rainbow's end

[methrowrock]

It has been three weeks. Oh, hey, snap of the fingers, and fast forward to the present, with a little knowing smirk and faint shadows of regret. What have I been getting up to? The purest indulgence, really: time, youth, leisure in their unabashedly puerile form. Meeting up with old classmates, who have returned home from all corners of the Earth, and laughing at stale jokes. Nothing much have changed, be it guffawing loudly at the raucous alcohol-fueled antics of another, plonking ourselves neatly on the rooftop of Vivocity playing Monopoly Deal, narrating said games with (un)necessary commentaries peppered with song lyrics and pop culture references and devious master-minding, traveling to the airport with two equally bored souls to welcome a friend back (mour to spy on her rumoured amour, hehe visual puns), lunches at various places dotted over the island with different friends and long languid talks- or just plain gossip-, joining another team for trainings and having a surprisingly delightful time getting to know new people and returning to old positions, attempt after attempt at reading library books (Privilege is turning out to be pop sociology, but hey, I'll take whatever I can get), watching and hyperventilating with laughter at Arashi, putting my hands up and getting my drinkz up while roly poly-ing around. The weeks have been enjoyable, to say the least. But paths of the least resistance can only lead to stagnation. One day, I am going to find myself mired in quicksands of sloth and underachievement. Or maybe, I haven't realised it yet.

Despite the frothiness of most days, there are times when gravity sets in, especially when you have a good friend fighting to be healthy. How does one reconcile with being at the peak of adolescent vigour, to having mortality loom over you, clearer and closer that it had ever been before? How, then, does one manage to muster grins and sunshine for everyone else? It makes me feel guilty and ashamed of how I have been utilising my time, especially of late. Even then, that is a horribly self-centred thought. What can I do to lessen her burden? It can never feel enough. The sun rises, the sun sets. You wake, you sleep. You eat, you drink. Everybody is incubated in their bodies, trapped within pounds of flesh and bones, trying their darndest to keep their balance as the world spins on. It reminds of Atonement, which I watched last week. The tragedy is that the human condition is so pathetic that Briony turns to fiction to supplant reality, a preference that leads to intoxication, and then, rehabilitation. They were all grasping frantically at straws, or their illusions of straws, to decorate their lives. The scene of the dying soldier desperately asking Briony whether she loved him broke my heart. Sorry for the diarrhoea of cliches, but life isn't a dream that you can wake up from. Because you live, you die, and that is that. It scares me to no end, but that is entirely different topic altogether. What I can, and will, do now is to visit her ever so often, keep her company with the zany few, and offer her all of my prayers and best wishes. Get well soon, SY. I know you will!