I seldom get angry. You will easily find me impatient, frustrated, cold, annoyed, irritated, detached and distant. I transform into these ugly colours so naturally in a short span of time once seeded in me. Happens every day, maybe, but I let go once it is over. Emotions are fleeting but its consequences everlasting.
(Maybe that’s why I have grown more private, the older I get.)
But rarely would anybody get a taste of what I truly am when I am angry, right down to my guts. When my core burns and I have to control myself from baring teeth, shouting, throwing objects and hurting the other person to the point of complete destruction. I stop myself before I become the monster I grew so familiar with.
I guess 16th November, night, was the closest I got to drawing blood with this temper of mine.
Voice controlled but still filled with sharp edges, almost growling, gaze piercing, skin hot and my spirit on fire. My reactions were quick, snappy and fierce. Commanding, and demanding.
(This is probably the energy I have to channel more in school. This is the animal I almost forgot.)
Now I wonder why anger comes so rarely to me. Perhaps I have better control, or just gradually grew a bit more patient by the day.
But I think the real reason is that my own anger scares me.
The idea of boundless release, unrestrained and strong scares me. With this energy, how does anybody come to you for love? But I also realised that I can’t hide this forever, and no matter how long it stays hidden, I still own it.
I am a fire that I don’t know how to tame. So it sits there, waiting.