A marathon
More and more, I feel like I'm enrolled in a really long marathon. A masochistic kind where they combine the elements of the Amazing Race and Fear Factor, just so that those who are watching get a real kick out of it.
The first ten years of your life probably went smoothly without a hitch. Even the occasional annoyance from a nagging parent or teacher couldn't affect the general carefree mood of your life.
The first ten kilometres, you can feel the beads of perspiration breaking out on your skin. Toned and used to running by now, you treat this as a usual symptom, enjoying the warm breeze and the rhythmic striding of your legs.
The voices of the boys around you start to deepen. Your girl-friends start telling you about their new-found interests in that boy that I sit next to in music class. And the worst nightmare of a female child's life: the onset of menstruation. You will never forget the shame you felt the day you saw that spot form on your cotton undies.
You are breathing slightly faster than usual, and you think to yourself, maybe I'm just nervous, but you keep going anyway. More and more, the breathing becomes slightly irregular and pained. What's wrong?
Adolescence. Where one year seems like a decade. Boys come and go as you muddle over this thing called love. You start realizing that everything costs money and sometimes there just isn't enough of that to go around. Not everyone can get what he or she wants, so you give some and take some.
A dull thumping in my head's affecting my breathing, my strides become slower, my heart pumping desperately to keep up with the runners in front of me. Somehow I couldn't stop even if I want to. It was as if my legs were clockwork that would never wind to an end.
And then that's when I stumbled over a rock, my knees finally buckled and I fell over, seeing myself in my subconscious keeling over in slow motion. Blood trickled across my left eye, my eyelashes formed a bloody mesh, obscuring my vision. I couldn't finish the race. I have to finish the race. Somewhere in my subconscious I got up and continued running, the fresh cut on my left temple and lip now healing miraculously fast, like how Wolverine does it. And I continue running towards a finishing line that I cannot see, eventually running in circles and at one point, passing by an unconscious form, lying by a rock. There was no sign of life, but she seemed peaceful enough.
The first ten years of your life probably went smoothly without a hitch. Even the occasional annoyance from a nagging parent or teacher couldn't affect the general carefree mood of your life.
The first ten kilometres, you can feel the beads of perspiration breaking out on your skin. Toned and used to running by now, you treat this as a usual symptom, enjoying the warm breeze and the rhythmic striding of your legs.
The voices of the boys around you start to deepen. Your girl-friends start telling you about their new-found interests in that boy that I sit next to in music class. And the worst nightmare of a female child's life: the onset of menstruation. You will never forget the shame you felt the day you saw that spot form on your cotton undies.
You are breathing slightly faster than usual, and you think to yourself, maybe I'm just nervous, but you keep going anyway. More and more, the breathing becomes slightly irregular and pained. What's wrong?
Adolescence. Where one year seems like a decade. Boys come and go as you muddle over this thing called love. You start realizing that everything costs money and sometimes there just isn't enough of that to go around. Not everyone can get what he or she wants, so you give some and take some.
A dull thumping in my head's affecting my breathing, my strides become slower, my heart pumping desperately to keep up with the runners in front of me. Somehow I couldn't stop even if I want to. It was as if my legs were clockwork that would never wind to an end.
And then that's when I stumbled over a rock, my knees finally buckled and I fell over, seeing myself in my subconscious keeling over in slow motion. Blood trickled across my left eye, my eyelashes formed a bloody mesh, obscuring my vision. I couldn't finish the race. I have to finish the race. Somewhere in my subconscious I got up and continued running, the fresh cut on my left temple and lip now healing miraculously fast, like how Wolverine does it. And I continue running towards a finishing line that I cannot see, eventually running in circles and at one point, passing by an unconscious form, lying by a rock. There was no sign of life, but she seemed peaceful enough.
The recovering alcholic raved at 5:25 PM
2 Comments:
man, buddy, just don't run the race and realise you were running toward's the wrong destination all along, aight?
What happened to password protection
and.... if u want to know what the whole jumble of ????? on my blog meant, i can bombard u with it on MSN :P
hehe aiyah. what if i can't see the destination. then i can't tell if it's right or wrong can i? :) password protection was scrapped because it was troublesome and pointless. If she's really anal enough to further stalk my blog-existence then I think it would evoke more sympathy than irritation on my part. :D
sure. if i see you on msn then. hehe. studying porn! erh. sexuality exam tomorrow.
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