White grilles, and that incandescent sunset. God knows how long I stood there. Dusk slowly crept into the sky, and sneaked up on me. It was all inked indigo before I barely noticed; it was a moment, perhaps. One of those where life takes you completely by surprise, and you’ve got this jubilant peace spreading through you; you’ve found your Haven. Temporal escape tastes delicious, if not delightful, if only from the thrill of uprooting and floating away like a dandelion. Keyword: Temporal. Take a deep breath, and jump right down. Right, down. It’s a long way down. Hello world.

Frazzled. It seems like a recurring theme in my life nowadays. Racing for tomorrow, not finished with today. Zoning out isn’t my kinda thing, but it seems to be popping up at an exponential rate during lessons (especially tutorials). Having something constantly bugging you isn’t a really comforting nor reassuring thing. It seems to have a soul of it’s own – a really shrewd one at that. Never failing to attack every single point of weakness; it speaks to me at most imapproriate times. It has a life of it’s own; really! Woe betide, thy who hast been haunted by thee IS

Reluctantly or otherwise, I’ve never wondered about anyone else for such a long time. Much less invariably. We’re not even talking. I hardly know you. What is this?

Under the dim lights, travelling on the road with you was strangely comfortable. I wanted to grab hold of your hand and ... But, in the end, all I did was slouch and sink even further into the taxi seat. What is this?

No one has stayed this distant from me; for so long. No one. What is this? Perhaps tomorrow’s the answer. Perhaps. I just shouldn’t think so much tonight. Perhaps.

You tried to sound indifferent; your face was perfectly straight, but that tremble in your voice gave you away. You tried to brush it off as a joke, but you couldn’t restrain your bitterness and disdain. Sinful, but I couldn’t help but rejoice in that moment, for he didn’t fall prey to your feminine wiles. Rejoice, because your little antics won’t work no more. Freudian slips are just like smatterings of Veritaserum – tell me now, are you jealous that I’m on his mind so often that he mistook you for me? Secretly, I’m thrilled to know he’s thinking of me.

Nauseous – it isn’t a good thing to have around. I never imagined that I was capable of spontaneous convulsion, or random bouts of gagging, until today. Perhaps it was something to do with the flu, or maybe it was the thought of my possibly calamitous email replies that brought about this repulsive reflex action. Whatever the cause, it’s revolting.

Help. Make it stop. Make it stop now.

Complete disarray, and I just want to look another way. Flopping down on the couch and staring at the world upside down makes me woozy, and I come up the right way again.

Sometimes you find comfort in familiarity. It’s easy to run on clockwork when you know you way around with your eyes closed. Yet sometimes you need to find it in unfamiliarity. Run to someplace you’ve never been; someplace where no one knows you; someplace where you can blend in the crowd. Inconspicuous; you can finally peel off those masks. No one will question you, no one will notice you. Smell the roses, and let your skin breathe a little. Everyone needs that. You’re safe here. Footloose and fancy-free, remember this magic – it’s something you’ll be fighting to hold on to.

I like you for your help in math homework. I like you for the way you’re always so ready to help. I like you for how you always play charades and taboo with me. I like you for how you take geography, instead of some ordinary subject combi. I like you for staying in the east so I’ll have company home. I like you for your eclectic taste in music. I like you for the uncanny interest you have in KI. I like you for being so organized. I like you for your quirks and idiosyncrasies.

I really like you.

It hardly seems alright. I look like a total wreck in front of the bathroom mirror. Thank god I don’t wear makeup; someone would’ve mistaken me for a vampire. My eyes sting; can’t wear my contacts tomorrow. Tonight’s a good night to save a life, but I don’t have enough to give. Come tomorrow, it’ll all be forgotten. Wish I could say everything's gonna be alright, but they're not. When the facts stare into your eyes and you can’t blink fast enough, you know it isn’t alright. Not when you’re sprawled on the bathroom floor with a pool of tears.

Starkly lit by the florescent lights, the cement floor looked unexceptionally bare, juxtaposed with boisterous party-goers brimming over at the very same spot hardly an hour ago. It’s over, all over, before we know it. Too fast, and too soon. Count the late meetings we’ve had, the last minute dashes to purchase something from the store, praying that it’s still open at this unearthly hour. Count the splattered hands and feet, the cheeky streaks of purple across our faces – it doesn’t really add up. Does it really? How did I end up here, when it doesn’t feel like it’s over?

