I was returning home from school as usual, by the MRT, only this time, there was no one by my side. How I yearned this solitary existence. The train was crowded, normal at peak hours. I stood at the ‘metal link’ as Meng Ying and I called it. It was actually the joint between every 2 carriages for minimal flexibility in turning. I like the place, the only place where its sheltered from the light. I can’t stand brightness and the sun, they seem to shine and see through you. It was also one of those rare moments where its enclosed and spacious, the works of “inconsiderate students” parking their bags at the “entrances” of the link.
I was in a daze, as usual. Stoning as ideas come to me as usual in this meditative stage. Looking around, I realised how detached and isolated I am from the world. All these little things, don’t seem to matter anymore. I felt so small, so contained. Perhaps its that little sanctuary and its stifling but comforting atmosphere that did the effect but I’m more convinced of the solitary state I’m in. The boy opposite me felt uncomfortable as he tried to place his eyes in a neutral position such that he won’t appear to be staring rudely at someone. My school, some guy from sec 3.
I was wondering, how did we came to be excessively conscious of how we appear to people. Such a pity, such a failure. I went through this as well, and I’m being hypocritical and dramatic to pinpoint people my age for that, just because I grew faster, through the hard way. As I looked around, I felt suffocated by my own breath. The world is so overwhelming, there’s just so many people we have to compromise and work with. The lady beside me, would she have anything to do with me in the future? I would probably not like to meet her, she’s shouting into her phone. Polite listening would reveal a frustrated spouse.
I’m scared of noise. I tried to link her troubles to mine, what’s with the future? Everyone has a story to tell. I looked again around at the people. The guy now is fiddling with his phone, probably trying to avert his eyes to somewhere safe and secure. I looked at him in disdain, that was me, before, in the past. That insecure bitch, kill me. Sad, too late I can’t kill my past. Its there for all to see. People know things, things dating back to centuries, thats what history’s for. I winced. Why is history unerasable?
Kill it, kill everyone, kill myself. All’s gone, all’s left, all but history. Someone will live perhaps to tell the story. I have this urge, to hear this story, to unravel everyone’s story, to know everything that needs to be known. To be selfish for once, for kindness wears you down. I need them, I need them. I need them to kill them, kill the inexistent.
Why? Why? Thats the one 5Ws and 1H I’m most familiar with. It has haunted me and harmed many. Enough, I need the answer! You killed it, return it to me.