someone listening

 i wonder who comes by to check. 

someone has to. a few stray views a year and god knows it isn't me. i gave up on myself. well, at least i try. still, there are views. last in december 2025. wonder how one stumbles upon this blog. what brings a person here, of all the weird places on the internet. 

and does it even matter? 

i guess i wanted to be like the girls in the films. authentic, headstrong, adored by many. if i lie to myself hard enough it sometimes fool myself into thinking i am halfway there. but it's stupid. i'm the man. i'm all that is wrong with the world. i'm knocking at glass of caged animals and cooing when they reply with a timid lick on my face. this wasn't who i wanted to be. 

god, i miss the river again. i miss all the things about that place and many others. every time i speak of it i call it home and i know i'm lying. nothing is home. home is a feeling. i don't have it. maybe that is why big places fascinate me. you can't hear the emptiness of soul in them. it gets overwhelmed by the sounds. i love watching tiny lights move overhead, underneath. i'm one of those tiny lights. not worse, nor better. just there, going by, passing by, breathing in until my lungs hurt. that is why i miss the river and it's reflections of tiny lights. it's too quiet here. i'm not small enought o disappear. it's the worst thing to be caught in a gilt cage this small. 

there is little resolution left. this month's going to suck. february is the worst for many reasons. the winter takes too long. all the pretty clothes bought to treat myself sits at the back of the closet, awaiting it's turn. nothing to distract me this year. no place to go. jetlag at least excused the mania. how will i be manic with you here and no jetlag to excuse myself? 

lying it is. putting on a brave face. or a face. any face will do. usually you melt it into a grin anyways. it's futile to fight. for that the jetlag is a friend. cotton candy brain mush makes going with the flow so easy. i wonder what happens now. i guess i will walk in and smile and make all the reservations and pronounce each word very carefully as they try to repeat. de-ku-ji. not quite. you will get there. or not. doesn't matter matter since this is an excursion to a place you don't want to be a part of. it's my life. it's your holiday. you will watch me and disregard all the bad things. the shortness and meanness. you will say: you're so mean, offhandedly. informing me, but not dwelling upon it too much. and you will destroy me in the process. i will keep lying away with the words playing in my mind. i'm mean. i'm always mean. i'm mean but it doesn't matter. because you're a tourist here and tomorrow you will be back home. 

so i will lie and smile and talk a lot about singapore. i will dwell on every minute detail. i will end up being annoying and leaving last. behind my eyelids i will imagine a future that is not here. i wish i could cherry pick the elements. discart the bad stuff. keep you, or the version of you i build up in my head. 

life is so boring and sad. 

maybe that is why one person comes by to check.