Numb

"Are you listening?" The doctor remarked from behind his glistening, polished wooden desk. I wondered if doctors pick their own furniture and he chose this one in particular, or that he left the options for his newly-wed wife with an excitement towards interior design.

"Um, yes." I muttered, "No chiropractor."

"Yes. Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He wrote something incomprehensible on his medical record paper. I wondered, again, if the whole MD-scribbles was still kept alive because of some cybersecurity reason or the sentiment of authenticity.

"What are you going to prescribe me, then?" I asked.

He looked up from the paper and answered, "Nothing. But I'm going to give you a list of exercises you can do at home. You can come back again in a week if nothing changes."

The third consultation I had over the span of this week with different doctors, and none of them gave me what I wanted. The little white coins I could swallow and made my head spun a bit before shifting into focus. I sighed as I put on my jacket to walk outside, one hand stealthily crumpling the written list inside the sleeve. I passed a trash bin and tossed it quickly.

---
"Why are you such a drama queen?" She asked nonchalantly. She didn't mean to offend, I guess she was just curious and 'drama queen' happened to be the word she came up with to describe my situation in her head.

"Amplifying emotions seem to bode well for my writing," I continued brushing the blue hair dye on my fringe, "I wish I could explain it to you better, but you know, we're kinda different."

"Yeah, sometimes I find it hard to understand you-" She went back to scrolling her phone. I knew a few ways she could resume her sentence- 'not that I cared that much though', 'I didn't even want to know what you're talking about', 'but we can still hang out anyway'. Why did I even think of resuming her sentence, and why did it even matter anyway?

"Do you want bento takeout for tonight?" She asked again.

"Sure."

---
I suck at world building. Description, narration, coherent timeline, they're not really my strong suit. My specialization is in creating dialogue based on strong emotions and self-thought. There's no flow, no plot, just redundant exercise of interaction exchange, not supported by non-verbal gestures at all. I stick with writing because it's been easy. Only thirty percents of communication is deliberately delivered, so I thought I could get away with hiding the rest of it behind linguistic barrier.

I haven't even explained who I am, who she was, what situation I was in, and why it all happened. I tend to avoid these things because it meant objective assessment of myself, my roommate, my condition, and it's a pain to be honest. I'd rather present myself as a bundle of negativity with human physical embodiment, and leave it at that.

My relationship with my roommate isn't all that fabulous. We didn't exactly start up as some kind of dynamic duo with lifelong pledge to conquer the world or something equally touching. We just happened to be in the same thermodynamics class and she was looking for roommate while I was seeking new air. There was nothing remotely similar about us, be it appearance, music taste, or life principle, but she was eager, and I was willing to try.

Our roommate-ship is basically a business-only relationship.

I munched the sweet and spicy shrimp rice as I listened to her going on about her day at work. I nodded and responded only briefly, hiding my unemployed shameful face behind the chopstick and bento box.

---
I always thought of her as a straightforward, normal person. She always said what she wanted to say, did what she wanted to do, and so bright and cheery as far as I knew. She often avoided deep conversation, and wanted nothing to do with my negative talks.

Until I found a pack of these at the very bottom of her purse.

Prescribed for [redacted].

I took a couple and wrapped them underneath a tissue paper, stashing it in my stationery drawer. I wanted to see how these things might work for me. Just a little experiment.

"Here's your eyeliner." I handed her the only thing she asked, which she promptly responded with an expected 'thanks'.

That night I stayed at another friend's place. The night after, I stayed in a 24-hours cafe. And I took the wrapped pills with me.

"When are you coming home?" Her text gleamed from my phone screen. My surroundings were dark; I turned down the brightness. I couldn't answer. I put the device on the table, face down, and resumed typing. I never felt this calm and focused before.

I didn't know if she noticed or not, but she made no indication of confronting me upon the disappearance of her two pills. I brought her croissant and coffee for breakfast as I went home in the morning, ready to hit the hay. I reckoned she was still in the shower, so I wrote a note to put on the table.

Breakfast for you. Good luck with work today. -Tay

---
Back to the present, though. I didn't know how much I needed the pills, I just knew how badly I wanted the desired effect to work again to me. I sent my last manuscript three months ago and I still hadn't heard back from the publisher.

I haven't written in two months, and I didn't feel the urgency to do so.

I was already discouraged with my last piece. I knew deep down that I needed to get my gears going and come up with another writing if I still wanted to establish my self-actualisation, published or not. It was the only thing I wanted to do in life, and the only thing I knew how.

