It’s a love-hate relationship, I’ll tell you.
I’d began to realise how I couldn’t stop staring at her. I struggled to keep myself from striking a conversation; yet if she’d started a chat, I would’ve been weak in the knees. It was a strange, stupid feeling.
She knew how I’d felt – seeing my difficulties in breathing when she was near; but always found a way to have me regret any attempts to express my feelings.
Do you know what the advent of technology has done? It has kept me looking out for her “Last Online” hours. It has allowed me to type my less-than-intelligent lines into a smartphone, only to delete them for fear of breaking this sacred relationship – where I could keep my dignity while observing from a distance.
She knew how I’d felt – suggesting that I should meet these friends of hers; and I would obligingly attend these matchmaking sessions while my mind wandered if I could wrap my arms around her instead.
Those nights, I would have had these tunes on loop, listening to my pains in the lyrics of unknown songs. My heart took extra effort to beat as images of her formed in my mind – her face, thin and sharp; her eyes, deep with thoughts; her hands, gentle yet strong.
Years have passed. Nothing has changed, except, the feelings have started to fade. I wonder why I had ever wished she was mine; why I had fallen head over heels. The music was tainted with memories of her. I couldn’t believe how stupid and vulnerable I had been to her manipulations. I wondered if I hated her, or the pathetic image of myself tormented by her beauty.
It’s a love-hate relationship; I’ll tell you.
“Why do you even try?” I asked myself as I kicked the legs of the table. The table stood still, unmoved by my angst.
It wasn’t worth it to be a hardworking individual. You had to know the right people to get the right opportunities; make the right friends, say the right things. Diligence would be rewarded with endless tasks. And in the hours of burning midnight oil to complete these work, others were out socialising and making friends – with the right friends, saying the right things.
As I sat down to nurse my bruised toe, I began working on the files that had just sprang in height on my desk.
Why do you even try, I asked myself.
“You’re depressed,” she said.
Only, I was sure, I wasn’t.
“You’re not listening anymore. You’re keeping everyone at bay. You’re ignoring your friends. You’re rejecting my help,” she lamented.
I wasn’t sure if I’d let out a snigger. What friends; what help? She probably hadn’t realised the times I had been brushed off when I’d begged for help, short of getting on my knees.
“You’re probably thinking no-one is there for you. But you’ve never said you needed help! You’ve always been settling all of it on your own!”
Funny situation, how I would’ve known they needed something fixed; but no-one else cared to ask or listen to the unspoken cries.
Such was a circular, useless argument that could go on for hours.
I finally broke my silence, and said, “I’m not ok. I’ve been asking for help but everyone is just too busy with their own business. Not a single person can fix my problems for me, while I’ve continued to solve all of your issues.
As she turned away to answer the phone, she conveyed the message to a friend, “Yes, he says he is ok and everyone should be busy with their own business. Not a single problem has not been fixed by him, and he can continue to help us solve our issues. All is good!”
Not a depressing situation, I guess..
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve logged in.
I have lost heart in writing – my brains have dried.
I have lost faith in life – my hands are tied.
Type. Delete. Type. Delete.
I felt a need to express my thoughts and let my stories tell themselves; but each time I read the words, I felt compelled to erase them off the screen.
A new life? A new environment?
Perhaps, perhaps; I’m in need of a new mind.
It’s been almost a month into 2015. Happy New Year everyone.
I’ve been slipping on writing – inspirations seeping away to god-knows-where.
So much has happened within the short span of 3 weeks – I’ve fallen ill thrice; been in accidents; chasing up on work, and finally today I take a break from all these.
Here’s wishing the year will only get better …
You get to design your own planet: tell us all about your planet — the weather, the seasons, the inhabitants. Go.
Welcome to Planet Recluse!
We enjoy here, a consistent temperature of 15 degrees Celsius, with a clear bright blue sky and a warm streak of Sun. City-planning is impeccable here – it’s all set up in grid-style. Everything is systematic and you can navigate around simply by following basic logic. All food places are found within Column 1 – 3. All transport take-off points begin at Column 9. You’ll never get lost in the city!
Planet Recluse has lots of green space for those who prefer a reclusive lifestyle. Simply head out Column 9’s vicinity, and you will find yourself out by the suburbs! It is amazing here – most of us believe in subsistence living. We plant our own crops and make our own crafts.
The folks here are decent and very disciplined. You won’t ever have to worry about them not getting in queue or not giving in on public transport. They do all of that. Some might even think they are robotic, but that’s just a misunderstanding.
You’ll love it here. Join us! You can finally lead a life of your own, on Planet Recluse!
You get to choose one superpower. Pick one of these, and explain your choice: the ability to speak and understand any language, the ability to travel through time, or the ability to make any two people agree with each other.
Good to be back. No need for formalities; I know my way around here like the back of my hand…
This is 1945. It was April. Things were more or less set in stone. I knew how the day would proceed. The women were finding ways to slip back into their houses, praying that the men would be home in the months to come. Others knew that it was a time for payback. Soldiers decided on the order to shoot; victims plotted to avenge their loss. The place was in disarray. I watched as a General pushed a kid out of harm’s way, and in split-second, he had picked up the child and her pet. The General mumbled about how rare it was for them to not have killed an animal for food in such times. The child would live to grow up.
1980s. The General, yes, that same General, was in harm’s way. Someone was tailing him, awaiting the opportunity to put the needle into his nape. He seemed suspicious, yet lacking in vigilance, knowing that the war has ended decades ago. Oh, how the General has aged. A commotion rang through the streets behind him – an animal had gone wild in town, and was running into all the stores to wreak havoc! Startled, the follower abandoned his plans. The General saw the man slip away, and looked at the animal. How very familiar, this chubby creature that came waddling towards him.
2010s. There was a tribute made to the General, as one of the heroes of war. They didn’t talk about the story of him saving the child or her pet. They hadn’t mention his close shave in the town. I looked at the photo by the fireplace. We found a strangely-tame boar by our backyard twenty years ago, and Mother had adopted him, saying that it looked just like her childhood pet. We took a photo of that occasion for fear that one day the story would be lost, like all others…
But I knew I could revisit all of them as long as I headed back in time.