I missed my schedule. 
Skip trains are normally "spacey", but how is it possible that I can no longer breathe on this occasion without thinking that breathing is a heavy chore? 
            I squeezed myself to a place where I can immediately sit down or where someone could offer his place for me. I grip my hand on the handrail, read the literary poems or train advertisements. I followed each word written on the flat slanted wall, which guided my eyes later to see the window.

There is nothing to see with my reflection. Controlling all her messed emotions while she tries her best in standing still at the platform on her ride home. She might look happy on the outside, but inside, it's never okay. I saw how the sweet scented girl in front of me frowned back at me. I saw how exhausted she is; from the scars to her chest onto her neck and to her starry eyes, from the mayhems and judgments she never pictured on facing, from reality. I looked up on the wall again, trying my best not to cry. And I realized how strong she is. She's the strong woman that no guy has ever dreamed of living and cherishing their lives with. She is independent. This thought made it even faster for me to blink my eyes, so that tears won't fall on my cheeks.

The man seated in front of me offered me his seat but I rejected. I preferred feeling the weight on my feet. No one knows and will understand the way it shatters under my pants, and the way it begins to want peace. The buildings passed from left to right the way I imagined my life should be today. Fast and Predictable. But it's the opposite. The slowness makes every piece of me in the state of torture; I see them break the good parts of me, and reveal the tormented past. The spontaneity of the situation makes me want to cling into a little short of hope, bringing me to the forlorn silence. This sort of heavy pain drives curiosity on my future, deciding if the battle is worth it, if I champion or not, if it makes the situation any better. Deciding if the absence of my knight to this fight would make me any stronger or weaker; for I am sure I need someone's help and support. Or if I can do this alone, will someone be as happy as I am when this is over?

Something big is in store for me, I just need to find out which and what. I have to choose the path that's both destined for me and will happen to me. I murdered the thought of letting go of the past. I want to remember everything: the pain, the people, the unwanted primitive story, the hope, and the details of it. It might not be healthy the way they say it, but it will inspire me to focus on the things that matter in my life.

NOBODY might want my story. NOBODY will crave for it to happen to them. NOBODY wants to be my way of rebellion. I don't even like it. It's not the way any person should live or be treated. NOBODY might believe me, but I'll tell you that IT is HAPPENING. My story. But I'll tell mine differently. It's not so heroic and not so ordinary. It's promising and it's brilliantly engaging. Any part of the hot and cold past-present-future will inject strength in me, the antidote one cannot buy in the market. Every pain and every happiness will confuse me and might even deteriorate my willpower to continue, gravitate any kind of intuitive smarts in me the way you don't discover in school or in any books. I will save this mission, my mission, for I don't want to miss it.

Scarred Scarred Reviewed by Michelle Tan on 3:12 PM Rating: 5

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