In which it is 1:34 AM

And I am not sleeping although my eyes are closing by themselves because my brain is preoccupied with the perennial question: why? Accompanied with how? And finally For what? These three questions have plagued me since I’ve been struck by ennui — which to say has been often enough. Every time I’m not running errands, or playing silly video games that only cater to my ego, I keep coming back to them in the last few weeks. And each time I get the creeping feeling of cowardice. Something tells me something else could have been done. But you know what they say “be a man and keep to your word.” So I am and I have. So you are and you have.
And besides, there is no changing the past. It’s so easy (and maybe I am resorting to believing) to resign to the fact that what happened must happen. But if there’s anything I learned in Philo class, the necessity of the past is only realized by its happening i.e. fate is merely a construct of our learned helplessness. I digress. The fact of the matter is I feel powerless despite the two hands I possess.
Maybe? Just maybe, things will work themselves out. Maybe we’ve come to the point where we are rubber bands, and the farther we pull away, the more inevitable our return. So get this: the reason why I’m so quiet and the reason why you’re so quiet is for the both of us to whiplash back to each other.
But it also scares me to know that when you stick a rubber band inside a freezer, like glass, it shatters. And the last few weeks, I’ve never felt so cold.
So there it is: we either return or we shatter. Which end snaps first? Or who picks up the pieces that are left? Or more importantly, are we given the decision in the first place?

Advertisements

18.11.-1.03.

Honestly, what did I expect?

It was a weird turn of events. We started off as enemies. It was a series of misunderstandings that led to your hating me and my being entirely oblivious about it. You wouldn’t even let me near you. Then miraculously, we were whisked to the awkward land of Almost-Friends. Or was it the equally mysterious land of Friends-of-Convenience? Either way, we weren’t complete strangers any more. As time passed, we grew closer to each other. We grew up beside each other. It was you who mostly talked, while it was me who mostly listened. You said you didn’t like being the talkative one, but honestly, I didn’t like being the quiet one either. But we were predisposed to who we are. And so we continued.

For a few weeks, it was the same old story. It was a pattern we’ve mastered. It always started with a rant, then a joke, then another and another until we end up chortling our entire lives onto each other. No one complained. No one told the other to stop or say, “Hey maybe we should shut up for once in a while because this looming proximity isn’t something I’m used to.” I guess we couldn’t control it. It — us? We were too much a part of each other’s limbs, too much a part of each other’s words that stopping it would mean stopping the world. We looked at each other and saw ourselves. There wasn’t anything we could do about it but keep laughing at nothing and anything and everything in between. And so we continued.

Maybe it was my fault. I didn’t mean to push the boundaries of friendship any farther than it’s supposed to. But in my defense, we were getting extraordinarily comfortable with each other. Friendship turned into a dotted line that spiked with instances of more-than-friendship and less-than-whatever-lies-beyond-friendship. It was a poisonous thought. To think that we could reach any other place than where we are. But I am only human and human have dreams. On second thought, it was a gross thought, but I kept it at bay, letting it simmer at the back of my mind. Every day, I denied its existence but every night it kept creeping back. And so I continued to live the weird double life and pretended to be normal.

Now you’re unfair. You knew all along and you’ve kept shut. I thought you were the talkative one. And now you’re threatening to leave me. You’re threatening to leave your twin, your sibling, your person. I know I’m being melodramatic but look at what you’ve done. Or what I’ve done to myself. Or what we’ve both done to ourselves. You’re my life-support, and you’ve made me believe that I’m sick with an incurable disease that only you can make better. But the truth of the matter is, I’m not sick and you’re not the cure. You’re just a friend that I share common interests with. Actually, let’s not downplay it. You’re the friend that I share common interests with. I’d take a bullet for you, or a shot glass, whichever comes first. And being that friend doesn’t mean I’d have to  with you. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

So maybe, it’s not my fault, that we’ve turned into such misguided hooligans. God knows it was your idea. And God knows I didn’t stop you from doing it. So God knows everything. All I know is that what we are is something we should be.