On 2355H, New Year’s Eve 2018, I stumbled onto the Padang in a last minute decision to catch the fireworks, as some part of a desperate tradition.
The sky lit up as a band of jocks yelled “two… one” and this year, the crowd was smaller from this new, distant location.
It looked like watching a graduation from miles away. I didn’t need to be there, it’s something familiar to me, but everyone else is enjoying their time while I’m spectating the spectators.
“I don’t know what the fuck I want” was my mantra last year and probably this. My religion is self-undiscovery.
Maybe my resolution this year should be to weaponize my unfortunate list for short haired girls, which ends with an incredible lack of applause when, as it turns out, that they’re all lesbian. It’s a Venn diagram with a circle with what seems to be a thick outline.
It’s not my fault. And if it wasn’t embarrassing enough, I’m going to blame it on Mom because it probably has something to do with her having short hair for my formative years. Absolutely necessary disclaimer: I am so glad that my Freud-oriented mind had not imprinted itself onto the alternative, that is incest, or other fetishes, such as bestiality, furry porn or paedophilia. Believe me. I’ve had cats crawl onto my lap and I prayed to whatever deity would listen that I wouldn’t get a chub from it. Don’t get me started on children. Thank God I hate children.
I’m sorry. I’m practicing gratitude. Common technique to help depressives gain insight, y’know? It’s kinda contrary, though. Try to be thankful for the little things in life. There’s an entire implication, which is because you’re an ungrateful asshole whose mind defaults to being sad just because your mind’s survival instincts are unchallenged.
Did I mention the gratitude thing? How much do you think you can repeat how grateful you are to be their friend until they decides this declaration comes with the contract? It’s pathetic, Shao. Roll on with the times. Let it be, and show your love in other ways. They’re gonna rub your head when they’re tipsy because they aren’t usually that expressive about their fondness. You’re gonna rub theirs when you’re both sober because the table in between prohibits a hug. And buses here can go everywhere as long as you can wait long enough and as long as you think it’s worth it to listen to them face to face. And it is, but only if you do it not to rein in a friendship. That’s distrust. Don’t distrust. They’re there the whole time. They love you for you. You should trust that. Put down the sacrificial knife.
Alright. I’m running on two hours of sleep and then some. Fumes. We slept in a row at the chalet. I think sharing a terrible sleeping spot with a bunch of friends is the human equivalent of a cat letting you touch its belly. It’s especially vulnerable, in a crane shot zoom out, friends surrounding us kind of way.
We’re going to Ipoh tomorrow, some of the stage friends. I’m afraid, to be honest. Group travels have been shit.
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