I will go through this again, and again. The first time, I already thought was traumatising enough that I never wanted to experience it a second time, but only a little after 2 years, enveloped by the same glow of dust-eaten fairy lights, I scream, while pressing a fistful of blanket against trembling lips. Only 2 years past the age of 20, asking for the emotional stability that comes with the life of a 75-year-old widow seems as if I am begging for 80 years worth of work experience without earning any myself.
Was it raining like that last time too? I don't remember shivering so much, nor smelling the industrial mix of rainwater and development waste.
Newly recovered from my previous break up, with the cast taken off not too long ago, I had started to strive with confidence. Yet, only a few steps out of the hospital doors, the ambulance runs me over and I am back in the ER. So awfully close to Christmas, too! Talk about bad timing.
Instead of 'All I Want for Christmas is You' my playlist is comprised of sappy mando-pop from Eric Chou to Jay Chou. The sentiments of us Chinese can only be best expressed by the same kind, in the one-syllable-at-time language that makes wailing the lyrics of sad songs less taxing and physically demanding. Crucial to everyone's backdrop of regret is this one verse from Eric Chou's 你，好不好：别用离开教我失去的人最重要。 Do you feel it? Even when it's not a breakup, I choke on this everytime.
Immobile in bed, I can only feel the stream of tears, and look utterly ridiculous with a face plastered with tear-dried hair. Why, if only I could die of asphyxiation due to a blocked nose, I would be less troubled, much less. Untroubled by both the realisation that I will never find someone to tolerate me and the impeding doom that is my final year dissertation.
Yes, if I have the time to cry and to blog, I have time to work on my dissertation. Mind you, I did about 2 hours (or maybe a little less, who knows?) worth of scrolling and annotating before I decided that all this pent up anxiety and whiney self pity needed to be let go. The best resolution would be to continue staring at the screen and furiously sieving through academic articles with puffy eyes all the way until the sun rises. If my life's a mess, the least I could do is organise my research, if only a little. Piling up on that is another 3,000 word essay which I honestly have not even the slightest hint of motivation to think about.
I am now forcefully fitting Lego blocks together even though I know they aren't even the right pieces. But what else can I do when my brain is loaded with mashed potatoes on fire? Instead of bacon bits you might sometimes find in variation of mashed potatoes, you can find individual Chinese characters of loneliness in mine.
If I focus on the melody, on the synthesised violins and soft plucking of strings, my mind won't wander too far off in the wrong direction, where the extremely unlikely yet highly likely (to me) possibilities lie. Who said that a bear will not climb into my room, or if a suicide bomber decides to blow us all up? Or if, all the empty promises took physical form and turned into nothing but lies that one can only deny.
Some people are Godsend, even if they texted to ask about the dissertation instead of my general wellbeing. Now is not the time to burden anyone else with talk of my own mistakes, and baseless fears which I have no right to be affected by.
I am alone now, completely.
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