As a child, I used to write cards and letters to my mother all the time. Most of the time I presented them directly to her. One time, however, I decided I'd drop it in my mailbox under the block, as a surprise for when she opened it later. I sealed it in a pink envelope and wrote out our address in red ink and hearts. And while I may have taken greatest care in writing out that address, in all my excitement, I ended up slipping the letter into my downstairs neighbour(who happened to be this crazy old bitch we all loathed)'s letter box instead. I only wonder how she must have reacted.

"Selamat Hari Raya Idiladha.

Dear mama yoyo toy,
I wish you were here with me. Why do you turn out to be sick? I love you with all my heart. I want to be with you every time. But why can't I stay up with you for a very long time? Get well soon!"

This is from one of those cards I wrote, about 10 years or so ago. For some reason, this particular one keeps finding its way into my hands time and again. Each time I read this I am amused, reminded of the silly names I would create for my mom because her nickname was Yo, the way I never failed to reiterate my great, everlasting love for her and my tendency to string random sentences together as they came to mind so that my paragraphs wouldn't even make sense sometimes. Each time I read this I also feel morbid and depressed, because a childhood shouldn't have been made up of trying to find ways to cope like that. Because I just couldn't understand why I could not stay up with my mother for a very long time when it was every time that I wanted. Because I still feel this way sometimes, only slightly more coherent. I think.

I feel like I lost my innocence pretty early on. I don't know. By the time I entered primary school I knew in my heart that the world was a bitter place. And even though I may choose to act like a child sometimes, my thoughts flow parallel to this. One of the most common reactions I got from the people who've read my commonwealth essay about my utopia was 'mature'.... But I don't want to be mature. I want to be young and stupid and naive and carefree and ignorant of life's shit because ignorance is bliss.