It was when I was sitting inside the bus with my elbow resting on the window, I didn’t realise when my sleeve became wet, I didn’t realise when I pulled my hand inside and the fabric around my body, too, became wet, I didn’t realise that my entire sleeve was wet because I had rolled it up. I realised when the wetness made my arm itch. The not-so-here me.
I didn’t realise when I became an “Olympic walker”. I would start from home 3 minutes prior to my scheduled history class and walk fast so that I make it in time. You ask why 3 minutes? I was only trying to save the commuting time because I was keen on making something good out of my life by channelising all my time towards academics. (After all I was a kid.) I realised when some classmates on the way, classmates who would always come late after hanging around, would call me a Marathon runner or an Olympic walker. But I never cared enough. Now, however, I feel I could never get that Marathon thing out of me. I still walk fast.
I term my days in school as my character cementing days. So calculative about time I was that I never realised how I made use of my two eyes. That mean and stingy clock was an apple of one of my eyes. With one eye, I would read stuff and sleep, and with the other, I would cuddle the timepiece. Such is the assimilation that now, I miss saying, “Oh. I didn’t realise it was four!” unless I’m writing or reading. And this, even if I am trying to kill time; even if I am at home with no work to do, I feel it’s 2pm now, I better have a bath., then the energetically challenged me says, Ok, 30 minutes more. Like everyone else, I count minutes when I have to wait and I ask myself to slow down. I am impatient.
My mom gives me a file to hold and forgets. I don’t realise for how long my hands have been clutching it until I’m told to keep it somewhere safely. I live in thoughts.
Ever since I was a child, I had been advised by elders to try talking more. On reading this, some of my friends will find those elders and have them assassinated in their backyards ‘cause they curse me for my loquacity while others ask if I have an ego or a shell that I can’t burst. Thanks to this blog I won’t burst that shell. A book told me that Cancerians have split personalities. Freaking truth, I say. I have two personalities. I love them both.
I’m prone to losing and spoiling things. Call it a phone, a worthy endorsed cheque, electronics or anything. I have either dropped them somewhere and blamed it to cutpurses later, or climbed up on a TV to break it or misplaced important documents and cards. When compared to a sibling whom I am elder to and should be setting an example for, I always notice myself near a towering cliff, however careful I try to be and however careless she is known to be. I am still irresponsible.
Not that I would never have tried to break the rules. Had I only realised…