afterword

To tell you the truth it feels like it never happened. but sometimes it feels like it was an incident that happened too long ago that I cannot remember. If you ask for memories I can’t seem to conjure any up. I’m not living on the sweet times we had, nor do I remember the times we cried. I think the best way to word it is that I am placed in the now, and only caring for the few precious now moments left, before summer comes and I lose him to distance and curiosities. new flesh, new sights, new ideas. This was essentially why both of us broke up, and this is what I know he’ll do.

If there’s one thing I learnt, it would be that I am too attached to emotions. I am largely living in ignorance of how I really feel now, but when chance encounter of words or sights reminds me of what seems to be a gaping hole in my heart, I’d wrap my hands around my body and hold myself as waves of loneliness engulfs me. my eyes involuntarily water, i struggle to portray normalcy as heaviness pulls me down, sadness. Sadness! I withdraw from the world into my own poisonous thoughts – speculating, wondering, over-analysing. Honestly, it is the most tiresome process. and many times i’ve woken up without the will to go to class and go through the daily motions because this weakness of mine saps me of strength.

I wish I could say that I’m learning, becoming stronger, wiser, better. But I’m not. I’m here and I finally realised that I don’t know how to learn – is that what I’m lacking? I want to look at things and see beauty, or see something more than what my eyes informs me. The tree is a tree. The old shop an old shop. Am I assuming too much? I’m obsessed with beauty in the way that I don’t want to see beautiful things, but I want to see beauty in everything. I want to see the beauty that no one else sees. is this still my own wishful thinking? it’s probably just that selfishness, that feeling of wanting to feel special. The key words are ‘that no one else sees.’ In the end it’s just about wanting to be different, to be special, to be seen as beautiful by others with the unorthodoxy of what I do. this is my wishful thinking. 

 

p.s.: though this is not a satisfactory piece of writing at all, the author is thankful that at least after writing it, she forgot about being sad for today.