In Continuum.

Your Resignation

I’ll fascinate you for awhile
My hands in wait to please, so well
When I wake to realize, all I’d done
I’ll be breaking strings
And all you’re gonna feel
Is undone

There is something about existence that works in a strange way. What is the existence of a random stranger on the other side of the Earth to you? What is existence, when you have never heard of them, or seen them, or talked to them, or had any physical contact with them at all? It's the feeling you get when you flip to the back of a notebook, and the world map lays out before your eyes. There are people scattered all over the planet, with people living in Iceland and even as far as Antarctica. There are people living on those small little island chains in the middle of the Pacific, and also people living in the middle of the Sahara desert as well. However, when it comes to the existence of these people to you, it becomes very hard to visualize. What I mean is, if you have never known these people, or know what they are doing now, do they still exist to you as a person from this side of the world, or are they merely alive?

I don't suppose such a question should be considered as being philosophical, or should it be considered as being intellectual. Take it with a pinch of salt, and you might find that some of the questions I post here are rather silly in nature. Seriously, who cares if some random person in the middle of Chad exists, or is alive? It doesn't matter I suppose, just as long as you are not contributing to their civil war or something. This is the kind of thing that holidays do to you, the way your mind opens up after all the schoolwork leaves, and replacing those empty spaces are thoughts that are redundant and pointless. It is like the thought that I jotted down in the notebook Corinna gave me, as I stood by my bedroom window this afternoon. I wondered how it'd be like, if there is a great tree outside my window, and I can climb down this great tree whenever I like, or have the breeze that blows into my room smell like spring or summer, after being filtered through the leaves. Thoughts like that are fine - pleasant, even. But then there are the ones that drives you over the edge at times, and I expect another period of insomnia to come soon.

I will not stay if you ask me to stay
Do not ask me to stay because I will not stay

It gets worse when simple and trivial things get to your emotions late at night, and you start to wonder if it all means something. There are times when I am able to shake things off literally, by turning my head left and right vigorously to get some thoughts out of my head. Yeah, I do silly things like that. But there are times, especially as of late, when thoughts cling to you like the moss to a great tree. You scrape them off today with a shovel, and they grow back over the night. They are like pests you find in your garage, replaced by their distant cousins over the night from the neighborhood sewage. That is the kind of thoughts I've been having, the kind that involves you - the kind that smells like the sewage or worse.

I remember that morning, on the way to school. It was a typical morning, with Felicia being my company as we rode the morning train down towards our destination. In the crowded train carriage that resembled the inner space of a tuna can, I was packed against a random stranger, whose body odor was so strong that it overpowered my discomfort and claustrophobia. Anyway, there I was with Felicia when from the corner of my eyes, I thought I saw a person amidst the rest, with her hair rested upon either side of the shoulders, grabbing hold of the metal pole and looking away from my direction. I leaned closer to Felicia then, and I tried to hide behind her - though I was clearly taller and bigger than she is. The fear of being spotted by 'you' was great, but it was a fear that rooted from nothing at all, as Felicia later pointed out. 'You' wasn't actually you, but a girl that resembled you in every way, though better. Felicia asked me why I had the fear of being spotted by her in public, because it is not like I was in the wrong in the first place. I asked myself the same question throughout the day, and I am still looking for that answer.

Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides

There is the fear of being seen, but at the same time there is a want as well. It's the feeling you get on the eve of a major examination, or when you are standing on the tiny wooden plank just before you jump off the bridge with the bungee chord strapped to your ankles. There is that fear mounted up inside your chest, but there is also that want to experience things - to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Being seen by her, or seeing her, is like this threshold that I've been waiting to cross for a long time. It is no longer about how I am going to react, or what I am going to say when it finally happens. I just want to tell myself after the incident," Hey, it wasn't so bad now was it?" I can't say the same thing in the most persuasive manner now, because the chance has been eluding me for the longest time. And I am still afraid, and very much so these days.

It'd be easy for me as a person, to say that life has become better after that day. I mean, I still see my friends tearing up halfway through an internet conversation, or scream in agony in an empty parking lot just because they are attached. There are people who told me once, that they've never felt more alone now that they are in a relationship. There is a sort of envy for people like me - people who are single - as we trot through our everyday lives with money for myself, time for myself, and basically a lot of sentences ending with the word 'myself'. That was the kind of thought I had in the past, at least the kind of consoling I was giving myself back then. I expected things to become more simplified in a way, to have my life going back on track once more. Indeed, life did become a little bit more simple with nobody calling you in the middle of the night to tell you just how screwed up they feel without actually knowing why, or somebody sitting next to you in the middle of a bus stop and crying for no apparent reasons. Life did become simpler, but at the same time it got a little more complicated as well.

Your resignation, don’t simplify
Its not always about your love
What I wake up to find
All I’ve done is unkind
All you’re gonna feel is untied
Untied

I think there is no such thing as a simpler life, but a life that is complicated in a different way. With you here and without you here, the difference isn't about the presences of complications by the type of complications involved. My only defense is my ignorance I suppose. There are friends out there who put an arm around my shoulder, and tell me just how well I've been recovering in regards to my issues. My mother came to me once, and told me that I handled the issue well, despite everything. The truth is - though I never told any of them - that I merely pretended that she never existed, pretty much like the man from Chad I mentioned in the beginning of this entry. It becomes much easier to get over things once you've convinced yourself that she never actually existed at all. To know nothing about her whereabouts, to know nothing about where she's been and where she is going is what I do most of the time.

So it was a slap in the face when a friend of mine told me how she was spotted in school in the canteen just yesterday. Suddenly, she came into existence in my world all over again, because I knew where she was in a particular period of time. It is different from wishing her to be dead, since I have no such thoughts or ideas in mind. But at the same time, I wasn't very enthusiastic when I heard about her existence somewhere in this world. It's like this nightmare materializing in front of you, despite all the efforts convincing yourself that it was merely a bad dream. Which must be why I've been wanting to experience it myself, to get over the fact that it is all over and say," Hey, it wasn't so bad now was it?" It's not a big deal to most, but I just want to do it. Only because...well, because.

Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides
Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides

I told that friend of mine, that the next time it happens - which I am sure it would - don't tell me about it. I'd like my ignorance of her existence to continue, even if it invades my thoughts every once in a while. It just makes things a whole lot easier for me, if I am able to live life without knowing what she is doing or how she is doing. In truth, I don't even want to know if everything is working out fine for her, or bad for her, or anything that has got to do with her. It feels like a stain sometimes, to have myself associated with her all the time. It is impossible to detach myself, but at the same time we are always colliding in the rarest and strangest ways. There is something about yesterday meeting between herself and my friend, as if she is back to haunt my life all over again.

Let's just get it over and done with over a duel or something. Let's just grab kitchen knives off the shelves in our kitchens and battle it out once and for all, face to face, since we never really got the chance to do it. I can picture the both of us with a sword in our hands, meeting up in an empty parking lot at an appointed time, then one of us killing another with one deadly strike. At least that'd be a prettier end to your resignation, a perfect mess that you left behind.

Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides
Why do we all
Why do we all