If I ever could describe today in words; any word at all, I would say that it is a peculiar day, and how very peculiar it is indeed, though peculiar would only graze the lowest touch of it’s vastness of strange tidings and utter abnormality. In other words; today is a strange day, and I don’t know why.

Today (my apologies for the insensible repeating of this word) is cumbered with an unsettling shroud of dissatisfaction, as though I’ve descended upon a phase where I would never feel the warmth of complacency, and that my stomach was a void that has never known satiation, so I ended up being in silent mode throughout the rest of the day. Not that I’m completely silent, mind, just preferring the contention of being quieter and less conversationally inclined. I spent the train ride to college mostly delved into Neil Gaiman’s Stardust (of which I’m most delighted to have purchased last Friday) and under the placid deluge of my Mp3 playlist, talking very little to Pei Ling whom I had rather coincidentally met at the train station.

Dinner also ran in a similar way. Sitting at a hawker stall just across the college hostel gates, I placed myself in the company of Michelle, Diane and Isaac, and had talked just as much as a tinkle of salt into a plate of salted fish, occasionally distracting myself with passing cars or straying cats, and feeling rather frustratingly jealous of things that are completely idiotic to feel any spite for at all. All I did was sit, nod, reply dim-wittedly, nod, fork my lacklustre noodles and drank in the sour dregs of lime of my drink hoping that it’ll just dull me into utter senselessness, so I wouldn’t feel like a fool sitting in a table of well conversing scholars.

Everything felt morosely empty. The noodles that I had devoured unenthusiastically rested disdainfully in my gut, further elevating a sense of perpetual nothingness that crept ever so annoyingly everywhere. The only thing I could feel thankful of is Stardust and my Mp3, and with them as company on my lonely travel home time seemed to past considerably faster than usual. It was raining when I got home, first a scattered curtain of drizzle, which slowly grew into an all out cat and dog analogy. I bought a packet of steamed peanuts, the heat of it warming my palms and stomach as I slowly ate them on my walk to the car, parked pitifully alone under the shadows of the walls that made the front of the New Era College and away from the streetlamps that threw amber light onto the wet streets, so that wet roads too were amber. It was a beautiful night, and had the rain not steadily grow harder over the minutes I would’ve spent a few moments by the car feasting on peanuts and watching as the world flit past.

Now I’m here, at home, feeling the same sense of discontent that had plagued my day, wondering whatever could’ve made it so devoid of anything (but the pathetic feeling of misery) and anything so devoid of it, apart from pondering why the heck I’m here whining like a talking donkey harassing an exasperated green ogre. Sigh, best not dwell too much in these sense of idiocy. Perhaps a good sleep will clear it up, and I’ll attend college with the usual veil of glum and dull, colourless shades, but at least being able to feel contented when I get to.

Goodnight people.

What is the difference between love and hate,

When it stems from the same thing?

Affection is best of us, and the very worse.