There was once when I used to care. I used to care a whole lot. Now I realised that I didn’t. Or rather, I didn’t seem to want to. Weariness is a burden I cannot bear for long. I’m tired – leave me be.

Leave.

It was a week of Sighing. There were Sighs of relief, and there were the decadent and confounding Sighs of hate, and somewhere between the both of them were Sighs of Nothing; Sighs that were merely empty breaths I huffed just for the heck of it.

I Sighed because of assignments. I Sighed because I had an argument with a friend, which now resulted in her pouring me bucketfuls of cold shoulders every time I saw to try and be friendly, and now I’m starting to not give a damn at things. I Sighed because the strain of travelling is piling lethargy on me relentlessly, and I’m missing the small enjoyable sweetness of life. And I Sighed, most importantly, because I’m a whiny idiot.

Sometimes somewhere I wonder if pride had a lot to do with everything, and apparently it does. Sometimes I wonder if venerable words like Honour and Righteousness are merely products of immense pride and they serve nothing more but to histrionically emblazon someone into a status of He-Manship. Honour and Righteousness. They sound as fake as masks on mannequins.

Yet I find myself abiding to the laws one create to maintain the Law of Conscience, in which it quite clearly places implicit priority to the so-called value of Righteousness. It’s quite something to walk around with Russell Peters’ ridiculous Chinese accent repetitively chanting “Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing," in your head. Then came the part where I decide which form of friendship I have to abide to.

Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing.

Be a man.

Doo da rite thing.

Sigh.

People never understand the other side of things. Sometimes they do, but they chose not to, because there’s the impenetrable wall of pride that would constantly loom and intimidate.

We are here now because of pride. And there’s little way to set aside it.

The question now is:

To remember, or to blame?

What a hard one to answer.

There was once when I used to care. I used to care a lot. Now I realised that I didn’t. But it wasn’t because I was weary. It was because I started to hate.

But hate can be a product of anger.

Anger is a product of Impatience.

Impatience is a product of Wait.

I’m not waiting for something to happen.

I’m waiting for someone to get something happening.

But I guess that wait may never end.

Never.