the clock on my desktop says it’s 1:07am. in 8 hours, i’ll be squeezing myself into the MRT amidst hundreds of people fighting the rush hour. in 11 hours, i’ll be in my dark blue blazer sandwiched in between my boss and a prospected client who sounds like some comedian from the 90s. in 12 hours, i’ll be torn apart between staying slim and keeping my fat wallet or grabbing a cholesterol-filled fried chicken in Ministop and feeding my whim. in 48 hours, i’ll be thousands of kilometers away from where i am today, soaking myself under the sun, not minding anything i left in this crowded city i live.
i like my old self. not that i hate myself today. it’s just that i miss my old self. not that i like my old self better than my new self (i have no idea whether or not i have a “new” self to start with). what i’m certain is that some things were adapted and scratched and re-adapted and re-scratched and somehow, something got lost in the process. thus, this self-absorbing, trying-to-be-nostalgic post.
i miss my fucking old self.
i miss how i didn’t mind what people think. i miss how i believed i can write. i miss my 25-inch waistline. i miss how i managed to finish a book in a week. i miss how i was never distracted. i miss how i believed in people. i miss how i believed in Santa Claus and wishing stars. i miss collapsing in bed and going to sleep way before 9pm. i miss how my heart leaped for joy when i hear our gate opens. i miss not knowing the difference between this and that. i miss my naive but happy self. this morning, as i was passing by a red tinted car, i took a glance and checked the configurations of my face (as i always do every time i passed by any tinted car). it was okay. same nose. same eyelashes. same pimple. same wrinkle. same side-swept hair. it was just an awkward feeling to look at someone whom i have known for 22 years. it was like i’ve known her so well that i think we’re strangers to each other.