But my muse was gone. I barely left my room if not for piss or butter and toast, and a few household chores I agreed to do.

She didn't really intervene. Like I said, it was almost a business-only relationship. I got my secrets, and she got hers. She'd listen if I wanted to vent about my problem, but until then, she wouldn't try to breach my vault. I did the same.

---
I once asked her to go through one of my fiction writing. She commented something along the lines of 'using too many metaphors and big words that only makes sense for you', and that she found it difficult to follow the flow of my narration, jumping from one thought to a different one in a short period of time, without allowing the reader to get immersed first.

That was a lie, of course. That was my own criticism from her brief comment of 'this is difficult to read', which I was highly aware of. She didn't care much about fiction, per her life principle of 'more experience, less fret'. I was the drama queen, she was basically the go-getter prime minister. She bravely made decisions without much fuss, although not immune to annoyingly everchanging second-thoughts.

Maybe that's one reason I got so easily attached to her.

Not emotionally, but domestically. I could always wake up and rely on her being there. At the very least, I knew I wasn't alone at that moment. I hated to admit that I would dread the time she would decide to move out.

---
It was dark outside- inside too. Dusk had far from passed, and I still didn't think to turn on the lights in my room, save for the one study lamp I used to stare at the small box atop my desk. An early birthday present. A semi-parting gift. An unexpected one, at the very least. I took off the wrapping paper minutes ago.

She was going out of town for work for a few weeks.

"I want you to take care of yourself, okay?" I recalled our interaction a couple of hours ago. She stood before the doorway, suitcase packed and ready to haul near our shared shoeracks. Her face was made in a natural manner, fine plum-colored lipstick clung to her thin lips. I saw a hint of sadness in her smile as she faced me with an intense expression, but that might be just my imagination.

She took the small gift-wrapped box from her totebag, and handed it to me.

"I'm gonna miss your birthday, so here's an early present."

I was appalled she remembered at all, let alone getting a gift for me. Unsure, I received the box, "Thank you."

"Open it when I'm already away." She opened the door as she grabbed the handle of her suitcase, then turned to me for a brief moment. I felt her breath as her face leaned towards mine and landed her soft lips on my cheek.

"Wha-"

"See you." She walked out before I could respond the surprising interaction.

I looked at the open box once again, which was just the size of a newly purchased phone package. Instead of smartphone, inside was one tosca-yellow colored stress ball, mini chocolate bar of my favorite brand, and a sealed pack of white pills.

The same one I stole a few months ago. The same prescription. The same label.

Prescribed for [redacted].

With an additional note, a purple-ink curvy handwriting on an ivory card with a doodle of birthday cake and her face. Happy birthday! Take as prescribed and don't forget to eat. Love, [redacted].

I didn't know why I bother looking for muse anywhere else but here. She was staring right at me all along.

Tumultuous Tendency

"In quickness, there is truth." - Ray Bradbury

Tick. Tock. I desperately glanced at the digital clock on my computer screen. One hour.

Time? Passed. 

Mind? Blank.

Paper? Empty.

Hotel? Trivago.

One hour. My cognition still hasn't functioning properly.

The cup of coffee hasn't been much of a help, nor has everything else. I seemed to be in a state of disarray, where my brain just straight up refused to cooperate, to think, to even perform the most basic analysis of things.

Sighing, I got up of the chair and headed towards the bed, only dizzy. I laid down, looking at the ceiling above, heartbeat going faster. Eyes closed, breathing going manual. Inhale. Exhale. Five seconds. One at a time.

Zero. Eighty. Zero. Dim lights. Eyes still closed, ears perked to the sound of a familiar tune. My phone ringtone. I stayed still, breathing in and out. Ten seconds and it was over.

"OK Google," I called out, followed by a bleeping sound, "Who called?"

Amber voice spoke out. No names were mentioned, but she spelled a sequence of number I recognized immediately. Eyelids still shut, I muttered, "Thanks."

I have a friend who was dear to me. She was dear to everyone, in fact, that I sometimes don't feel I hold a place that special in her heart. I personally think keeping tabs of people is exhausting, so for someone to invest their time and energy for me is beyond my understanding. She called me twice already. I wanted to pick up. I wish I could pick up.

But I don't want to hurt her. Not anymore.

I can't answer the question. I don't even know the answer.

"Are you okay?"

I wish I could say I'm not, because it's easier to actually be diagnosed clinically with something wrong, than spending your whole life treading between the line of sanity and its counterpart.
I wish I could say I am, because I don't need her to worry about me and that she's burdened enough with her problems.

