Torn Apart; When The Mind Overrules the Heart

It's always easier seeing situations when you're removed from them. Not involved. Not when your head's not entirely all there, when your heart and body seem to be responding a whole lot more than they should, and when heart and head seem to be at loggerheads with each other's wants and needs.

Torn apart.

One wanting to throw caution to the winds, to take advantage of the situation, to indulge in its inner desires despite the risks involved, despite the probability of becoming bruised and broken, but it doesn't care for risks, the heart strives to fly, to soar and reach those limits, and should it die, it will do so in all its blazing glory, knowing it has given all it has to give.

The other is cold logic, weights that control those baser impulses, like shackles that stop them from taking that potentially deadly plunge, but it is right to do so, for without it those flights of fancy would cause the individual those extreme highs and lows, like a slave to their whims and desires. The mind keeps it grounded in reality, knowing that it is right to do so.

Then again, sometimes there's always a situation when the mind is right to exert all its cold, hard reason, and yet, you wish so much to follow the heart's lead, and throw yourself into the situation headfirst, unrestrained, and all logic be damned. When love enters the equation. And knowing logic is deserved in those circumstances, you reluctantly follow it.

And then the backlash of the decision implodes, and you feel like you're dying inside, despite knowing you've made the proper ethical decision, but it cuts like a thousand shards of glass, and the pain seems deserved.

And then the tears fall.

I Watch in the Shadows

I am a watcher.

It's what I am. I enjoy watching people. No, I'm not a voyeur. Not that kind of watching. I am an observer of people. I enjoy being on the sidelines, watching people walk by and imagining their individual lives, stretched out in front of them like threads. Some threads are interwoven, some shining, some frayed at points, and some abruptly cut off. I enjoy watching the expression on a person's face, listening in to conversations, not so much the subject matter as the intonation in the individual's voice. Watching body language and how people interact.

Sometimes I get so caught up in a conversation that I forget I am not merely a person watching in the audience, I am part of the play and it is as if I am an actress who has forgotten her lines. Smiling, I participate, so I can return to listening. I enjoy hearing what people have to say, and how they say it, and it seems like the conversations of life are exactly like the conversations from a sitcom, except for the fact that they are indeed real, and that I am part of them.

Perhaps it affects who I am, and how I relate to people. Sometimes I feel separated, as if I am an audience member watching my own self interact with others around me, like a separate entity and the person I am watching is going through the natural motions of yet another person. Sometimes walking down the street seems surreal, as if the blue of the skies are much too bright to be a reality, the greens and reds and yellows of the world seem too vibrant, too daunting, too beautiful to be part of the world, and I am instead in some artificially constructed environment. And sometimes my separation leads to distractedness and somestimes to an added rationality to certain circumstances.

I'm pretty sure I'm sane. Reality is such a fragile construct, a reality based on personal experiences and thoughts and ideas. Being too sensitive, too involved, to the lives of others, those who I know and those who I don't, definitely takes its toll on my reality. It's a playground for my imagination. I know it is my imagination, but it is a game I enjoy playing. Rationality is a very fine line we all tread; the difference between madness and sanity is very little.

Sometimes I have difficulty relating to this reality.

Numb.

And sometimes I have problems connecting to emotion.

Cold.

And sometimes, I wonder if I am losing touch of reality entirely.

Watcher.

Untitled Thoughts of A Uni Student

You can spot the new ones a mile away. The fresh faces, eager to start classes anew, slightly apprehensive as the wander around, files and clean notebooks in hand, trying to find their lecture theatre. Those dressed to the nines, trying to make good impressions as they first arrive. Some come with friends in tow, their own personal little support groups as they prepare to face the new and challenging world of university. It's a world apart from what they've grown up to. High school was nothing compared to this next step.

University life can be daunting at times. Melbourne University was no different. Like I said earlier, it was nothing like high school. Not the slightest. Classes could be rescheduled, shifted around to your preference, no one was breathing down your neck making sure you were on track with your assignments, or your school work, or anything at all! You could choose to skip a lecture and no one would be the wiser. There was no one telling you what to do or what to say or how to dress, and you could lose yourself in the sheer diversity of university students. There was almost too much to comprehend, too many people, too many opportunities to do or say or indulge in whatever you chose to. It is a smorgasboard of opportunities.

University is amazing in that sense. Some say it is where you discover who you truly are. It is the stepping stone in self-discovery. Many times, as I walk through Union House, I am just struck by the freedom students get to explore their chosen passions in life. There is a niche for every single individual, should you look hard enough.

I am constantly amazed by discovering what my university sometimes offered. Free dance classes for beginners. Different sports, from the generic to those less heard of. An art gallery, with opportunities for those who were interested to learn. The Rowden White library, the infamous library where students were banned from studying in. Student politics, student bodies, clubs and societies. There is something to be said for a club called Friends of Unnatural Llamas. Quirky.

Various lectures on various subjects, usually something to do with world events; a response to the politics that went on in the world - an attempt to question and discuss and perhaps, the desperate hope that the future would be different. That we would make it different. Theatre. And that is only the tip of the iceberg, a mere hint of the different activities and courses where anyone could choose to pursue, in between their academia.

My university experience goes beyond academia. True, one does go to university to pursue a degree, but there's more to learning than books and lecture theatres. Undoubtedly, that is one of the most interesting parts about university, when you learn about subjects where you are truly passionate about. However, it is the people you will meet, the experiences you will have, the debates you will engage in, the lessons you will learn outside the classroom that truly will define your university experience.

Nevertheless, sometimes, I realise how jaded I've become with uni life. With studying. Sometimes, when I spot those new faces, still caught up in the excitement of going to uni, I wish I could be like them once again. Excited about the process of learning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, instead of blearily stumbling out of my bed on automatic at the sound of the alarm after several snooze attempts. Sometimes I wish I could shake myself out of this rut. I love what I do, but at the same time, it's starting to take so much effort.

