Tuesday, May 12, 2009

the one with the train ride

The sun is out in full force, the sky a cloudless blue. I quicken my steps pass the pedestrians idly strolling by. My eyes squint as it catches the sun rays almost blinding me as I side step the diseased begger.

I hear the annoying beep of the traffic lights as it signals for blind pedestrians and dart across the street before the street vendors have a chance to call out in hopes I'd buy something.

My Touch & Go beeps that familiar *blip* as I scan it and move towards the escalator. The platform - packed as usual. People - stare as usual. And I whip out my book flipping to the last chapter. I'm almost done! My first book in two months! Gobbled up all in one weekend.

There's just this desire for words. To consume all that I can. Hoping they'll in turn pour out Bigger? Better? More eloquent? Fluid? Maybe after the 'dry spell' I'm filling up again. But I know I'm only as creative as I allow myself to be.

As I soak in the words and what they mean I realise this dude's just like me. Lost. Jaded. Unfulfilled. But most of all broken. Boy do I have a penchant for picking books that thwack me right in the head. "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, A broken and a contrite heart—These, O God, You will not despise." All is not in vain. See my affirmation's right in this book.

My mind floats away into a space where chronology doesn’t count: I am back on the streets of my adolescence, lost in a book, or talking to my girlfriend on the phone as we giggle about the boys at Sunday school.

I've stopped reading as you probably can tell. I must look like I'm emptily gazing out the window. A flicker of annoyance. I flinch. I read my expressions too well.

When does melancholy seep in? What marks that pivotal moment where a bright eyed cheery kid looses that sparkle in his/her eye and begins that downward spiral into a melancholic state (which some might refer to as depression unless you're also in denial about being melancholic in the first place and think you're just having a bad week - for weeks)

Someone once told me that everyone wears masks in order to navigate the world. Can I just wake up and decide to be intellectual and blond today?

I think that 'mask theory' is flawed. No I'm not gonna explain.

Looking around I see ... really see the faces around me. Lonely? Frustrated? Impatient? Pensive? There's one that looks happy. And another. Tiredness. Evident on most faces. I'm sure I look pretty much the same.

There's a heat wave on the very day I decide to take the train. Blast this damned heat.

I turn back to my book. The guy beside me tries to read over my shoulder and I let him. After all, my book says 'Jesus' a lot and it has words like 'revival' and 'repent' and everyone seems to cry a lot.

I'm almost at my stop when I'm done with the book. I feel like leaving the book on the seat. You know, start book crossing. But its not MY book.

At Bukit Bintang, I rush out of the train eager to get to the office. I almost run down a pint sized woman and inwardly shout at myself to slow down. After all.... the world is already moving faster than I can keep up with. It's almost mid-May and I've yet to dream beyond the second quarter... Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.

And I remember what Carrie Bradshaw once said “As we drive along this road called life, occasionally a gal will find herself a little lost. And when that happens, I guess she has to let go of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, buckle up and just keep going.”

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