Day 16: Fun with puns

How couldn't we possibly? Carroll's all about wordplay and he does it so eloquently, if not nonsensically.

Day 15: A short short!

I finally got my honors prospectus form done... Phew. Thought I'd be late to hand in that one...

Anyway, can't post much today, as I've got to finish both Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass tonight. GAH...

Day 14: Happy Valentine's Day~

Though I'd probably be single for the rest of the year, might as well wish everyone else otherwise, right? Right? Bah...

It's hilarious how everyone compensates for what they... "lack" during Valentine's Day. Ahem. Some just ignore it, some loathe it, some cry over it. The details one hears in the dining hall are absolutely scrumptious. Eh. Schadenfreude. Works everytime.

I realize my posts are progressively becoming shorter... and shorter. Hmm. I shall have to remedy that. But for now, it's time for more Tennyson. Good day.

Day 13: Oh-it's imminent, isn't it?

So tomorrow's Valentine's Day and schemes abound throughout campus. A surprise, a peck, a gift, a dinner, what else I wonder? Or maybe I'm just fantasizing waaay too much on what others might do on this lovey-dovey day.

Well, how do I celebrate Valentine's Day? Simple. Read. Even tonight will be another restless night - not just because I have to read stuff, but my roomie's having a blast wrecking the room, juggling his BB-filled tennis balls. Hurrah...

Day 12: Feeling bored...

I dunno. It's like... I have so much to do that it's absolutely tiresome to do all of them.

Sigh...

Though I know I'll be picking up me books after I shower.

Day 11: Makes me feel alive.

A little dark, but at least the features of the bow tie could still be seen. Somewhat.

People often ask me why do I wear shorts when it's way below freezing out there. "Aren't you cold?" many would inquire with perplexed expressions. Yes, it is cold. Bloody hell, it's freezing. But I wish to feel that "discomfort" every once in a while, the frigid winds licking my shins. Makes me feel alive, as if confirming my existence in this mundane life.

Day 10: I realize now...

Again, no pictures. My mood was still pretty foul during the day. I wore the turtleneck as I didn't bother dressing up much for a one-hour class.

I found out what my problem was. My affliction, it seems, stemmed from the fact that I owned such a small voice. The world we inhabit is huge. Enormous. And its immensity just weighed down upon me all at once. And I couldn't breathe. It's like laughing so hard at joke that it's so difficult to catch my breath again. So I gasped.

I wanted to shout. Clearly, a pillow isn't the best tool for that. Sure, it muffles the noise. I tried to be considerate. But it's the fact that I'm trying to be considerate that bothers me. I was tired of being considerate. And yet, in my one moment of fatigue, I was still trying to be considerate to people who wouldn't listen.

It's terrifying to not be able to hear one's own voice. I keep hearing everyone else's problems, but they're deaf to mine. Maybe it's because I don't voice. I keep a smile. I move on. I ignore that brief second where my words was spliced, interjected, by another. A lance shattering shield. And we move on. I didn't think my voice was that important. For what does it matter? I tire myself.

Interestingly, amidst my despair, I even agreed to help another person in his troubles. The solution was simple, but the process stole an hour from me. It was already three in the morning. Why do I do this? Can't I say no?

In fear of disappointment, I do not speak unless I need to. Unless I believed that there would be severe consequences if I didn't, or that the information itself needs to be heard, before it disappears. Forgotten.

I remember a line from Lahiri's book, where one of her characters, Mrs. Sen, asks the boy she's caring for if anyone would hear her if she screamed. The boy replied that the neighbors might, though they might think it odd. Strange. Peculiar. Otherworldly, maybe. I am like Mrs. Sen, I believe. I needed to scream. I wanted to be heard. But for what purpose? I know not the answers...

Everything is in pretense. It's so hard to find that single sincere individual in this world, don't you think? Some of us may have been remembered and valued for being good listeners, and we revel in that designation. And we expand like bubbles, absorbing every complaint, thought, opinion, joke, rant, wail, prayer, shriek, the verbs go on... And we forget that like a bubble, we are extremely fragile ourselves. How much of these foreign emotions can we contain within ourselves, before it explodes? I'd rather be a balloon, with a pair of hands carefully detangling the knot at the blowhole, slowly releasing air back to the atmosphere.

Aren't we all just plain individuals sitting at that empty bus stop, waiting for that single stranger to listen to all our troubles? Please, take it away with you when the next bus comes. But I pray you won't linger with my troubles, just as I've had with many others.