My lethargic carcass screamed in muted protest as i willed myself out of bed. The night had not been peaceful, for my mind had no refuge as my wearied shell seeked rest from the day's troubles. Nightmare of varying ferocity and dreams of sorrow occupied my time as i laid on my bed, barely conscious. Two times i've woken up, once drenched in sweat, the other time a gentle awakening to my dark surroundings and realization of my wet pillow. I promptly lipped it over and buried my face in its warm embrace, pulling the covers closer. Night offered no solace, just unforgettable memories that leave a bitter taste of regret and remorse at the crack of dawn.
Throwing back the blanket that has ceased to serve its purpose for now, i dragged my seemingly shackled feet towards the bathroom. The mirror showed an ashen face with the look of weariness, completed with ruffled hair. Ahh, a metaphor: ruffled.. reminds me of ruffled feathers. I do not seem to recall to be so angry at the world ever before today but yes, I'm in a very vindictive mood. Grabbing the toothbrush, i head towards the shower.
The sting of the chillness of water startled my senses. Rudely jolted awake, they agonized and my heart began pounding faster in repliance. The essence of life flowed through me as my adrenaline-filled blood surged through my body. Verily conscious now, i proceeded to rid myself of the dirt and filth that accumulated through the night, but yet, i am left helpless against the dirt and filth on my soul. I closed my eyes and let the water course through my hair, streaming down my skin in cascades.
It's the same old theme, since nineteen-sixteen
In your head, in your head, they're still fighting...
The journey was uneventful. I just stood there, grappling the overhead railing as conflicts and thoughts clashed within my mind. The dreariness of routine life was eating me and i feel rotten, as if decomposing; buckling under the weight of hapless boredom. I noticed stares thrown at my direction. Perhaps it's because of me, perhaps it's my hair, perhaps it's just a random shot of concentration at me but i bowed my head lower still, fearful of their gaze and squirming under the invisible scrutiny. I wanted to disembark there and then and run away from the responsibilities, disregarding all the possible consequences. But where can i run to?
The slow walk granted me a few minutes of solitude, a distinct contrast from the hectic traffic and the clammer from the bus which still resounds within my ears. Vengeance aimed at the world was not forgotten, nor diminished but had to be held in check. The army tolerated no violence, no over-stepping of boundaries, of ranks, of uncontrolled outbursts, no screaming. No nonsense, but yet the backstabbing, the sucking up, the politics are very real, and serves to be the source of my primal fear of stepping into society one day. At least here i can maintain neutrality, i can still feign innocence, at least i can still practice obscurity to the real world, at least i can still deny my responsibility as a participating conspirator.
I've brought along a book. A book of far-fetchedness, of love and dreams.... But, i like it.... 'Message in a bottle'. A definite recommended reading. I don't know if the army pays me to read books, but i sure didn't volunteer for the job. I was forcibly conscripted. I was willed against my wishes, i am now a scapegoat to tyranny under the sheep's clothing of democracy. Democracy...: Hear my snort, see my scoff, notice my loathing.
Then out of the blue, i think of education. Should i follow the pilgrimage led by thousands to the threshold of tertiary education? Is it really my cup of tea? I am so unsure.... Should i even consider my retaking of exams this year or just submit myself to the workings of MOE? But i do hate NUS, or rather, its close proximity to NUH. I detest that place. Even as i pass it everyday on my trips home i still wince in agony at the sight of it, and the flood of memories it triggers. The white tiled floor, that awful smell, the white sheet that denies life as it is lain upon the body. The detachedness of the doctors, the nurses, their so-called 'professionalism'. I see no reason for me not to be disdainful. I snarled.
Then i fall into the abyss of sorrow and remorse. They await me as i bear the full blunt of the mental assault.
Day it seems, brings no solace to me either.