Hands In My Pocket

...and just walk on by, kicking an occasional pebble that lays in my path.

The last entry was written during the early hours of Saturday, not Sunday. The date-stamping feature in blogger seemed to be all screwed up. With a birthday and a farewell, the date is important in this case.

A close friend left Melbourne this morning, she will not be back in the near future. We had a good dinner, I chose the place. Glad I didn’t screw up her last dinner here. She cajoled me to go up to the Rialto Observatory with her. It’s real touristy, and all these years here I have never been up. She’s like the little sister I never had, so how could I say no?

She told me a few things tonight. She appreciates me for being there for her always and that she likes me for being such a sensible person and how I always handle everything so systematically. Clearly, I feel like a fluke when she said all those things. Systematic approach to things maybe, but that one is a double-edged sword for sure. I plan too much, and in the midst of it creating too much expectations and hopes, only to be disappointed greatly time and again.

We hugged and said our goodbyes in front of the Rialto when we came back down. We don’t know when we will see each other again. We watched 49 Up together, and we made a hopeful pact to watch 56 Up in London. With our firm friendship over the years, I am sure we will make it. It’s never easy saying goodbye, and it’s one thing that does not improve with age or experience. Parting ways in opposite directions, I realised I was standing right across from 530 Collins Street. I turned away and walked on towards home. If someone were to take a shot that very moment in monochrome, I am sure it will turn out to be melancholically beautiful. It was a very still night too.

Her parting line to me was "take good care of yourself and erm, get well soon" clearly referring to my recent state of mind. I really appreciate that, it's sweet.

Oliver called at 2am this morning. Nobody likes a late call, unless it’s a booty call maybe. He wasn’t a happy caller, but I still held on to the phone. After finding out that I will be staying on, he is still giving me hell over the same issue. I am not trying to shirk the responsibility of taking care of mum and dad. He will never understand. The saddest part is he still has the notion that I am having the time of my life here and refuse to head home to reality. But this is my reality! What is he talking about? I made it clear to him that if I had a choice, I will leave for home right away with no qualms. He won’t believe me on that one of course.

It was just the other day that I openly admitted to my Honours year mentor that staying is not the best decision. In fact it could even be the worst. However it is an easy and convenient decision. With what’s happening between Philip and mum and dad and now Oliver, and also the possibility of not being able to find a job back home, it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.

I give up on explaining myself to others. It’s not only the fatigue, but also the drain I feel emotionally and psychologically. I don’t want to say no more. Think whatever they want to about me. Such is the recurring theme to my life anyway, being misjudged. As long as I know I have a clear conscience and that I have done enough, that will be all that matters.

Now that the tyrant in the family is awake again and making all these big decisions, maybe a trip back home and even up to Beijing is inevitable. I resent the fact that the youngest member in the family has to take on the duty of holding everyone and everything together. With my less-than-perfect existence here, how much more can I handle? But I know I have come to a point where I can't avoid the confrontations anymore, however much I hate them.

So I should take the trip after all. Even if nothing works out, at least I could rescue my books and records. Nothing in that house matters to me anymore, except those things, and of course some childhood photographs too. That will be all really.

I have started rowing again, and will get back into squash too this week. With everything exploding in my face lately, I need to do something. Exercising always helps a little, and I hope I can keep up this time amidst the madness.

I wish I don’t have to walk life winding roads alone all the time, but who can help me really? They can listen, sound me out, and offer suggestions and support. But maybe, after all, that’s all I am needing. It won’t solve the problems but it sure helps. It helps to disperse the feeling of despair in the morning and the feeling of being alone in the crowd. It helps to make me a stronger person and a happier person even and that always is indeed a great help.

I have been operating alone in a lot of things for a while now. I do seem to function better in life when I am actually not with someone and being dragged down by a heavy heart. At least I don’t go all silly and irrational and dreamy. I have more determination and strength and a sense of resilience when I have no one to lean on. That doesn’t really make sense, does it?

So am I really better off being alone? Or am I destined to be one of those who are condemned to not having someone by my side? Or is that considered a blessing in a sick disguise?