At Night, Alone.
The sky was light purple tinted mixed with light grey colour. We paced ourselves nicely and chatted about career, interviews and study plan. It was a relief for her this week. I salute for organised people who know how to plan their everyday life. It is as if they have never left something behind, all the boxes drawn on the sticky note are ticked.
We separated at the traffic light. We shouted 'get home safely' to each other while we parted to respective ways. I reminded myself 'I need to get home as soon as possible'. After crossing the road and tram route, two guards sitting in the middle of the road. I had to walk pass them in order to get home.
As I stepped forward, they shouted and told me I had to walk around the square. The square is like a round about in the middle of the road, except that it is a square and it is twice as big as the normal round about. I sighed.
I walked on the tram line, tears started to drip down. This year has been the most tears year. The same old Adelaide, the different Elisa. I walked and cried silently. I hate the distance of my house from here deep down in my heart.
It was a windy night. I was extremely thankful that it was night, 2 something. This fact reassured me that no many people would actually witness my cry.
I thought to myself again and again, wondering why there is always this kind of emptiness in my heart. The constant pressure of being a lady, constant request of achieving something great, the unending envious thought that I have for every Christian lady in my fellowship and church, the non-stoppable complaints and disappointment of myself and the random thoughts of what if I end my life today.
If I leave Adelaide for good one day, Wakefield street will be the street that I wouldn't want to remember. I will never forget the route from West side River Torrens to China Town.
Every time I ask myself if I have become someone better than I used to be. I never have an answer ready for myself.
This 2 weeks had a lot of 'Welcome Nights'. It is that kind of formal party that you meet freshies and get to eat a lot of junk food and drink cups and cups of carbonated drinks. Participants indulge in every bite that they take, but that is not the real deal. The real deal is each of the participant has the chance to introduce themselves to whole lots of stranger faces, Freshies meet and greet eye to eye, wearing big smile as if they have eaten the sweetest candy ever. The year 2 and above greet politely, with enthusiasm but you can see a bit of tiredness in their eyes.
Believe me, our eyes won't lie. Why? Because they can't talk, they express your soul.
I used to face that kind of smiley and energetic expression 2 years ago in the mirror. Now all I see in the mirror is a wounded soul.
Wakefield street is not long. From Victoria Square to my house is as short as Rundle Mall to Rundle Street. Just that when I have things at my back and my only transport is legs, every second lasts an infinite long.
2 years of experience, maturity, learning and accumulation of wounds, heartbreaks one after another. Burden in my mind is as much as using a string to lift up tofu. I always wish to write a full-stop to each of this burden.
No, I am definitely not lonely, but I just want to write out this at night, alone.
I am indifferent from Mike Posner who wrote this album "At Night, Alone", except the facts that he is a he, I am not a baller and I can never spend much on guys and shoes.
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