Just for that moment, I wanted to run away and tear up…

I keep asking why. Why can’t people leave this one to me? Why do they have to keep those questions coming? Why show so much curiosity with my own business (my own failures and misery)? I deter to take it that they’re just concerned friends trying to look after me, and I know I am not thinking under my most sensible and logical conditions. I have been incessantly blinding myself from the goodness and harmless intentions of those hand-picked few, like how I let some irksome reprimands enter my right ear and slip through my left. I can’t brook in an overgrowth of people now. I don’t want to get any involvements; I just want to have my time my own – in the most strictly literal substance of the idea. Please. Pretty please.

No, I am not in a two-way warfare. In fact, they do not know I have these kinds of (remorseful) thoughts. I had intended, did but failed to stretch what I’m going through at the moment to them, but I guess they had it in the wrong light. They responded in total contradiction to what I expected them to do. And it made my situation much more disappointing, more distressing.

Why. Maybe I get myself wronged when I thought I am in a win-win state if I toil myself to become a great chum, to blabber and disclose much of my personal dealings. This one thing I have decided, that of all those that I have tried for the last nineteen years, connecting and befriending people was never a work of drudgery to me – not like my organic or physical chemistry tests. Of course, I am not talking things in general because I already have conceded to the fact that I end conversations pretty exceptional. I am awkward and my introverted genes sometimes show off. But I walk and run and talk and mute and laugh and frown with these people for God-knows-how-many-times-in-my-life. If there’s something close to being my shadow, I’d say it would be them. But forgive me (not), I want detachment.

Exactly. Yes, exactly. Detachment. Fuss through any of my dealings, just leave this one off-limits. Will you please? For the sanity of me?

I need to get a loose. A huge chunk of inferiority and frustration had already collapsed against me, and I can already hear my bones clinking and feel embolism transpiring inside me. (WOODKNOCK. May this not happen to me in reality).

Yet how will I get my week-end get-away without getting my ticket? Two tell-tale signs will not suffice, I know. After all, they’re way too deep and general I wonder if you would get what I would wanted you to construe. And I know rumours would spread like an ink on a basin of clear water, and I just trust it to your exceptional minds what verdict you shall pass on to my entire being. And I do not aim to explain if someone (or everyone) asks. Albeit my hapless situation, I still believe that I do not and will never owe any hypercritical statements any explanation. There is always that tiny chip of hope (and pride), you know.

I am still keeping my gates closed. I’ll peek through that minute slit on the iron, but only few will I let pass through my sturdy threshold. Now, I choose to be wise about whom will I share my entire self to – even if you densely contest the wisdom of such choice.