Saturday, March 5, 2011


These days,
I don't know where I am.

I wake up and figure I've got X number of minutes to shower and dress to get to the bus stop by Y o'clock sharp to be at School 123 by Z am. It's a day to day to day, I'm hanging on by mere threads. Yet I am fully aware that so many have it worse. Or that it could be worse.

I'm excited about work. With SYF coming up. I'm excited about what I'm doing and what I can keep doing and what's missing. Admittedly stressed, but excited all the same. And the children's program is going alright.
But I guess there's a lot of things happening at the same time. And although I know that the mountain on my plate is but a tiny fraction of the rest of it, it's all sort of worked me into this blur of students and faces and coffee and smokes.
I'm in a daze, most times.

Honest to God, I'm so out of it. I'm not feeling anything, don't feel like talking much.
Just want to lie by the pool and block the rest of the world out. Which I attempted to do on Thursday except it poured within the hour.

I won't have any more days like that for a long, long while.

I'm not around anymore. Or like, I am, but not really.
You know how some people sit with their significant others and... well it doesn't even have to be a significant other, sometimes it's parents or friends. Well some people sit with another person and all they're thinking is, "This person is here but he's not really here. He's somewhere else. And I'm not there with him."
That's me. Except I'm the person missing. Not because I'm bored, not because I don't want to be there. But just because.

Then I catch myself, and bring myself back. Catch myself, bring myself back again. And I'm paying attention, I am. I'm not bored. But.
I don't know. Okay? I don't know.
The only time I've felt fully present is when Bird and I have been BBM-ing. That and Enqing's piano recital on Thursday evening which Erika and I went for.

It's me. I know it is.
And it feels like if someone touches me, they'll find out that I'm just a hologram. I'll find out I'm just a hologram.

And. I feel bad.

Yes, of course I think about you. Yes, I do care about you and wonder what you're thinking. Yes, I do want to know how you're doing and what's bugging you.
But I don't feel like there's enough of me here. There isn't.
And I'm mortally afraid that if I even try to hold you, we'll both realize I'm made out of some chiffon-like material.
That you can't hold on tight enough to me because.
Because I can't.

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