Kejam

"You don't seem to put any heart into it."

I've been told this again and again, the first being my drama teacher back in secondary school. And recently I just heard it again. You don't seem to put your heart into it.

I don't understand it myself; this feeling of distant aloofness to situations. This apathy. I am there and yet I am not. It feels like I am cocooned in a mass of jell-o. Have you ever tried to listen to conversations underwater? That is how it feels like when people are talking to me. Because what is there for me to listen? Or for people to listen to me even? I am just a tape recorder. Play. Fast forward. Pause. Play. Fast forward. No stops. No time to reflect. An accelerated life experience; an impatient listener furiously tapping on the fast forward forward button just to hear the coda.

My mouth filled with concrete; it does not hold water. That perpetually filled chasm struggled to communicate, and only a minute fraction of it comes out as seismic psychoquakes of magnitude 0.1. Everything is hard. Making calls. Writing the first "hi" on Tinder. All of this masked by a wall of words and reblogged tumblr posts, witty repartees on Facebook and 140 ways of how to attract people to my tweets under 140 words.

My eyes are the dissipater of creatives. It does not matter if your mind is filled with brilliant megalomaniacal innovations that seek to bring an utopian shift from a world of zealots of our current era. It does not matter if your mind contain a fragment of eden itself, complete with a grandiose marbled statues spouting moscato sparkling like rose quartz under the warm embrace of god. It does not matter for the green fields or the mosaic tessellations on skyscrapers and HDBs that dotted the cityscapes. But my eyes suck out the soul of every thought. The eyes that icily judge others and sneer at conformity yet it prevents an outpouring of any original concept lest it melts. And so I settled for endless random pokemon battle loops.

So just sigh and let the void embrace with its tendrils of primal chill that numbs till I become comatose. Even as the light from the hole above glistens with hope, in the comfort of nyx, I do not want to try anything anymore.