I could pick up the phone and send the text.

"Sure, why?"

But I didn't.

Sighing, I got up of the bed and headed towards the desk, still dizzy.

Tick.

Tock.

In this room, only time runs. In circles.

November Update

It's almost the end of the year. Hell, it's almost the end of the month of the second last month of the year. I just started getting my hands on a sheet of habit tracker when I looked at the date numbers... wait, it's already the 20th. Guess I'll start next month.

Nothing much had happened since my last update. I'm still living in the same old house, sporting the same old shoes, watching the same old youtube videos and eating the same old junk foods.

For the first time in years, though, I'm bailing.

Like a fish amongst its school captured by the large net, I swam away. I looked from afar at my friends. They're going to be processed into canned foods, which was morbid, but perhaps tad nice since it means they serve their usefulness. As I made my way through the vast blue of the sea, I began thinking, should I have not run away? And that's been the question since day one.

December is almost here. Christmas holiday is coming, so my book delivery is going to be postponed. The semester is almost ending, and my lazy ass still hasn't found its will to get up and fight.

I don't know where I'm going with this. Truth is, so much is going on in my mind, so many internal battles are held stalemate until further notice, yet so little is done by me as a person. I feel like I have lost touch with myself so much that I don't know how to express what's really inside. I had become to cowardly to even recognize my own thought and feeling, that I deny them all. It's no longer about what I really want, it's more like what I have to let go to find out what I really want.

Uh, yeah, so, November update. Tried bus tour. Wrote a new novel draft. Bought new jacket and books.

Cry a lot. Sleep well.

Cheers.

Toilet Thought

Aku tidak punya penderitaan untuk khusus dituliskan hari ini.

Jangan salah, aku masih mengutuki diri sendiri atas hal-hal buruk yang kurasakan dan ketidakbecusan untuk mengendalikan emosi secara dewasa. Hanya saja bukan hal itu yang ingin aku tulis pada kesempatan ini.

Aku sedang merenung di atas kloset duduk dan memikirkan hal-hal bodoh, mengkhayalkan apa yang mungkin dan tidak mungkin terjadi. Aku terpikirkan kala kesempatan jarang kulontarkan lelucon dan respons para pendengarnya. Aku teringat salah satu podcast yang pernah kudengarkan yang membahas bahwa banyak orang yang mendengarkan podcast ketika mereka mandi sehingga mereka sama sekali tidak punya waktu merenung dalam sehari. Terlintas dalam benakku kalau orang yang mengaku bisa membaca pikiran bisa jadi antara omong kosong atau sangat luar biasa, karena bahkan aku sendiri sering tidak tahu apa yang kupikirkan.

Dilanda khayalan tentang pikiran pun, aku mulai merenungkan betapa magisnya cara kerja otak manusia. Dia mampu membuatku memikirkan tentang berbagai macam hal yang rasanya mengawang amat jauh dari singgasana buang hajat tempatku berada. Dia membingungkan aku sendiri, punggawa jasmani yang merumahi dirinya. Dia menamai dirinya sendiri, pun teman-teman serumahnya. Oh ya, namakan saya 'otak'. Kamu 'jantung', dan kamu 'hati'. Biarlah para mat saleh itu bingung dengan terjemahan bebas antara kalian berdua.

Dulu aku sempat terpikir untuk mengambil jurusan neurosains, ilmu yang mempelajari otak manusia. Brosur sebuah perguruan tinggi swasta di tanganku, dan aku boleh memilih di antara jurusan-jurusan yang terdengar trendi itu. Neurosains, goda titel itu padaku yang akan lulus SMA beberapa bulan lagi. Keren. Agung. Mutakhir. Itu kesan yang kudapat. Masalah konsep akson dan neuron yang masih terbolak-balik di dalam kepalaku (ironis sekali), itu persoalan belakangan.

Kakiku mulai kesemutan dan aku menyadari sekali lagi di mana aku berada. Sial. Sudah melayang kemana-mana pikiranku, belum juga selesai urusan perut ini. Aku menggoyang-goyangkan kaki untuk menghilangkan sensasi mati rasa, masih hirau akan pikiran sebelumnya, bagaimana kalau ternyata aku akan lebih bahagia kalau seandainya aku memutuskan untuk mengambil jurusan neurosains?

Ah, runyam sudah kalau menyangkut perkara mengandai-andai. Andai saat itu aku cukup berani untuk menyatakan perasaanku. Andai saat itu aku tetap nekat ambil sekolah di Jogja. Andai aku lebih tinggi. Andai aku lebih rupawan... dsb dsb.

