The Wait.

Build-up.

There is an extremely annoying habit I have: procrastination. So many lovely things going on, but instead of recording them down, all I can bring myself to do is... Well, indulge in them some more. I seem to forget that our mind is analogous to a sieve; it picks and chooses, so the end product that gets locked away into our memories isn't actually what really happened at all. This notion, it bothers me: I mean, what if all the experiences I've had so far aren't really what I remember them to be? Would I be deluding myself, then? Would I be living in denial?

... I need to stop thinking so much.

It is the morning after Hui's birthday party, and I just got back from breakfast at - where else? - Asia Café after a quick siesta on Bilal's bed. That is my life in college: night after night of aqua vitae and hookahs, our visions clouded and our faces red and our lips parted in the widest, silliest of grins. One thing's for sure - debauchery comes in real handy when you're trying to forget.

Another extremely annoying habit I have? I only blog whenever I'm feeling depressed.

So all the joyrides, all the midnight movies, all the boisterous karaoke sessions, all the mamak binges, all the late-night talks, all the coming-of-age parties, all the abusing of our new-found freedom... Time and time again, they are rendered second-best to the bleakness taking residence in the pit of my stomach. Sad, really. And people wonder why I'm so pessimistic about myself.

Anticipation.

The weather yesterday was a good testament to the flurry of emotions inside of me. It was like a hurricane had struck SS15: potted plants were toppling, signboards were flying away, water pipes were bursting - heck a tent even got blown over and crashed into a car, its metal legs flailing in mid-air. Meanwhile, I was running through all this mass destruction like some melodramatic heroine, leaping over streaming rivulets of water and missing fallen tree-branches by the skin of my teeth (TRUE STORY BRO). I even managed to acknowledge my Anthropology lecturer with a nod while running chivalrously by - "Nothing to worry about, ma'am, just doing my job!" to give my Cheer girls a heads-up about the tent on the loose. All in a day's work.

As epic as the scene painted above is, though, I can't deny that it was scary - but not how you'd think. See, I could relate to the storm; its almost-tangible presence, the suddenness of its wrath, the devastation that ensued. I've been hyper-aware of myself ever since the aforementioned Anthro lecturer analyzed my extremist nature and dubbed me "borderline neurotic" - I felt like I had lost all control; like I had been consigned to the mercy of my "trigger", whatever that may be. I don't like losing control.

That's why I am still teetering on the edge; restless, unsettled. The storm did not satisfy. There was more to it. There had to be. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to just come out and say it ("Yes, I'm after him too"). For him to just come out and say it ("I don't want that"). For this guessing game to be over and done with so we can all just get on with our lives. I keep waiting for change to happen - but it's holding back, for some reason. Just like how I'm holding back. Just like how we're all holding back.

One more annoying habit I have: I like listing out my annoying habits.

Let's see who caves first.

Release.
?