Because I keep feeling this oppressive sense of sadness and I keep wanting to get rid of it but no matter how hard I try whenever I think it's finally gone it comes back to me twice as hard. And I don't know what to do; I'm mired in quicksand most of the time; and every day I sink a little deeper and I just want to die and cry and kick and scream.
Do you ever recover? Would you ever recover? I feel too old for this. I feel too old for a lot of things, the exhilarating, dizzying admiration for a man who is truly worth it, the angsty insecurity characteristic of a fourteen-year-old, the aimless, directionless, unmotivated meanderings of a junior college student's life.
I don't know when my character became defaced by frustrated tears and heart breaks, a general repulsion for your chosen route of education, not knowing what you want and finally realising that you really don't know what you want; when I began my seemingly-lifelong subscription to defeatism; and when I became so fucking ugly, even to myself, that I found it fitting to put on the Law camp t-shirt and a random skirt and saunter all over town area.
Khai was right about this year being a watershed year, because I've made the biggest mistake of my life in the year 2005.
And I wish like hell that I could do something to rectify it.
My studying attempts are half-hearted at best, non-existent at worst. Today at the National Library. It was so quiet, too quiet, I needed caffeine, the books were not for loan. I hate libraries because they remind me of tombs and funerals and graveyards, depressing scenery that make you cry, still life and stillborn babies and libraries remind me of the former which logically extends to the latter (well, the logic is my warped logic anyway and no one has to understand for I don't remotely give a fuck).
I refused to study in school because the mere thought of going to school is inherently suicidal.
And so I keep skitting about the periphery, on the outside looking in, always keeping the front door slightly ajar: wide enough for me to peer into, small enough for me to have an excuse to stay out.
I wish I'd learnt driving much earlier so that I can go with Khai to Lunarin's gig at some Novena pub Wednesday night at 10 p.m. If I could drive I'd take the Subaru and drive us there and drive us back and not worry about catching the last train or the last bus or paying too exorbitant a price for a cab.
Or: I wish I had a rich guy wrapped around my little finger who could drive us (Khai and I) there and drive us back, Khai to Jurong West/Boon Lay and me to Upper Bukit Timah, even if the guy lived in Marine Parade. And I don't even have to like him, just have to say the appropriate things and do the appropriate actions to let him think I do so that he'd stick around, pay for my purchases and when I'm done with him I'd move on to someone else.
That was the way I'd thought it was always gonna be.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I had a great and amazing time with Ruishan yesterday. We spent the whole day together: attempted to read Torts cases in school (but failed) and went to Marina Square where we had dinner and proceeded to walk all over Marina Square and Suntec City lugging our heavy laptops along.
Rui popped the Formula 17 DVD into her DVD player at the Law lounge and the two of us went on to squeal and drool over Richard's gorgeous friend, Jun (Jason Chang who is HOT). He is perfect for he has flawless skin and pale skin and nice black hair and round big black eyes and oh to wake up in the morning with him next to me! Sigh. She liked the movie as much as I do. She showed the guy-on-guy scene to a few people who were generally repulsed (a guy and some girls).
Sigh. Some people are just sad.
And anyway, it was a very tame scene. All they did was to make out - that's it. How's that any different from seeing heterosexual couples making out in Hollywood movies?
Oh, I know! The huge difference is that guy-on-guy making scenes are a lot hotter.
I love Rui very much and I'm so glad she's in Law school (hell) with me; otherwise I'm pretty sure I would've dropped out by now.
I wish Life meant something.
And that I could erase the past few months and just start over. A clean slate. Me at 18 (because I love her), formidable and full of confidence, always so sure of herself, perhaps in denial but it's true what they say about ignorance being bliss.
Should I send that text message? I think he's about the only person who can clean up this mess in which I seem to perpetually drown.
And yet...but. I don't know.
I don't know.