Over a cup, long and black

Gazing long and aimless at the screen, and the clicking for photo after photo; In all eagerness to see your smiling face hidden within an album of white, and brown, and blue. The sceneries that can only be seen from the super-sharp retina display of a MacBook, only to leave me wondering – will I ever get such a chance, and when will it ever be my turn. In snapshots, those moments you have with your friends: I imagine myself there with you, how much fun it would be. I see you smile and your eyes recede to a fine line. Were there no contact with you, amidst all the chaos in your life, I would have guessed that you were having the time of your life. Or that’s what everyone expects of you, because it is such a rare chance that you get to visit such places. To some, or myself at least, it is unattainable – too far a distance, too long a travel, too expensive and a luxury we cannot afford. The colour of my shirt indeed reflects how I long to be there, with envy. Not just the beautiful sights, but that I am sorry – I cannot be there for you as how I wish I could be. Those people who are there with you: I hope they do not take you for granted. Do they see through the brave front you don on, or the smile you wear? In all the series of happenings, I find myself… wallowing in pity even though I obviously shouldn’t, because this post is to you. (not that you would see it though…) Allow me to digress.

I feel so happy for you, my dear Adeline. But gazing with such heaps on envy only adds on to my bitterness to the unfairness of life. When I yearn to be there for you, with you, but I cannot. And in all that gazing and longing that will remain for a long time, my thoughts drift afar… to where the trees and green and hills that stretch into the horizon are. The income disparity is just another way of life punching you in the face, making a mockery as if I were the joke.

That is not the main point, though. A mental block so cruel that forbids me from getting my license. How do I conquer it? Brutal it is because it eats into my confidence, that parasite. It has made my mind its residence, for it has been there for almost four years now. Sometimes I wonder if the only way for me to kill it would be the death of myself. To kill it would mean to have its corpse go back to the soil, fertilize it and water daily. Have flowers and trees grow out of it over time. Perhaps the suffocation of one part of the brain, by this thing, has led to the soul making its escape each time I let out a little, horrified, gasp. Maybe one day the ‘me’ that used to be so lively would wake up from this zombified state, as if one were to gain consciousness after a coma, and start afresh. A remake, a renewed self-esteem, and a young soul that’s ready for the obstacles in life. Perhaps in a different world, a different dimension, and a different era. In other words, another life.

Why do I feel so jaded, when I’m only 20? The future seems bleak, represented by a black hole that either sucks you in, or one where you fall into abyss. In the blink of an eye, assuming there is an end, by the time our journey becomes stationary, we would be as white as the white that awaits us is. Saying “mankind is doomed” kills all life that has yet to live. But look at it in an idealistic way, phrase it as such, “mankind… there might be hope. hmm…” Overwhelmingly uncertain but perhaps more optimistic than all the cynicism. Could that be applied to my life? Maybe… or maybe not.

Now, back to the main point. Listening to how he breaks your heart; I really dislike him for doing that. The bringer of so much happiness to you – yet pains you so much. Clearly it, he, is toxic, but you try to hold on to it. If only you could wipe the tears away to see how much your hands are burning, and how your heart is corroded. But if you give it time, the cells would work its way to grow new skin to wrap around the burns. They are scars. And scars we have, to mark each battle that you’ve won.

And when you’re home, I can’t wait to tell you, dear girl, I’ve missed you so, fucking, much.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s