I am not sure what I am thinking or what I am feeling. I thought we were supposed to be happier like this, I thought I’d be happier like this. but the reality is different. most of the time the only feeling I am able to recognize is emptiness. despite all the things that have been happening, all the people I’ve met in the last few weeks. but nothing seems to register. nothing seems to keep my attention long enough. my mind always wanders back. at the end of the day I’m always thinking about what it used to be like. what we were. the period before my final exams was perhaps the most stressful one, but it was the last time we actually stood up for one another. we were still there for each other. now it seems it’s just me. before the countdown for the new year I decided I am going to stop with that. disappear a little, stop being so visible, stop being so known to everyone. because everyone knows me. wherever I go there’s people calling me, looking at me, smiling, saying long time no see or even things, like I missed you, girl. who are those people? and who am I? it’s one of those reasons why I love living in hong kong; you can feel completely anonymous and like a celebrity at the same time and when you wake up the next morning, you can start over and be somebody else. because no one cares. you used to.
just two weeks ago, I couldn’t even handle the idea of being at home. but I am so worn out. so tired of everything and everyone. I need some personal space and quiet. I need time to sit down and write, watch films, then write about them, study for my university tests, download new music, do things around the house, spend all my time in pajamas and with my eighteen year old teddy bear. I just want to read books, newspapers, journals, articles, political analyses, notes, journals. anything. I’m hungry, starving. I can feel the words that I read, projected in my mind, entering through my skin, leaving a mark. I notice everything. every grammatical mistake, every perfect sentence. I’m trying to move on with my own book but it’s not working. I feel like I am at a stage where I will have to either entirely abandon the idea and start over with something completely different. I never allowed the story to become a part of me. eventually it just went off to live a life of its own. but that’s how it is. maybe I am just not ready yet, to write my own piece. I don’t know.
the apartment is quiet, still and dark. hong kong island basically invisible. I’ve watched seven movies today and a few episodes of boston legal. I’m thinking but I am not. going from one extreme to another. even when I was with you. I’m starting to think what’s the real difference. friendship. do we even know what it is, anymore? did we ever.