there is just something about waking up to an empty, silent house. It fills me with a sense of purposeless purpose and a continuous stream of words that i would fumble with and often drop and forget. The world expands and envelopes me in a comforting silent void that nurses my little slightly cracked lonely core.

i then take a shower, brush my teeth. the typical daily rituals one performs upon a night's slumber, restful and restless likewise. a ritual to officially begin the day with. out of desperation to fill the empty day that lay before me after i finsihed another breath taking novel and letting it sink in, i brought the pants and books i meant to return to H&m and the library respectively.

walking in the mall, i catch my reflection off gleaming surfaces.. my shoulders tensed as always, the quick solemn stride i adopt when im out alone. Who can love me? i still wonder sometimes, staring at myself. these ungainly fleshy limbs attached to its flawed counterparts- the torso, the head, the shoulders - along with all their cumbersome obtuse components i abhor with an unhealthy obession. i know my body does everything for me - i smell, i touch, i hear, i taste - it takes me places, bares me to pain, pleasure, distractions. i ought to love it, yes, i really should. posters and books and tv shows have women shaking their perfectly coiffed hair and manicured nails in the air demanding to be appreciated for everything they are.. inside and out. but sometimes i think they forget, being caught in the small little screen, frozen in time, judged by their shallow words, breathy voices, glowing skin... they are already perfect. they dont have body parts getting in their way, holding them down.. it is exactly the superficiality that is keeping them up and admired... i always wanted to be waif-like, without the repulsive softness surrounding my bones, not so i can strut down runways.. no, im a romantic.. i want to slip into shadows when i want to, be loved like an oread, be subdued and crushed by a lover's embrace.

im a fraud. im all fake, an imposter. constantly i harbour the fear of being caught, of being found out that i am not everyone thinks i am. i'm merely a walking persona.. its pearle who is wearing that skirt, shes the one who is obesessed about fashion and powerful women who inspire her, shes the one writing that essay, buying that dior lipgloss, weaving blogs i somestimes cant identify as mine/hers, shes the one indulging in chocolate, giggling, laughing with that careless abandon - but not me. what if someone finds out im all pretense. i cant possibly look like that, talk like that, laugh like that, triumph that way, fail this way. no, i dont want to be part of those contradictions, the confusion, mixed identities- funny, coz me being this way is part of it. how ironic. sometimes i would just like to think its inevitable, uncontrollable - just not me. just not my fault. i know it is.. but please dont tell me?

to escape. run away. avoid. to detach. ignore. pretend. to be blind. deaf. voiceless.