Because I thought a little toddler was cuter than my younger sister.
While I guess he was just joking, I was very surprised to hear such a comment. I guess probably because most of the time the people around me used to coo over babies in strollers with me, with my “Cuter than my little sister,” comment being on the least-enthusiastic scale of liking babies.
Now, then, I guess that makes it the people I used to be around?
That’s a thought I’ve been struggling with, that the people around me have changed again and that I miss the people whom I don’t get to see so often anymore.
… I sometimes wonder if I blow things like this out of proportion, but it’s like the feeling you get when you break up?
(Okay, I know, the people I’m talking about probably haven’t broken up with anyone, but it’s like a falling out of love) except that you don’t fall out of love and there’s this pining element to everything.
I pine (do y’all see this or nah?) to see you all again, and goodbyes are painful like I wish I wouldn’t have to do it.
(Shakespeare Sonnet 113 fits the situation, as much I fear Shakespeare right now (did y’all catch that too?))
I drink the MSG soup after eating maggie, regardless of your horrified looks, pick the tofu out of the dried topping package and give you my freeze-dried vegetables.
Only tonight, there’s no one to eat my vegetables for me so I’ll drink them with this too salty MSG soup.
I feel a little bitter-sweet and it’s not just that lingering taste of funky cabbage.
There’s this little bit of not knowing when I’ll see you all again, or if we will be able to find a good timeslot to meet again, or if eventually, we’ll never meet.
That’s a sad thought and the lukewarm soup is not reassuring, especially since the breeze tonight is cold.
I miss you. Even though I’ve seen you and I message you occasionally (only occasionally not every day because it’s not sustainable), I still miss each and everyone of you.
I slip your mind the way you slip from mine, until I see something that reminds me of you and then I have to stop doing math to think of you.
And I end up writing things like this when the start was supposed to lead off into thoughts on my little sister.
I promised someone I would sc my Instagram for her, but if I do that then long descriptions won’t work. Also, I wanted to write about a nagging ache that has bugged me for months.
This nagging ache that I’m missing something, or rather, someone.
And I remember what it feels like to have group hugs, accidentally tangling my watch in the long strands of your hair – I apologise each time only to do it again, remember that this happiness doesn’t even last till the end of the day because the timer resets and I wake up in my bed realising that I was dreaming.
(Ah a cold breeze just blew through the window)
I know, I know, because I hold on too hard to the past I ignore the present, I might regret this in the future but over the weekend someone also told me that the people you will most likely remember are those you meet in Secondary School. She may have been trying to reassure me as I spoke of how I missed school but then rather than be reassured I worried a little more.
Stationary is scattered across my desk, strewn also are graph sketches and I confess to being anxious when our class hasn’t finished the second chapter when other’s are onto the third.
This guilt I will feel tomorrow going into class if I fail to complete my work tonight will hang around my neck but it doesn’t in the least compare with the vice-like grip on my heart.
I think about dropped letters from cheers and going to Cheers, not doing and doing homework together, but it’s still just time spent with you and I miss that.
That’s all there is to it, really.
I started with a could-have-been-funny story, but ended up here contemplating sadness again because I know I won’t see you tomorrow.
I’m kind of tired now. For the person who doesn’t have Instagram, you get to read this before I get time tomorrow to actually post the Instagram one. I’m just going to put this link in the caption.
So, closing my eyes, rather than have a nightmare about the unfinished math homework, I hope to dream of you all tonight and then wake up tomorrow and realise the nightmare is a reality.
I miss you but you are not here,
shoulders pulled in and one leg up on my chair,
as if I were still in a place where it would be acceptable to do so.
A skirt too short for my liking and a not-baggy-enough shirt,
all restrict and confine like tights they would rather I wear instead of pants.
Rest a cheek to my fist and exhale as the breeze rushes by my ear,
a shiver running up my spine like metal on metal,
not fully pleasant but an electrifying shiver that shocks me awake.
Like how I imagine that I will wake up one day from a funk,
this funk that means I don’t complete the work I ought to,
and could probably do if I didn’t
get caught up in things like this,
which make me tired.