Aku cukup akrab dengan dunia fisika untuk mengenal prokem multiverse, yang terkenal dengan gagasannya bahwa setiap pilihan yang mungkin, ada dunianya sendiri. Misalnya saat ini aku berandai dulu masuk SMA Negeri 1 Yogyakarta, ada suatu dunia paralel dimana 'aku' mengenyam pendidikan menengah atas di Teladan Yogya, tapi kebetulan saja 'aku yang ini' hidup di dalam semesta yang menggariskan diriku sebagai lulusan SMA Balikpapan. Ini konsep tipikal usungan film sains fiksi picisan, yang bila digarap sutradara dengan kaliber di bawah Christopher Nolan akan dicecar habis-habisan oleh para pengkritik.

Aku katakan sains fiksi karena aku sendiri tidak mengerti intisari dari konsep itu secara nyata. Berhadapan dengan persoalan termodinamika saja aku masih terheran-heran; membayangkan solusi persamaan Schrödinger masih butuh representasi visual kotak-garis. Temanku yang berlatar belakang fisika teori hanya memandangku dengan aneh ketika aku menanyakannya tentang gagasan multiverse itu. "Ah, itu mah ngada-ngada." Ujarnya santai, lalu kembali memusatkan perhatiannya pada game Skyrim V The Elder Scrolls-nya yang saat itu sedang booming.

Betul memang, terdengar sungguh mengada-ngada kalau berharap seandainya semesta mengabulkan harapan muluk-mulukku untuk pindah ke Harajuku bersama Will Toledo dan membeli apartemen berbalkon satu yang menghadap pusat kota. Lagipula, apa bedanya kalaupun 'aku' di semesta lain benar melakukan hal itu? Tetap saja 'aku' yang ini masih bertandang di sebuah kamar mandi kosan uzur di suatu sudut kota Bandung, menghabiskan tenaga akal budiku untuk gagasan abstrak yang tak jelas juntrungannya alih-alih menyumbangkannya untuk bangsa dan negara.

Carl Sagan, seorang astrofisikawan dan novelis terkemuka pernah menulis bahwa "masyarakat tak pernah mengajari bagaimana membedakan sains sungguhan dari tiruan murahan". Tak bisa dipungkiri kalau aku tertarik mendalami fisika karena lebih dulu mengenal jargon abstrak seperti time travel, quantum field theory, standard model maupun teori relativitas, walaupun lebih terutama karena Pak Yo Surya. Tentu saja dengan alasan serapuh itu, aku merasa kecewa ketika mendapati kuliah dipenuhi persamaan-persamaan matematis dengan hieroglif alien, bukannya partikel warna-warni dalam balutan hadron collider.

Mungkin saja para fisikawan tulen itu lelah dengan masyarakat awam yang kesana kemari melempar istilah 'quantum' seenaknya mulai dari merk kompor hingga teknik penyembuhan alternatif. Penat dengan wajah Kakek Einstein yang kehadirannya tersaturasi lewat brosur bimbel dan kepustakaan populer berbahasan fisika. Para dosen sudah terlalu jemu untuk meluruskan miskonsepsi mahasiswa lugu sepertiku yang kebetulan terjebak dalam ranah keahlian mereka. Yang kusesalkan hanyalah betapa selama masa kuliahku aku hanya berhadapan dengan kekecewaan demi kekecewaan karena realita tak seindah pseudosains dalam benak. Aku lupa untuk mengambil hikmah, belajar tentang keindahan di dalam sains yang sejati. Yang ada hanya kegetiran dan pesimisme.

Aku merenung, berapa orang sepertiku yang punya ekspektasi tinggi untuk terjun ke dunia sains dan teknologi karena terpapar jargon-jargon emas, hanya demi dimentahkan perkuliahan yang membosankan dan situasi yang tak mendukung gairah? Apakah mereka sebodoh aku yang tidak mau mencari informasi terlebih dahulu sebelum mencemplungkan diri ke bidang itu selama beberapa tahun penuh? Apakah mereka termakan agresi istilah asing yang terdengar keren dari tim marketing universitas yang mencari wajah-wajah baru? Apakah mereka korban sistem penyebaran informasi yang kurang waras dan tidak merata? Apakah ini salah sinetron pukul tujuh malam atau menteri pendidikan yang baru?

