2006-12-28
I am afraid. Very afraid
Thrice I tried to write my annual review (of my life, duh), and well - you're still not seeing it on this blog.
And I think I've finally pinpointed the reason, and that makes for the best annual review I could possibly come up with. Ever.
My review would have to entail a large confession of secretly falling in love. And coming to terms with this secret infatuation would mean naming. Finally. No more hiding, no more evasion. Honestly, finally, finally. With him.
I thought I could do it. I thought I was brave enough. There were only two possiblities: Either he returned, or he didn't. I could deal with both - if he did, it would be exactly what I wanted right? - if he didn't,which I was banking for, then I could jerk myself HONESTLY out of this agony, couldn't I?
But I was wrong.
Because despite the squealing and whining I've been doing with my girlfriends of the Inner Circle (and the few beloved guy friends), I am still really not sure how I feel. But I know it's increasingly (or has it always been?) becoming something that defies rationality. I give myself a dozen reasons for its impossibility, for its stupidity, for uncertainty, but it always, always comes back as a tiny voice telling me that irrationality probably argues for way more than I could ever explain.
I couldn't write it. I couldn't say what I wanted - I didn't dare, and I didn't know.
But most importantly, I didn't want lousy infatuation to taint my wonderful life. I didn't want the disease of the commons, that horrible four-lettered words to take over my world and turn me into a horrible common zombie. I couldn't be sure it wasn't just the teenaged hormones at work, could I?
I told Kelvin that I wanted to discover gravity first, re-invent the wheel, front NASA, write the classics and rhyme Eliot to shame before I 'fell in love' and bought an HDB flat (which by the way, I have a horrible phobia of. Not the interiors. Just the claustrophobic, rectangular exteriors and corridors). He laughed, and told me to grow up.
But I am growing up - up beyond silly pheremones. Up, into clarity. Up, where I can breathe.
nothing ever happens at 7:12 p.m.