dear reader, have you been in conflict with yourself because of anger?
Have you ever felt as if your anger could burn everything down? as if a flicker of a monster breathing down your neck, making you shiver? as if there’s a dragon dormant within in, fire out of its nostrils making you quiver? as if there’s this phantom that you become in the process of losing yourself to anger? as if a man, a woman, a person is screaming within you? as if this environment is lost in reds? have you, my reader, felt anger that would crush the entire world in your chest?
I became angry with my parents last week, crying at their feet. I have only visions of when I’m filled with anger; the sight of my scream at my father greets my mind in the morning. As I’m reading, the rattle of my clothes against the red bag and the threat of leaving home. As I drink coffee, the feel of the calm wind in my ears fueling my fury more. As I eat lunch, my father’s rough skin against my nails as red welts run across his skin, blinking. As I sleep, my mother’s frail wrist in my hand as I yell at her to listen to me, the fair skin turning red. The same skin I own as I feel crazed in the feeling of anger; turning red as a scream once again unfurls itself out of my throat like a uninvited, ugly flag of honour.
I don’t know why I get angry, for seemingly small reasons. In fact, I don’t know why even that uncouth emotion takes and crumbles the best of me into pieces. It steals my breath away, turning it into short gasps of controlling the emotion from becoming the flood. I hate the anger, I simply hate it. It creates screams and words and my entire self to crumble from the smile that lights up my eyes to the light draining out and twisting the pools of their pits. It makes me want to break the violin apart, to tear pages and pages, to pull my hair out of their strands. It makes me want to peel the edges of paternal love and look at my family from the lens of a stranger in search of a land. I hate my anger, that unfit feeling for a girl.
Strangely, I feel at peace with it too. I look at my anger and smile at it sometimes because I feel alive in my screams. Suddenly, I’m not the one frozen in happiness and a smile to hide the self within. I look at my anger and find craziness in it; crazed by the tears drizzling down like the stormy rains and voice sputtering like the thunder outside. I don’t mind becoming crazed with the emotion unless I hurt others; sometimes when I hear songs that create anger I feel peace seeping in me. I look at my anger and find my own sarcastic, sweet laughter echoing loudly, echoing softly in my ears. I love my anger, that fit feeling for a girl.
My father sometimes tells me to be ‘beautiful’; beautifully kept like a flower. In a dream, I punch the boxing sandbag in teary rage so hard that my knuckles begin to open and bleed like a flowering bud. A billion flowers adorning my hair like being beautiful. In a dream, I pull his hair into my palm as my sister looks on with a horrified look and the imprint of his words on her. Clear skin like being beautiful. In a poem, I slam my fist against the boy’s cheek, it turning as red as the hibiscus growing where he is hunched in pain. Being a woman is being silent in anger and bearing it all. In reality, I’m a woman owned and driven to euphoric happiness by the anger that sometimes drinks me hollow and fills me whole in the same bandwidth.
I’m a passionate, angry woman. And I know that anger suits my face.
namjoon's solo track 'reflection' "i'm my whole happiness and worries", i think is the same when it comes about angry, we're humans after at all, our emotions isn't like one turn on rollercoaster but involves more than that we have ups and downs. society thinks anger don't fit with women, because we all must calm, always smile etc etc but i also believe that if we don't spill out our emotions, our souls gets sick, and our throat hurts with the words we dont said, so find some way to spill out emotions it's good way to not get sick.