Here I am.
I think I've begun to grasp fully the meaning of being misunderstood. It mixes up like a cocktail along with dashes of loneliness, coupled with a little splash of despair and desperation. Shake it up furiously, pour it into a nice pretty glass and call the brew: "Wild Optimism".
Someone called me that not too long ago. In fact, I think it was just a month back...
Woohooo, what a way to put it.
Wild Optimism.
Let me see, I think I'm going to be a little more unimaginative and then I shall call it, Hopeless Despair, or maybe, Stupidity in Hope. Or whatever.
I'm thinking about the news I just heard from my batch mates. If it were true, that means it'll be double the pain. That is, if I do get to leave the place... I know I'm talking in code here, don't bother if you don't understand, its called 'other-meaning' you see. But wearing the mortar board without having all your love ones being there for you kinda defeats the purpose. I don't wish for the ceremony to be in May. Maybe in October, when I think I've had enough time to heal. But please, no, not in May. I still need time. I'm that greedy. You've got to give it to me.
I hate Don Henley. He made me cry again. Don't listen to his songs. Although they sound nice. The words are awful.
Would it matter if I called him? I'm merely worried. As a friend I care. Its the SARS you see, everybody's worried about each other. I just want to hear that he's okay, just have a very normal conversation with a guy I used to call my best friend even before we started holding hands.
But it would hurt so much if I called and all I got was the quiet hatred behind his annoyed voice.
I need to go get drunk. Or maybe do a Leslie.
You see, Leslie wasn't stupid. He just knew that he couldn't bear to continue living his dreaded existence any longer.
I mean, how long can you last in a masquerade. Sooner or later you just burn out.
It has to stop somewhere.
But here I am.
