skin. He was both teddy bear—the kind of boy you would want to squeeze and cuddle—and doll—the kind of boy who lives amongst other dolls in his dollhouse. ‘He is hurt. You can do anything to him,’ is what his friends would tell whomever took a romantic interest in him. Anything but heal him? I still remember the first messages, and how the volume grew into a deluge, only to trickle back to nothing, as if we had become strangers parted by several seas. Could I have loved him? Whatever, whatever.


 That one night—whatever, waited, video call—for him to be done showering. More than half an hour. Turned out he was looking for a sex toy to show me (to no avail).


Meanwhile, I guess I was waiting for him with a tissue bouquet. Why

 

could you    hou          heu      he        not       give     me       a          chance?

 

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