Words are so delightful – something I’ve forgotten in the dredgers of daily life. Lapsing into an alternate universe that books offer is something no one should ever forget. I had once almost forgot what it felt like to walk into a space so saturated with the essence of books, with the scholarly atmosphere and the waxing lyrical shoppers milling amongst their favourite shelves. Leaving’s such a chore – on the way out you’re always distracted by some other title of a paperback or that newly published book from your favourite author. This is where I want to be, and will be.

Jerome said, “It’s like, a family doesn’t work anymore when everyone in it is more miserable than they would be if they were alone. You know?”

Kiki’s kids always seemed to say “you know?” and the end of their sentences these days, but they never waited to find out if she did know. By the time Kiki looked up, Jerome was already a hundred feet away, tunneling into the accepting crowd.

– Zadie Smith ON BEAUTY.

Make it work. You were the one responsible for our being here, so make it work. Do you know? Because I do know. I do.

Act your age, momma, not your shoe size. Literally, please if you can manage to. My life’s already messed up as it is, and I don’t need any more emotional wrecks as permanent residents in my madhouse. I like order, control, decorum – I didn’t see this coming. If you’re the parent, why am I the exasperated adult trying to pacify a bad tempered child throwing a fit just because you can’t buy the candy in the shop window? I’ve had enough, and I’m washing my hands off. Because I’m grownup now, and it’s my turn to decide what it means.

She’s bedraggled; hung over. Fumbling with the clock, she finally manages to keep her droopy eyes open long enough to read the time. She can barely make out the outline of the analog hands glowing faintly, but something tells her it’s time to get up. Today, she’s got it worse than ever. Hair tousled, she slicks on a little lip gloss, flicks on blush, before going over the traces of yesterday’s eyeliner. A little disoriented, but once she’s togged in stovepipe jeans and biker boots with an attitude to match, she’ll be ready to face the world. For today, anyway.

It’s the time of the year again. Chocolates, cookies, flowers, and anything that’s so saccharine that you never eat them on other days, because life ain't that sweet. Smiles, hugs and kisses all around; they put you in a mood. Somehow, everything seems better because someone remembered you today. A frivolous day of mindless fun, but all I’m thinking of is the sight of flowers wilting when tomorrow comes, and hearts breaking because they’ve been given away. Perhaps it’s better for origami hearts and paper flowers – they’ll never break nor wilt. Maybe if I try hard enough, they’ll live forever.

It’s been raining cats and dogs all day. My toes are freezing in their own shoes, and my fingers don’t feel right. I can’t stop thinking about burrowing into a hoodie, and it’s incredulous my nose hasn’t been sneezed off. It’s really hard to focus in class when your mind has handed in its resignation and gone vacationing in the land of warm pillows and mugs of hot chocolate. What I really wanted was for someone to hug me from behind. Strangely, it gives a surge of reassurance, and that’s all I craved today. A hug. A hug from you.

Cast your eyes across the pitch, let the carnival atmosphere seep into your pores. The candy, bold face paints, invariably long queues at the ice cream cart. The picture-perfect azure blue sky with wisps of cotton wool. Sun burnt people milling around, their unbridled laughter, and the occasional helium balloon straying into the vast expanse of skies. Brightly coloured, cheerfully unaware of its imminent demise. Strike up the bands and make the fireflies dance; we did, and everything else you could ask for. Fanfare, people, the works. Take 5, perhaps another 5. It was perfect; almost, if you had just...

For a moment, I was almost tempted: a heart to heart talk with him would be an once-in-a-lifetime experience, and it would drastically change the course of our friendship, and perhaps life, forever. For a moment, I thought that he was going to hug me. I could hardly breathe. But I tell him no, in a voice so shaky I sounded like irony itself, before hurriedly scampering off to the solitary safeness of the toilet. I wasn’t okay, and I wasn’t ready to tell the world that. I wasn’t ready to tell you. Here’s the ugly truth, so now what?

You know what’d really help now? It’d really help for me to get married. Then, I’d inherit new relatives; it’d give me such a good excuse to escape my own. I could be the new favourite-person his relatives rave about, the permanent other-half of him, the new mother-to-be of just about a million irritating kids. The prospects are a little scary, but today I’d give almost anything to escape my relatives, especially on the first day of Chinese-New-Year. It’s tempting, really, when you’ve just finished the last decent book you have around and you’re forced to face their full-fledged terror.