Lagi-lagi aku merepet. Betul kan, keberadaan 'pembaca pikiran' itu hanya omong kosong. Aku sendiri saja membutuhkan waktu berjam-jam untuk menata isi kepalaku agar berbentuk suatu tulisan yang setidaknya bisa dibaca manusia dengan kognitif sehat walafiat. Kecuali mungkin kalau aku memusatkan perhatianku dan memikirkan sesuatu untuk 'dibaca' oleh para esper itu, seperti tolong aku. Aku tahu kau bisa mendengarku. Aku butuh tisu toilet sekarang.

Lalu suara pintu kamar mandi diketuk. Mungkinkah...?

"Maaf, di toiletnya masih lama?" Terdengar suara mungil perempuan dari luar pintu. Ah, betul juga. Toilet kost ini yakni sebuah properti sosialis, dikuasai komando pusat (ibu kost) dan digunakan bersama (anak kost). Sudah berapa lama aku merenung di sini?

"Oh ya, sebentar! Mungkin 5 menit lagi!" Jawabku, tak ingin menjelaskan panjang lebar tinggi volume. Kurasa lebih baik kusudahi saja hajatku di situ karena akal sudah tidak produktif dan usus tidak berkooperasi.

"OK, kak." Aku kenal suara itu, suara seorang adik tingkat satu kost. Jarang kami bercakap, tapi setidaknya kami paham keberadaan satu sama lain.

Hening sebentar.

"Tisu toiletnya aku taruh di luar ya, kak."

Terhenyaklah aku. 

Bitter

I dreamed of you again.

You were tracing the edges of my cuts, one hand holding my wrist in place with your fingers steady, unabated. Your mouth moved as if counting, one... two... eleven... Your eyes didn't meet mine, nor did I want to. They remained observing my lower arm, unbothered.

"Tell me why," You finally spoke. I stared blankly at the open flame of the fireplace.

"I wish I knew." I replied.

"I've heard things," Your eyes finally fixated on mine, piercing stare looking for truth without mercy. You knew I have no capability to lie whatsoever. "Things that I had hoped staying mere idle gossip."

"What are they saying?"

"That your arms are really hairy."

That caught me off guard. I chuckled instinctively, which you followed with a smile. "You always knew what to say."

"I wish I could do more than saying things." Your expression turned stern. You closed your eyes and traced the scars once more without looking. I turned towards the flame once again. I felt a slight sting when your lips touched the newer wounds. I shuddered with shock.

"You're too precious to be doing this." You retracted and rolled down my shirt sleeve, "Please take care of yourself, because I will too."

At what cost...?

I stifled on my tears, knowing full well it was all a dream, thinking how equally heartbreaking if it were to be true, and for feeling sorry for myself. It was not supposed to happen. You were not supposed to know.

It was a brief moment of chocolate marshmallow dipping that I had my sleeves rolled up a bit.
There was no loving stare of that dream, only shock and confusion.

You're broken, your eyes said.

I'm scared of you, your weeks of disconnectedness said.

I think I'm going to go now, and you did.

Some people have certain memories attached while listening to a particular music, or looking at a particular stuff. For me, it's chocolate marshmallow and Green Day's 'Good Riddance' faintly playing in the background from the Halloween party five years ago. Alone, they were nostalgic and painful. Together, they amplified the neurons of that moment's memory that I couldn't help but shake in disgust. Of myself. Of you. Of the whole unfortunate thing.

If only. If only you didn't see them. If only I wasn't stupid enough to do them. If only I was brave enough to barge in your door and ask for explanation.

I dismissed the thought as I mixed the rest of the batch. The marshmallows were roasted and ready to be layered with the melted chocolate. I folded the chocolate batch with rubber spatula. The portable speaker was blasting a familiar tune on repeat. My hands were trembling, but only slightly. That's good. That's streadier than I've ever done before. I made progress.

They said to face your fear, so I did. For four consecutive years now. Hybrid of bravery, stupidity, masochism, and obsession becoming one, like the chocolate mix on my bowl.

I wrapped the chocolate s'mores into a small plastic package, tying it up with a red ribbon before putting up the final touch of attaching a note to it. I grabbed the marker and wrote on the card I prepared.

How's it going? I hope your Halloween this year is amazing as always- I crumpled the card and threw it away. I took another card from the pile.

No tricks, just treat- I considered for a moment, marker tip on my chin. A minute passed, then I wrote a little more.


Early morning of October 31st. Chilly. Wind swept away the dried up leaves in front of your house. I quickly slipped the homemade treats into your mailbox and went away without looking back.

I might be stubborn, but you were no less persistent.

