'A Warm Room'

I am listening to Envy.

I am wondering if I am giving meaning to too many things--that I am reading words on too many pages which are in reality blank, or are meant to be. My own words. Presumptions. We all know where that leads. I wonder if I'm trying to escape, without ever physically trying.

Yesterday on the bus, the air-conditioning sounded like it was someone snoring; and it reminded me of a really old fan which my mum had reluctantly kept when I was much younger, because strangely, I had found the clanking extremely lulling. I found myself missing nothing in particular, nothing I could name, then or now. I was nostalgically, lost.

I wish I could talk like I used to. For hours, even with distance; especially, with distance. Perhaps what I need is just someone who listens on occasion; someone who's able to connect to what I'd say (and vice versa, of course). I wish I could talk to someone in person, and he or she would be amused from witnessing the gleam in my eyes and the pace of my conversation, even if they would be less passionate than me about the subject(s).

It's hard for me to be hypocritical and tell anyone I know how to live their life. As far as I'm concerned, it's all in theory now. You live your life the best that you see fit. Don't be a sheep.

I haven't felt real anger for years.

You know, death is very much like being in the dark, but without the consciousness of it. It's just this big black nothing. I can say this because I had a brush with it, when I was involved in a horrific auto accident a few years ago: I had slowly regained consciousness after the collision, my limbs felt like they were lead, and one of my friends was muttering profanities again and again in his state of shock. It was his voice that I first heard when I awoke to the aftermath. It was like I had awakened to a nightmare. The four of us made our way out of the battered vehicle by ourselves, and till this day, I swear, that if I had been any coherent then, I would have killed all those bastards who did nothing but discuss among themselves our vehicle's plate number, for what possibility it may have had as a winning lottery number.

I stumbled and sat on the ground. The whole scene unfolding before me as I comprehended what had happened, what was happening.

I wept in the kitchen when I told my aunt about it a couple of days later, but left out the part about me wanting to murder anyone. I had never felt as helpless or wronged in my entire life. A really close friend had passed away in that accident.

( _")