“made it flow pretty nice i’d say, so no need to shuffle.”

 # “made it flow pretty nice i’d say, so no need to shuffle.”

saturday morning, the empty caf (remember when she told you how saturday breakfast is best because of the calm walls?), and the promise of tomato omelette that gently stirs you awake. unintentional tuning out of the conversation at hand, gawking at the amount of pineapple in your plate — did i get this? i watch as people get ignored by the girl with earphones and laugh at the realization, the misunderstanding. a part of me begins to really take in my surroundings. it’s funny how we never got around to removing the theatre season board, the words of encouragement engraved in our hearts from the daily visits to the caf, waiting in line for the magical plopping of multi-coloured soap onto our eager palms. unruly lettering and half torn pages that scream “great work!” to nobody in particular. 

i guess you could say i had a premonition from the very beginning of the end, i knew somehow that the promise (and curse) of one month wasn’t as firm as the taste of peanut butter lingering in my mouth. i knew this because i felt it. i heard it being said as i pulled out the crimson bottle of hair serum that always felt too precious to use and yet, tonight i felt i was running out of it, like my time here on the hill. 

looking back at it now, i should have learnt from the signs for they were the same as last time. everything was suddenly too, too poetic and meant too much. my urge to sign up for every event mailed to my inbox was a sign as much as the unwilling loss of filter as i followed someone else’s hand as it danced and cut through the air, trying so hard not to lose myself. my second years asked me to be someone else for that evening - “an imaginary character, or a person you barely knew”. i had a mix of the two, a character i never really shared combined with a friend who i gave away. it was lame and i felt embarrassed but when they asked me my name, i whispered it anyway, and i tried to understand the girl pretending to be the obnoxious young teacher but she wanted us to hate her, and in the end, she didn’t jump anyway. the hot air balloon of our dreams crashed, along with it the stories about the ant named hilda, and in the end, she didn't jump anyway. 

to think there was that much significance in the appointment i made with an impulse to cut off my hair, as if the blue scissors in my drawer were aware that accidentally cutting my curtain bangs too short would catalyze the process of my bisexual awakening.  red lipstick and three consecutive showers with two different toads - what can i say? the wind was smooth the last few sunsets; only i never knew they were my last and i continued to laugh at the poster that said “you matter, you come first”. i still believe my bangs are for protective purposes only. painting my bread, my breadth, my breath, and contorting sea monsters into a rhythm of the heart was surely the therapy i needed at the time - digging into the concrete sidewalks with dull chalk that stood out against it and hiding in the dark in the library only to eat half-baked brownies. 

the last week was longer than i expected, probably because it was longer than a week but again, less than a month.  i continued to sleep on time and my roommate continued to leave her lights on, materializing as the perfect excuse for the spinning of my thoughts and the confusion. rising from my damp pillow and instead, falling against the damp grass to take in the clean sky and to allow our tired tears to wash away the sight of everyone disappearing excruciatingly slowly. crying happily and crying because suddenly there was a timer to our existence here. 

and when the night finally came (when i realized my 'last laundry' was my last laundry), i could only think of this one question. as i ripped away shards of handwritten poetry, realizing how much of me was in these walls, and shaking, placed the packets of iced tea right next to each other, sticking to them and writing notes i didn’t mean to write - all i could wonder was how everything fit into two suitcases. as i roamed the short distance from my room to the mirror, watching as the heavy material of my denims didn’t become any lighter, i regretted not saying the words to them, saying, “please, when you leave, switch off the lights.”