[ Strangers, FINALLY Redefined ]

…continued from [ Strangers, Redefined (I) ] , [ Strangers, Redefined (II) ] , [ Strangers, Redefined (III) ]


Many a time we exchange hesitant glances. I don’t know, maybe it isn’t mutual at all. Maybe it’s just me.

I feel there’s a connection through a mere eye contact, although body gesture is harder to detect. Whenever I come across him, our eyes seem to make their way to find each other either consciously or subconsciously. Or simply coincidentally. Maybe it’s just me.

We are in a foreign land but my actions and reactions convey something that is familiar, lacking integrity of my own feelings. Sometimes I regret being straight-faced when in fact the inside of me is jumbled up. Some other time I’m grateful that I don’t act on impulse lest I embarrass myself. Being honest with other people is one thing, being honest with myself is quite another.


I’m now queuing for an attraction with my sisters who are busily getting excited for the upcoming ride in the front. All I can perceive is their distant chatter while the voice inside my head is more audible than ever. My memory also harmonizes with a flashback of the encounters I had with him or them. It all appears too deliberate to be coincidences. It’s like: when I think of seeing them, I see them!

I’m just diverting my confused thoughts by looking to my left and, true enough; there I see him standing afar off, looking up at the ride we have been waiting in the line for. Sigh, maybe it’s just me.


Perhaps my head has been in the heat for too long and senses my nervousness from getting on the heart-pumping ride that it makes up its own baseless reasoning. Now my palms are sweating and I receive the puzzled looks from my two sisters.


I dare not speak out my emotions. Bottling them up inside the pit of my stomach is my expertise. I fear being judged, being disappointed, being mocked at for how I am. I fear the day where all this perturbation to my ostensibly-calm mental being becomes a mere fling with strangers (pardon the unintended sexual innuendo). I guess the distractions during the otherwise comfortable travel trip are the façade of my outcry for attention I never had.

At the least, I try to create a lively atmosphere around me. I politely ask for help when I sincerely need it; even when it means I have to approach the strangers and yes, won’t you believe it, I did. I put on my finest mask to face them so I can transfer any positive energy left of me. I stretch my limit and talk to them even when I don’t feel like it.


Strangers come and go.

Strangers may enter your life and stay in there, becoming a part of it.

Strangers may also pass you by like warm air that soothes but gives a chill as time ticks by.

Strangers are unpredictable; they may impart hopes in few occasions but take them back all at once in just a snap of a finger.

Strangers are weird and so am I.





[ Gone are the days... ]

…when pouring out my emotions of joy and frustration and sorrow was evident on the sheets of paper I carefully secured with a lock and put underneath my bed. The sheets of paper, filled with memories of my own attitude towards life. From the neat, cursive to jagged handwriting and the smell of rain and sun I brought along from outside my cocoon either in excitement or tears, it was evident on the sheets of paper I made sure nobody would find out. Whenever I was feeling on top of the world, up above all my troubles, I would flip through these written thoughts in seclusion and give them a smirk.

Now, everyone can be an open book for all to see, absolutely at one’s own discretion. Now, every word seems to matter more. It can make or break one’s attitude towards life, not only our own.


Gone are the days when possessing collectibles ranging from cassette tapes (not forgetting to mention the lyrics sheets that came along with them), CDs, VCDs, DVDs, cards, photo books, posters was the current trend I was proud of being obsessed about. Sometimes I got frustrated when loops developed in the cassette and I had to loosen or tighten the tapes by risking my index finger to become slightly marred. Easily, one glance at one’s bedroom (and one’s index finger) and there was no secret to the kind of music or entertainment genres one was into. Identity was so often associated with hobbies and interests that people forgot they were so much likely to be the source of influence themselves.

Now, songs and lyrics can be streamed online and wallpapers of our favorite artistes are accessible at the touch of our fingers. Now, frustration solely arises from the fact that dial-up connection still exists in many households. My goodness, I’m not revealing too much of my identity, aren’t I?


Gone are the days when kitchen play-sets and doll houses were all I wanted for Christmas (and, well, any other occasions) which I fought for so hard my tears had morphed into facial features. One time I had an accident while playing with my cousin who was suddenly cycling at speed towards me and I was quietly standing there in shock, the rest was history. In a group, I remembered having to rack my brain for conversational topics where awkward silence was really awkward. Human connections were still deemed as superior to technology which formed the bridge of our interactions with people.

Now, every child gets an iPad through feigned bawling and tiny acts of rebellion. Now, the terrible accident happens when we delete the game app we have climbed hard to the top in by mistake. Now, technology forms the foundation for human interactions and a safe haven when we run out of topics to discuss.


Hmm, I’ve got nothing else to say. Let me go back to my smartphone.


Gone are the days when nostalgic posts on WordPress caught many attentions (read as: likes) from the readers but you are so welcomed to prove me wrong.








Source of images: tumblr



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