First week of school

I've been feeling pretty sad and depressed and lost and detached this past week mainly because of school. Before, I never really understood why people made a big fuss and kicked up groans and moans even though the full school load hasn't even showed up yet. But now I understand all that.

I walked into class with ten minutes to spare and the first thing I saw was cliques. Everyone was already huddled into their own prissy comfy cliques at each table so I inwardly rolled my eyes my uterus felt a dip and sat by myself at another table which thankfully, was empty. Later on another group came in and out of kindness and some sort of pity they all sat at the table I was at (They were P and A respectively and I think weeks down the road I will grow to appreciate their seemingly small yet thoughtful act.)

At break I immersed myself in some newly found indie music and read a rather engrossing book so that's when Shan came over to come and talk to me. Neither of his close friends were in our class and I could tell by the way he sort of flitted all over the class trying to make conversation with people that he sort of missed them dearly. Eventually he ended up back in my table again and I am ashamed to say that I was a rather bad conversationalist because I was still brimming from irritation at the cliques already formed and that I was starting to feel lonely and that people were being out rightly fake in the morning. With the exception of Shan. He is a lovely person. (You will see later that the subsequent days throughout this week he would just sort of sit beside me if he saw I was alone at a table in an effort to keep me company, which I didn't mind.)
A lot of it was just painfully awkward stares and smiles and even more awkward laughter and some witty exchanges and he eventually said, "You know, you're alright. You really are." I'm not sure what he meant by that but it probably meant something good.

It was only the next day that actual group work started and from there I formed my judgments on the not-so-good-workers. It really did not help that I had a classmate from the previous semester notorious for her hogging work or not doing work at all and having some sort of strange weird put on accent with her high pitched voice. Already she formed alliances with someone else less prominent than her but of the same work ethic (or lack of it) and there was that, a pair. It fit. They belonged together.


The following day I was in the same group as the both of them and whatever threshold for tolerance I had processed in me diminished to irritation, all masked under my effort to look solidly calm, cool, collected and sure. The after effect left an ugly aftertaste at my behalf and by then I decided I didn't care anymore what people thought of me. I was there to learn, to excel and to dominate. Being sociable counts for nothing, I learnt that the hard way.

By the fourth day of school I'd more or less established the fact that I was an anti-social individual what with my penchant for sitting at empty tables and not having the initiative to socialize. Nobody wanted to sit beside me, save for the earlier two I'd mentioned earlier, and my words didn't come across in my presentations. But I'll make sure that changes because everyone has to be a little afraid of me, juts a little. They need to fear my facade-that's all that matters. I've been sick and tired of the fake bright cheerfulness and the only mask I'll put on would be for presentations. Other than that it's just me.

The last day of school I finally decided to sneak out during break to a cafe in school after being huddled up in the class for the past few days. I enjoyed the tiny liberty at having my lunch on my own, but perhaps I chose a wrong place to sit- I was far too obvious because about 15 minutes later I was spotted. A few of my female classmates, (in their cliques again) called out to ask why I was on my own and my face flushed red hot with embarrassment. The thing is, I wasn't embarrassed at being alone. I was ashamed of having been seen all by myself, like a little sliver of armor had been stripped off me, leaving me susceptible and vulnerable. I hated myself then for being seen and I wanted to disappear. Of course, thy invited me to sit with them and I shook my head hard, feigning surprise at seeing them, faking (sigh) another smile and insisted that I was almost done anyway. I caught a glimpse of A staring at me in mixture of pity and in credulousness and I turned away before I embarrassed myself further. Too out in the open, I should have sat somewhere hidden.

After that I sort of wandered off on my own while waiting for our excursion bus to come. Shan saw me and then asked if he could sit with me and I said yes. He's got this very comfortable and safe presence about him and his girlfriend is very lucky I must say. Again, we hardly talked and sort of stared in unison with a strange curiosity at a hopping myna bird and then at people walking past. "Are you always this quiet?" He asked and I think I just shrugged and said it depends on the people I'm with. "So you're different in class and outside class?" He probed. He was referring to the time he saw me in the media lab with Falliq and I was being all cheerful and bright and laughing. But I was with Falliq. Everything with him is different because he's just so effing funny and dramatic. I simply made a few tangible facial expressions that didn't really say anything.
Other than that, Shan being there just made me want to bask in his safe presence and it didn't make me feel like wanting to engage in empty banter to fill the silence. It says a lot. It's like me and Vicki.