Red or yellow or blue? Skirt or pants or shirt or jeans or shorts or…? It’s the same every year – new clothes, endless confectionaries so dangerously calorie-laden but so irresistible you that you end up saying “to the hell with getting fat” and the dinners. The dinners. It’s always the dinners. Dress to impress, flaunt all you’ve got. You’ve gotta bring it, to show how you’ve outdone everyone else. So why not the whole nine yards? Dig the skeletons out of the cupboard, don’t you dare forget the already-well-worn laurels! C’mon what’s it gonna be? Cars? Houses? Jobs? Children? Me?

You were young, brash, and loud. Foolhardy, naïveté, you stood by your stand with such a romantic and idealistic defense that I couldn’t manage to curb my laughter and amusement. Brimming with ostentatious self-righteousness gave you a childlike quality, and made you kind of charming, if only for awhile. For a moment, I was almost bought over; perhaps if we all believe, we can change the world. All it took was a cursory glance at the people around me to launch a Concorde back to reality – these people would never know what literature was, much less is, or could be.

I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like. Just me and my kayak. The sultry sun, salty spray of white foam waves and the shade my bright pink cap gives. I breathe in deeply like I’m trying to suck it all up, just so I might bring some home. The waves continue their rise and fall, and I can’t help smiling like a silly child who’s just been surprised by a rainbow lollipop. Contentment washes over me like the waves over the shores and for once, I can breathe properly again. Today, the world doesn’t seem that bad a place to inherit.

Solitary bus rides are such a treat. Most of the time, my journey home isn’t alone – there always seems to be a need to engage in small talk or idle chatter. Not that I mind, but there’s always this preoccupation with your company that pushes you into self absorbed oblivion. Maybe I was feeling a little overwhelmed by the immense number of people surrounding me and I wanted out. There’s a little something in the sunshine today – and I wish I could tell you. Something awesome is gonna happen real soon, and I can almost smell it. I can’t wait.

Showtime. All the late night rehearsals, frayed nerves and raised voices, and it comes down to this. Everything’s that’s been keeping me on my toes has been beaten into acquiescent defeat. I’m sneaking in brief respites, but nothing will change the fact that the show must go on. Delirious in a halcyon haze of my own, I recline in my own bubble , grinning foolishly at the world passing me by. Reality is constructed by oneself, and I’m determined to create my own. We’ll pull through, you’ll see. Why? Do I think so? I know so. And so should you.

2. 13 a.m. These luminous numbers shine in the deathly dark house, and I’ve just crept back home. Dead beat from the late night post-production and my suede heels, I flop onto my bed. Slipping beneath my covers, I think about the magic. Tonight, everyone brought it. Every single one out there. The four of us behind, arms linked (more like grabbed, actually), stood there till the very end. There’s an unspoken gladness in my heart, and I can’t help but think about how awesome next year’s gonna be. But for me, it ends here. And so it is. Finito.

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I tried to avert my line of sight, but it was rudely yanked back every time. Perhaps I was thinking that it’s odd for someone like you to be distributing flyers, or perhaps it was your jaunty mannerisms. It even might’ve been your sprightly smile. I’ll never know. As I went down the escalator, I turned back for a final glance – only to find you staring so hard at my back you would’ve bored a hole in it. And maybe, you’re wondering why you couldn’t look away too.

There are often unsung heroes in our lives, and people whom we conveniently forget to thank. Today, however, I feel it is befitting to give thanks to my patience. Without it, I would’ve died either from frustration, or else gone to jail and be sentenced to capital punishment, judging from the number of people I would’ve strangled to death. Many thanks also, to those who calmed me down and cleared my befuddled head when my patience was on the brink of death. And of course, thanks to the people who were in the holding-room with me – only you can empathize.

I’m always covered with bites. Mosquitoes, bedbugs, and all other insects seem to gravitate towards my skin, chomping or sucking for all their worth. I’ve always wished for a vaccine for insect bites. Oh, how fabulous it’d be for those pesky little things to die the moment they get their hands (or legs, for that matter) on me. Not that eager to get a piece of me now, eh? Till that day, I’ll have the make do with the successful smashes with my own palm. For all the sleepless nights and mottled scabs they’ve put me through, they deserve it.

Of course the game is rigged. Don't let that stop you – If you don't play, you can't win.

What did you think? Nothing in this world’s free, unless you haven’t got a thing to gain from it. No guts, no glory. Buck up and we’ll do match point, or eat my dust. Stop clinging onto the bandwagon; a victorious parasite is hardly cute. C’mon, what’s it then? Cower in the dark, and shirk away? Watch me closely, because I’ll be onto your every move. I’m not letting up, and neither should you.

So, what’s the deal? I’m game. Are you?