Sleep—you want tomorrow, don’t you?

When I was starting University, I worked at a department store in the wedding registry area. I didn't mind helping out people shopping for a future bride and groom, but whenever a happy couple came in to return/exchange gifts, I seethed. I lost count of the number of times I'd look at a driver's license to do the return/exchange and cringe at the fresh-adult age. What were they doing? Were they sure of this? Did they know the divorce rate? Did they know that they weren't even half-way through their lives yet?

I'm usually-happily single and I've never been in a long-term relationship. Marriage is something extremely far off and unlikely -I think I'd need a steady boyfriend first, which also seems impossible. My life is weird and extremely me-centered. My life's itinerary doesn't have room for a boyfriend, and I tend to be okay with that. However, as I'm getting older, I'm realizing the stigma around being single and that friends actually tend to move further away when they join the world of 'couples'.

Recently, everyone seems to be paired off and I'm the anomaly. Granted, it's by choice but it's still awkward and makes me feel incomplete sometimes. In my office, I can rarely join in on conversations regarding relationships because I'm the only person who's not in one. When I meet friends that I haven't seen in a long time, they always want to know whether I'm dating someone and when I say no, they always say that I'll meet someone soon (although I didn't indicate that I wanted to). The individual has been crushed, exemplified through their speech -we, boyfriend/fiance/husband and I, etc. 

Sometimes I really want to tell my friends to shut up about their significant other, that I only care about them and not their 'better half' (who I usually don't even really know). Other times, I wonder whether I'll become like them, paired and obnoxious. I think the next time I am dating someone, I won't mention it. When a friend questions me about my relationship status, I'll reply, "What difference does it make?".    

At 23, I'm getting pretty tired of hearing, "it's your fault".

I enjoyed drinking in 'First Class Standing' on my statement of results.

Fiercely, I hugged close　　You and your insolent past too

I'll gather it up and act as befits love　　As if you're writhing inside me　　

Keep crying　　Keep crying

I was looking outside of the small window at the vaporous clouds and the cerulean horizon and thought, "How would it be like if this plane crashed?".

Flesh metal pieces.

This isn't possible, is it?

 I'll miss my beautiful pile of books, the stack of video games, the random letters, posters and knick-knack from concerts.

It's hard to believe this is really going to happen... And somehow, I need to study Japanese WHILE working full-time WHILE attempting to finish forgotten novels and PS2 games WHILE meeting up with people who suddenly remembered that I exist...

And to imagine my plans less than a month ago were to just stay in my basement and play PS2. Funny how things work out in life.

There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.

I'm reminded of last Spring, another country, a person that I cared about deeply.

The night air is brisk. We walk side-by-side along unfamiliar streets and yet under a common sky. It has become routinized for us to pass to one another a chilled can of Asahi Super Dry beer. The taste is strangely saccharine, pleasant, unlike what I despise in North America.

People pass by us, continuing another chapter of their lives. I wonder what will become of ours as I stare off to the bright train station, which seems to cast the houses further into darkness. My legs keep moving, less of my own accord but more by a strange higher-power. I am an automaton and I acknowledge my lack of will. My heart begins to race and a sense of urgency overwhelms me.

Where were we going? What were we hoping to find? There were no real answers, only our feet continuing to move, one after the other.     

I want this so badly that I feel like I'm going to vomit. More than grad school, more than true love, perhaps more than being able to quit constant re-writes of that novel I'm starting. I have to wait roughly a month until the results, and in the meantime, I have to write three midterms, three major papers, two quizzes, and three finals.

And if I'm rejected, I'm going to be torn to pieces.