However, I did feel a twinge of guilt because I knew that he was trying to be friendly and that he missed all his close friends and he probably felt the same way I did. Me keeping awkwardly silent probably didn't help his situation much, but the thing is, I didn't even feel like trying anymore.

I know this silent detachment is all my choice. It's exhausting to be around people but it's also exhausting to have to slog inwardly to desperately try to find something in you to fill you up. This past week I've been feeling increasingly sad and I have the strangest sensation that there's this humongous teardrop in me waiting to fall. I keep waiting for it to fall so I can succumb to it and sob and let it all out and emerge strong and cold and ruthless again. But I'm waiting and waiting and it still hasn't come. It worries me, because I know that the more it's held in, the harder it will be to control it when it does come pouring out. I keep trying to remind why I'm doing this; eluding myself from being friendly and sociable. It has to go on so they get the message and they stay away and stop coming out to reach out. I fill myself being painfully ripped apart from the inside slowly every day. Help me.

By way of explanation (sort of)

I've been tactless in my desperation to be alone, doing it in an undesirable manner that's hurt the people around me.  I cannot be with people because of my self centredness, yet I need them. I need people like you...her.

In a fit of silent, selfish frenzy I'd overlooked the various bouts of her kindness and worry that overshadowed me. But despite it all, instead of the thought comforting me like a lone burning lamp on a dark quiet night, it continued to rock me with guilt- the hating remorse bludgeoning me to a decadent spiral, knocking all pride out of my head leaving my head and heart in a tangled, throbbing mess that soon became a constant part of me. I revelled in the shame of my morbid unthinking selfishness yet embraced it all in quiet sepulchral victory.

Nobody, not even myself could explain why I chose to do what I did. Deep down, weaved into the crevices of my conscience, I knew I was being cruel detaching myself from the people who loved me the most. 

I know she tried extremely hard to the best of her abilities to prod through my heart and understand this part of me she had never experienced before. But then, that one hot afternoon when she personally sent a brown envelope at my door ( my brother was the one who claimed the sighting and I hid my relief at the fact that I was crouched admittedly like a cowardly snail in the comfort of the drawn curtains in my room) it was met with a mix of dismay, perhaps slight indifference, but of which eventually gave way to a kind of strange, festering furiousness that I discovered I was feeding on for days after.

In her cutesy writings she asked if I was alright and all kinds of things like what she planned to do that afternoon and for the rest of the holidays. She ended off saying she missed me. When I rummaged through the contents of the envelope I found a drawing of a pug (I heard you find them cute, she had scribbled) a sticker pad (I am not a fan of stickers unless they peel off cleanly with no filthy residue to mark its cheapness and poor make) and two rings (which, according to her, were made by people with down syndrome and purchased for a good cause). I laid them all out in front of me, staring at the little thoughtful things and wondered if I was going to burst into tears for what I had done. They seemed harmless in their innocence-sweet even- yet foreboding as they lay on my bed expecting something in return. Perhaps an explanation, a quick call to say thank- you- and- sorry -and let’s- go- out- for- ice cream. My breath was strangely calm, refusing to convulse into uncontrollable gasps. But then I felt horribly mad at her. How could anyone, ANYONE at all put me in such a position? In all my running ins with friendships, once I decided to detach myself from people, nobody would run after me and ask what's wrong. I would wish to be left alone but deep inside in was the yearning for someone to reach out, pull me into a loving embrace and tell me everything would be alright. But here was this girl, cutting the waters clear and chasing hard enough to not lose me and trying to make sure I was okay. I felt like I was in a cave, huddled up but kept to hunker and scrounge right in and eventually hibernate in a dark and lonely corner, exhausted from being chased.

I was angry, because it felt like she was dangling a credibly safe light for me to hang on and pull me out from my desolation, but I wasn't ready yet. I wasn't ready to escape this perplexing depression and morbid coldness. I think I even secretly enjoyed it.
And so I took one last look at all the things she had sent me, decided to not take into consideration how she had gone out of the way to ensure my state did not reduce me to suicide, packed it all up in the thin brown envelope and kept it under a pile of heavy books where I promptly forgot about it all a week later.