It’s getting much, much colder, and it’s all very sudden.
The days are already so short – at 5 or 6pm, the world is plunged into darkness. I lose track of the time, assume it’s 8pm and I should hurry home. The road is too dark and I get scared. I realise I get scared of the dark much easier here. Because it feels like it’s engulfing me; and it reminds me of how alone I feel sometimes.
I do appreciate being alone, in certain situations: group work, for one, is one thing I loathe with a passion because it is much too dependent on who your group mates are. And I also like the freedom living alone gives me – no one to fight for the toilet, to complain I’m too messy, to steal wardrobe space (or my food) etc. But I hate being alone too often. Or just the feeling that you’re alone and no one really needs you around. That even if you’re gone or you disappear, no one will bother nor remember you.
Everyday I watch what happens, how we all interact and how I realise I can disappear and no one will notice, how I walk by myself and no one catches up to talk to me because they’re talking to someone else. Yet there are times when classmate J and I fist bump and we’re yeaaaaaah that’s the way to do well in class, and we’re the only people who milk Friday and silly things like that for all it’s worth. Partying Partying… and I chime in with YEAH! And we chorus on FUN FUN FUN LOOKING FORWARD TO THE WEEKEND while everyone around just stares obliviously. How can no one else know what Friday is!? That’s when I feel like my sense of humour isn’t appreciated or understood here.
J and I put on fake British accents (and rather bad ones too because we were laughing too hard) all the way throughout the walk to the station and I could tell he was happy someone joined in. The other three didn’t and just laughed or awkwardly said No no no I can’t while we rattled away about Queen’s English and crumpets with butter and having tea in the afternoon. And then he started his fake Indian accent which I tried but stopped after a while. This is exactly the kind of thing I find hilarious and fun beyond words and yet, very few people (so far only 1) share the same sense of humour as I do. It’s a sad, sad thing. And very lonely.
Because I will say something that’s meant to be funny but no one gets it! What if they think my sarcastic but meant to be funny quip was actually extremely mean??? And I don’t think anyone would get my crazy spam on twitter or how I can just go batshit crazy on twitter and my friends JOIN IN?
I mean I just tweet about how it is FREEZING cold and when I check twitter an hour or two later…I see a friend go hyperbolic drama queen crazy about how I have STILEN THE COLDDDD!!!!! and it makes my day. And then later I go on a (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ spam spree and guess what, MY FRIENDS JOIN IN. That’s just what I love about the people I treasure deeply in Singapore (or not). We’re all so spontaneous and…they accept my brand of batshit crazy and they join in! Best kind of friends to have, really.
And it’s like we all have inside jokes and group-only nicknames and this is what I call a family. We have silly things like I AM SURROUNDED BY MORIARTYS, TYPO KING MORIARTY, this crazy everything can be Oppa Gangnam Style, we are all food, we all have a nickname that is weird, I MUST GO BACK TO CHINA, RUUUUUU~, (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻, #hashtagparty, *spoiler* *spoiler*, LETS ALL TYPE IN ALL CAPS, TYPO PARTY, THUMBS TOO BIG FOR PHONE, Twoin Telepathy, SOULMATES…. It’s pretty crazy. And I love crazy. Crazy is my normal.
But really, am I going to end up talking about crushes and BGR related shit with the two guys that I have liked and still like and….ohmahgerd, why do weird things like this happen to me. Well, it’s nice in a way because there has always been a point in time when I was best friends with them. (And I miss that. So why am I always screwing things up?)