Ever the same.

I began the day hoping that it wouldn’t come. And sure enough, my prospects were considerably good. The sun was bright, warm and strong enough to dry the laundry, and though there ware the few distant glooms that hovered ominously over at a distant; the afternoon was completely dry and positively hot.

Perhaps it may never come. Perhaps this New Year would’ve been different.

Perhaps things may be different for a change.

But came it did. The rain.

I was out to buy tonight’s dinner, and just before exiting my mosquito netted door I saw the tell-tale signs of imminent shower. The damned grey sea of clouds, the rumble of muffled thunder, and the cold winds that whip chills to the face. I managed enough sense to grab my cap before heading out to the food courts.

It wasn’t a heavy rain, and a drizzle might not even be a proper description of it. It was more like a scant, falling curtain of mist, and with an occupied mind one might not even notice that it was raining, until they realised that their clothes were damp and dew were caught at the tips of their fringes. I’d prefer something like this during quiet evenings at home. But not now. Not during today.

Thus, walking back to dad’s crummy old Land Rover, the usual stuff took hold once again. Looking up at the dull sky, feeling the droplets of water tap onto my face, and wondering why it has to rain again this New Year. Then wondering about myself, or what I’m going to do, etcetera etcetera…

It’s another New Year under the rain.

I’m 20 years old now.

Well, technically speaking. I’m still 3 months and 3 days shy if we want to be more specific. 20 years old. Funnily enough, those figures hit me just as hard as guilt does to conscience. I’m 20 years old now, one year away from emancipation, and one year apart from teenage frolic.

Why does being 20 makes you feel like a worthless piece of crap, decaying under a decadent stretch of barren junk?

Thinking back, it feels as though time had passed relentlessly quick, and yet the memory feels the sagging weight of gathered reminiscence. Almost 2 years now, 2 years since I began bounding towards a foreign, new life on a train everyday, meeting new people and facing new experiences that rendered my naivety more profound and obvious. Finding courses in life, understanding passion and dreams, falling in love… 2 years now, since I last called Jansen, or chat up with Albert, or spend quality time with Chin Liang and Yuen Ho and catching up with each other.

2 years… what have I achieved, and what have I lost?

I haven’t change, or rather, I did change, but the changes were insignificant as they are irrelevant. I’m still fat, and short, with a love to do things that I can never do well enough, perpetually stuck with a mentality and intelligence befitting an oblivious 12 year old. I haven’t been striking mutual discipline while handling things, and still the slacking procrastinator that does nothing and goes nowhere. My love life… well, let’s leave this out.

Things did change, however, only that I’m not changing with it. It feels like standing in the middle of a revolving room, where the walls rotates and distorts, shifting and changing into various whatsits, while I’m rooted at the middle watching it change. I see how my brother steadily grows into an adult, whilst maintaining a mischievous shadow that bears his childish demeanours. I observe my friends, and how each new revelation makes them seem older, more matured and disciplined. I gaze as my younger cousins slowly embracing their teenage years, learning new lessons and gaining new experiences.

And all the while I stay in the middle of it, idle and never moving. Never changing, never learning, never living.

Today, I had the choice of accepting a pretty gal’s invitation to go on a new year’s night clubbing, or saving the cash and buy myself 3 new novels. I chose the latter. They say that people regret more of what they didn’t do compared to what they did. I sit here, somehow regretting not grabbing my jacket and flaunting down to Bangsar to some random club, tasting cocktails or dancing off into the night, or maybe even observe some development between me and a certain someone. And after, heading off to some Mamak stall and replenish ourselves with whatever we can feed ourselves all the way until morn, then head home with a heavy head and insufficient sleep.

Instead, I had chosen to save the cash and head out to Borders the next time I’m able to, and grab 3 of the Neil Gaiman novels that I want, and after spend every possible idle time I have delved deep into it, ignoring the world and ignoring myself.

Does it mean that, inevitably, I have once more chosen to stay within my circle of safety rather than head out and feel something else?

20 years old…

And things still stay the same.