I didn't know how to feel knowing that you didn't accept any of my gifts, because you knew precisely that it was me who sent it. Without me signing it. Without me giving clues that I did it. You knew me too well, yet you still didn't budge to once again have me in your life.

No tricks, just treat.

I knew you too well, and you were still willing to keep up with this sick game.

No more cuts, no more wounds.

I would definitely know if you actually eat the treats I sent.

Now would you look at me the same again?

Because I wanted you to know how it feels to bleed against your own will.

Captain O Captain

This uselessness... burdening.

No matter how much I think I was nurtured and sheltered, I'm ultimately still alone.

Only I know what's in the deepest of my mind. Only I know the secret buried underneath the darkest corner. Only I know how it feels to be weighted by my own thoughts and expectations. Only I know the bad things I feel and think of the mostly normal people, out of jealousy and false pretenses. Only I know what I dreamed about last night and how to put it into words.

Yet I still expect people to understand me and point me at the right direction, without even giving them a clue of where I'm trying to head to.

When will I realize my actions are my responsibility, and only mine?
When will I realize that I'm the only one qualified to steer this car?
When will I realize that I'm the captain of my ship, master of my fate?

What do captains do? They decide where to go, guide their underlings and ensure the correct way to go. Captains don't abandon their ship. Captains launch cannonballs at people who laugh at them, because who the fuck are they to think they could steer my ship?

I wish I could be that captain.

Right now instead of fixing the hole in the starboard, I'm writing my travel log.
I left a trace for historians to find me, but I lost sight of what I wanted to be remembered as.

Our vessel is stuck in this hurricane somewhere in the Pacific ocean. Wreck is almost inevitable. I drew another stroke with my quill pen. This is perhaps where we end our journey.

"Well captain, it's romantic and all, you might think," I could hear my crews complaining, "But we're mere workers and our instinct is not to die. Perhaps you could, you know, give us command to fix things around here and we just might survive."

How many people have I dragged down to the bottom of the ocean?

My brain might have convinced me to take the escape route, but my body resists. Just like the captain and their underlings (how dare they). And that indecisiveness has costed a lot of things from everyone. Me, my family, my friends, or strangers that happened to bump shoulders with me on the street. The intangibility of the most precious resources, strayed me away from sight of them.

Attention. Love. Affection.

Just a little human touch. A hug. A grab on the pulse. A feeling of bodily warmth.

Maybe that's all we need, to not be completely miserable.

After all, we are merely a really smart animal, and our primitive brain needs what it had always needed.

Sorry, Finish Line is The Other Way

What's the point? What's the point? What's the point? What's the point? What's the point? What's the point?
I'm never gonna make it, aren't I?

No. I will not back down. Ridiculed and alone, yet I'm still standing. I drew my breath sharper, letting the cool air fill my lungs. I readied my stance, preparing for an attack. The grip of my right hand on my ever loyal sword tightened. Although I am the only one in the world believing this, I will never back down.

Or so I thought. I put my pen down, exhaling slowly. Yet another fantasy, and then back to reality.

I keep avoiding things that I should take responsibility of. I dream of nightmare when the thought occurs, but only when I encounter its remnant or the trace of existence. It's an everlasting homework with prolonged deadline that I stack and leave rotten in the backyard, to be wet with rainfall and singed by the sunlight.

"What have you been doing this past year?" that question kept lingering and smacking the back of my head like a guilt sledgehammer.
I think, all I've been doing this past year is slacking off... but also acquainting myself with the cold reality beyond the classroom walls.

The question trailed off. My mind was a blur. My ears were ringing. My hands shaking.

Ah, I can't deal with this anymore... One question and I was already about to burst into tears. I'm weak.

And weaklings don't get to choose the way they die.

-

I know that the right thing to do now is to work on the stuff that I abandon, and starting now. Soon. Pronto.
I need to assembly the material before the end of this week.
I have to catch up with my task.
I ought to consult on my difficulties instead of bailing.
I should pick up that phone and book another psychologist consultation.
I got to grow up and get my shit together.

Easier said than done. Despite a hundred reasons to improve better as a person, I still can't get out of the bed.
I wonder how long it would take for me to realize this living model does not make any sense?
I wonder when will be my turning point in life to think, "hell, I should act now!"

I haven't been sober. I'm still resisting, refusing to see things clearly.
I wish I was sober.
Maybe, another cry.
Maybe, another cut.
Then I'll cope. Then I'll sober up.

That... never happens, does it?

When will I ever stop running the wrong direction?