Last night, just before the midnight attempted to strike, I lay my head on my purple fluffy paw pillow while listening to one of my friends’ story about a girl who we should just call C. My friend was lying on the first deck below me and I was staring straight at the blank ceiling. While my ears were attentive to her story, I was imagining the scenes on the shadowed area in front of me.
“I don’t like her because she wants too much attention” She uttered with extreme annoyance. “Her words are exaggerated, her acts are too much of a lie, and I don’t know why people still believe her and her silly stories” She added up to the C description.
My thoughts stopped but I allowed my friend to know that I agreed with what she just said. I reacted with a negative nod and threw a “Yayks” but deep inside I was hurting silently. The thought that I was just like C killed my feelings awkwardly. Right after she released “her silly stories”, the memories of my unstoppable lies and compulsive attention-absorbing stories blew my mind away like Road Runner kicks Coyote; quiet yet very swift.
I knew my other roommate was on the other corner of the room, still awake and also listening. Her macbook light and the tap of her fingers over the safely covered keyboard were the senses I had with my peripherals. Everyone kept inaudible after the portrayal. The three of us felt the sleepy spirit and we knew that we were a centimeter away to being with it. My macbook friend lay down and waited for her boyfriend to reply on the sound-alerted chat box and my story-telling friend stretched her king-sized blanket up to her chin, covering her entire neck for comfort. And me, being the only one on the upper deck, was still replaying the soundtrack of her passage over and over again inside the head of repeated regrets. “What if one of my friends or (even worse) what if all of my friends were thinking the same way about me? What if they’ve been sharing their angst against me to other people? What if I am actually living the life of C; second-rate, worth the hate & illusioned?” My paranoid mind pumped out. I knew I was guilty. I knew the alibis and the lessons. I knew the problem and the problem was me.
The wintriness of the air condition drifted away but until now, 22 hours after the C story, I still can feel the aloofness. Trying to find the end of the remorseful once upon a time, I think I found a doubtful reason. I am not stupid for not having the answers but I am (very) weak to face the solutions. I know what I am and I am aware of what I have done wrong but the wheel of what I know had a small hole from a sharp nail of mouth slips. I can’t keep my tiny car moving with the same speed when I began the journey because the hole is getting bigger, the pain I’m giving to my friends is getting worse. In my sight I have seen the dead end sign but my heart is scared to press the brake.
It will never be enough to say sorry but everything will change if I start showing how sorry I really am. I need a longer time to find the strength to do so but I hope that it wouldn’t be too late for me to show.
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