Yeah. Uni does that to you too.

Moments Amidst Awoken Slumber

It was one of those moments where I would be content to do nothing more than to lie enveloped in the warmth and comfort of the quilt. Wrapped in layers of fluffy white quilt, on the large comfortable queen sized bed, in a room decked in whites and browns, with the merest hint of the sun already up through the blinds at the window. Savouring the moment as I basked in the lull of one who has just awoken from a good night's rest, appreciating the moment as I slowly awoke, before turning over to fluff the pillow to resume slumber.

And then I stiffened, my brain finally registering the information I was so languidly perusing as I gazed at the ceiling. The ornamental fan with Japanese writing. The sleek desktop. The inbuilt cupboards with full length mirrors. The sudden realisation that I was in someone else's bed, and that someone else was beside me.

Had I thought it was a dream I would have cuddled up, backed up against him without a second thought, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Savour the feeling of being protected as he held me close to him. But it wasn't a dream, and I stayed my distance, watching him through heavy lidded eyes.

He stirred. "Morning," he murmured before going back to sleep.

Sleeping while I took my fill of him, how in slumber he seemed so much more gentle, and vunerable. His face was familiar, and yet not. The softened planes of his face, making him seem so much more boyish than the man I was reconciled with in my mind. The small scar underneath his eye, just underneath the sweep of his eyelashes. Something I had always noticed but never really looked at with the leisure I was able to do now. He forced open an eye to ask for the time and caught me watching him, and my lips curved in response to the smile in his eyes.

He stretched and turned over, and I admired the well defined, lean muscles of his back, ignoring the urge to touch them, for he was not mine to touch. But I can appreciate a well toned male body as much as the next woman, or so I told myself as I watched him sleep, appreciating the situation I was in, There were definite advantages of being woken up to be greeted with a sight like that.

We dozed in and out of sleep, comfortable in the fluffy white sheets, affectionate conversation of mere sentences before the other would burrow once again underneath the sheets and let sleep reclaim them. Drifting in and out of consciousness, speaking words of people who were halfway between consciousness and slumber. I awoke first, lazily content in my surroundings, refusing to leave the security of that fluffy quilt.

Events of the night starting to come back to me. It started with a movie. Us on the bed, watching Traffic and having pizza. It ended so much earlier than I thought, and we became embroiled in a game of elves and necromancers and angels and devils. Allies, we bulit cities and commenced fierce battles, and explored the boundaries of the world. A more romanticised way of saying we were very much into Heroes of Might and Magic. In fact, so into it, that we were five hours into the game before I realised it was four in the morning. Much too late to walk back by then, considering the distance and the time, and I couldn't really muster up the energy to leave by then.

Never mind my attraction to him that I dedicatedly ignoring. We had promised to stay friends, and unless something out of the ordinary happened, we were making a conscious effort to avoid letting our attraction get into the way of remaining friends. So I slept, in total trust.

"You look like a sleepy teddy bear."

Affectionate to the last, me knowing that my eyeliner would have smudged sometime through the night, and knowing that my hair was redefining bedhead. I wrinkled my nose at him and smiled to myself, realising how love and affection can be bittersweet. Cherished at how sweet he was, despite his larger than life jokes about manliness and being tough.

Little things in life make things so much more richer. Irony. I woke up in bed with a man I cared deeply about, but we had chosen to take a path where both of us were adamant about remaining friends. There should have been tension, but when we both woke up it seemed like there wasn't a difference. It was as if we had resolved that the attraction between us wasn't going to fade away, but instead we were letting it grow into friendship.

For that morning, we were friends. Sun dappled and playful, caught in a moment of rare and uncomplicated languidness, knowing I had never felt more connected with him than I felt lying beside him in that bed, barely touching. A throwback to the innocence of childhood. Before things got complicated.

And between those sheets I remembered what it felt like once again.

Trapped in the Fire Escape

So there I was, talking on the phone, getting way animated with the conversation I was having with Adlina, pacing up and down the halls the way I usually do when I'm excited. I'm a person who talks with my hands. More than words. I get excited about things, and I was really into that whole conversation we were having; getting into my spiel and both of us feeding of each other's enthusiasm.

So anyway, I waltz into the fire exit and sit down on the stairs while I update her with the recent happenings of my life, and about ten minutes into the conversation, the lights switch off, and I am plunged into total darkness.

Total darkness, barefoot and in my PJs, in an unexplored part of the apartment of which I haven't the slightest idea to where it would lead to, with nothing but a cordless telephone.

Fine. Darkness is doable. Darkness is even my friend at times. No reason to panic, especially since I figured it wasn't a blackout, that it was actually that timer for the lights had turned off. I could see light from the hallway underneath the crack between the door and the floor. Perfect. No reason to panic at all.

So I reach out blindly for the door handle and turn it, joking to Adlina on the phone that was so typical of what I would do, when I realise the door handle's not turning. That it's somehow managed to lock. No matter how much I try to turn it, the messages aren't quite going to my brain. I can hear little alarm bells ringing in my head, while the realisation of what I've just done slowly starts to hit me.

Fuck. Of all the things to do, I have miraculously locked myself in the fire escape of my own apartment! I can see my sister shaking her head and laughing. So me.

No, I did not panic. No, I did not get rescued by some hunky fireman. The phone was my ray of hope. Until I realised I didn't have any of my housemate's numbers memorized. Damnit. So I rang my mobile. Repeatedly until someone picked up and I wailed into the phone that I was stuck in the fire escape and would someone please come let me out?

What a way to start the week.