Алдсан хором бүхэн минь
Гантиг инээлгэх гэсэн
So irate, still, blindingly, thirteen hours on. Because some of my so-called friends -- wait, no more, now just acquiantances -- had somehow thought themselves better than some other friends of mine. Because they had never even wanted to get to know some of my other friends -- they happen to come in different colours, shapes, races, ideologies, backgrounds, from politicians to cleaners, from writers to drivers, from musicians to outlaws -- for no other reason than they thought themselves better, and went back on what we'd talked about for months. Because for days after the attack by the transphobic asshole a month ago, I couldn't lift my head, spending days drifting in and out of sleep and pain, but they never bothered to come by to check, while knowing I had no fridge, no hotplate, no stock of food at home, my tiny studio room, while visiting each other for no other reason than one of them is still in love with the other, somewhat -- while already in a relationship -- and the other, oh the other... simply allowing that, while knowing what, how, why; an emotional coward, to say it nicely. Because every time I lay there, sick, running high fever, a few times last winter as well as a few days ago, none of them bothered to simply call to find out how I was faring, whether I needed something, which I did. Because I kept getting into their shoes, time and again, forgiving of these deeds that were, actually, unforgiveable of friends, but which I made such, again, again and again. Because no matter how much you love some people, all they feel is disgust -- at the difference of who you are intrinsically, externally, internally, as opposed to their claustrophobically crammed-in worlds of gossips, maligning of others, insensitivity, most of all, their arrogance. How dare they. Why forgive. Why understand. Why try, when that little courtesy has always been omitted in relation to me. That's not done. So it's done. Over. For good.