In Continuum.

Red Checkered Tabletops (Unfinished)

This is how it feels like to be alone, this is how it felt like to be alone. I almost forgot just how good it feels to be unknown to the lady next to my table, the man sitting to the right. I almost forgot how good it is to be ignored, to be given a cold shoulder, and to be noticed for a person's mere existence. I am getting addicted to this sensation, and more and more often I find myself having an urge to burst out of the house and into town, amidst the crowd of familiar species but unfamiliar faces.

Books are just an excuse, for the lure in reading does not overpower the temptation of being alone and doing something - anything. As of late, the solitude part of me has been waking up gradually and I foresee that sooner or later, it is going to take over my body entire. I am sick of this part of myself, the part that needs to be loved and the part that needs to be touched, known and felt. Perhaps I am just tired, tired of caring and tired of...tired of...

*

The gloom under the giant umbrellas of Starbucks yesterday was thick. In the shadows I could hardly read my book, and the two guys next to my table were rather distracting. They were playing Magic: The Gathering cards, and I wonder just how many people in this world are still enthralled with that card game. I remember playing it in early Secondary School days when it first started. But those two boys played with much enthusiasm. So much so that I was practically distracted from the pages of my book and proceeded onto staring into the darkening skies as the rain clouds gathered, menacing and threatening.

There is something about the rain which I do not understand. As much as the Geography textbooks taught me about the nature of rain - the evaporation process, the rain cycle, etc. - it never seizes to baffle me whenever I hear a thunder far off in the distant skies. And that is: The same piece of image can be made so much more beautiful with the veil of rain. The view outside my bedroom hasn't changed for the past sixteen years since I've lived here, but I always have this urge to stare out of the windows into the gray world, as if for the very first time. It always changes, and always for the better no matter how sad or wet everything might look.

To my left, the outdoor seats of Cafe Cartel were placed, mercilessly against the forthcoming storm mother nature was about to let loose on the great earth. The waiters busied themselves with whatever they were able to salvage from there, and when the rain finally came down they too took refuge under the shelter of the mall. So there laid the tables and the chairs, uncleared and left in the open, facing the rage of the rain alone.

I stared until my eyes were painful. The wind was so strong that the crowd under the giant umbrellas had to shift inwards, and the rain only got heavier by the minute. I watched as the dry tabletops over at the Cartel's side, slowly being vandalized by the raindrops. The red checkered tabletops weren't removed at that time, and they too were not spared by mother nature. And I watched, with Damien Rice's music in my ears, and saw the imaginary destruction of...

*

I blogged until the above and decided to seize. I am not really the kind of person who likes to delete entries, but at the same time I do not see the need of continuing one when I no longer feel the need or want to do so. I'm feeling a little strange right now for some reason, and maybe I might return someday to finish this entry. But for now, it is to the next entry.

I'm tired of that, I'm tired. And as much as I am tired and am petrified about my own potential lies...I cannot concentrate anymore, there are too many thoughts clouding my head. As much as I want to scream, there is a more sensible-self within me tugging frantically at myself, slapping some senses into me before I blurt out the hurtful words...I am afraid of my potential lies, and I am not even sure if that makes any particular sense.

I'm caught in a mess.

I hate myself, there I said it.