we are all born mad. some remain so.

i'm quite the vindictive person.
sometimes i wonder if one day that'll get the better of me.

the semester draws to a close. the 3rd year has swiftly come and gone.
i sit down and wonder what have i learnt, and wonder if i'm fit for this anymore.
so much of me has shattered, and rebuilt.
is what i have now enough to go through the next 5 years?
i can't see myself building in the future, i can't see myself slacking.
then again, i don't see myself plausibly doing anything else.

i don't discuss critically about the poetics;
i don't remember any projects to quote offhand;
i don't post photos of artistic expression;
and i certainly don't give a damn about any recent events.

i just want to be with my friends;
i just want some peaceful moments lying on a deck chair staring into the water;
i just want to get lost in moments.
i just want to know what i'm doing and what i'm doing it for.

i sit here in my room in sheares hall.
3 full years, some friends, many acquaintances.
everything now is in a mess but in 48 hours i'll step out and the room shall belong to someone else for the next 3 years.
i pack up my load,
i stuff my books into my backpacks,
i fold clothes into my duffelbag.
i throw worn shoes away, along with other materials.

what have i've learnt in these 3 years here?
what did i fail to appreciate and what will i face?
i don't like it when these feelings all rush into my head all at once.
it ironically leaves me empty, feeling like the audience of the show, trying to make sense of the show after i leave the theatre.

i like to be the performer.
i like to be in charge.
i like to know what happens first.
i like to enact life better than anyone else does.
i just want to know and prepare the obstacles in advance and make sure i'm not doing wrong in this short period of mortal consciousness.

life is a rehearsal for a play that will never be performed.



bye sheares hall.