I sit in the middle of chaos and I'm quite comfortable with it. Amidst the clattering of voices and the rousing laughter, I breathe with everyone oblivious of my existence. I bask at the anonymity and my seeming non-existence. I speak to no one and no one speaks to me. I am an anti-social.
Thoughts of yesteryears ran into me like a powerpoint presentation. On weekends, I would find myself lounging in a clammy black leather seat in a dank smoke-filled room, I hold a half-empty bottle of vodka. My veins reek of alcohol. A few more senseless laughter. A few more drinks. A little crazy idea. A minute more. Gyrating at the top of the dim-lit bar with some of my friends, I am alive with every beat of the live music. The blaring tunes bleed my eardrums to silence. I am a slave to the jeers and wild clappings. For years, I am a soul half-starved for attention.
At the dinner table, my feet rests peacefully on top, I spew out vulgarities like candies on Christmas. I speak of sex and minor misdemeanors with a casual air of a learned. Open to possibilities of pre-marital intercourse. A potential single mother. Perfect epitome of a girl-gone haywire complete with scarred wrists, dark childhood secrets and little tragedies that comes with the package. I am a drifter in the immense sea of life.
On the same dinner table, I sit comfortably amidst the pile of poetry, computer mags, and notebooks. I find equal solace in reading cummings and super coolants. I am a geek. I could talk of parts of speech, weird stuff and literary materials with the same air of a girl loudly complaining of a broken nail. I get a certain inexplicable high just merely talking about grammar and poems. I am a bore, an effective sleeping pill.
I am a creative adventure junkie. I could come up with the craziest of ideas and get away with it. I’d dance naked in the rain if only I could find one who’ll do it with me. A probable speed demon when given the chance to drive. Would sleep in the middle of the field in pajamas and fluffy sleepers. I live for these moments.
I am obsessed. Obsessed with the search for me, for life, and for countless other dilemmas that most refuse to think about. I am rarely satisfied with the factors that surrounds me. Always looking for something greater and more profound explanation of things. Often questioning, probing and defying standards and norms. Frequently romanticizing simple and uncomplicated matters.
Today, it will all start to change. It's gonna be strenous and gradual. I come to a conclusion that there is more to life than just mere money, academics, and incessant partying over booze. I believe that simplicity of life and the lack of conflicts does not actually equate happiness. That joyful bliss could not be achieved without a struggle. I waste countless hours thinking whether it is necessary to feel pain, agony and betrayal to know how joyful bliss feels like. I am a thinker. Soon, I'll be a doer.
Still, I am a dreamer. I wait for the lone knight in shining armor. Of immeasurable love that could drown all the sorrows of the world. Kisses that are sacred. And like a raging lunatic, oblivious of the existence of other life forms, I will eventually succumb to that fancy feeling of falling in love. And I would ultimately learn to again believe in every word and every promise. And I would suppose that this is rather heroic and brave of me to love and believe again. I am a hopeless romantic.
I am an anti-thesis of me. All that I am is a walking contradiction of who I am. I'm a hundred different lives, a million different faces. A chameleon who changes color whenever it pleases me. An actress, perhaps, who could be anyone she wills herself to be. An anti-social, a party girl, a drifter, a bore, an adventurer, a thinker, a dreamer. And will soon be renewed!
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