I'm not going to lie and say 'I escaped unhurt' or 'everything happened so fast' or 'I felt so lost and confused'. I crashed the divider, bounced (inertia, not entirely my fault, it's all laws of nature) and hit the iron rail on the right side.
Got out, looked at my car in awe, like Rothko would at his ginormous paintings.
Looked around, expecting 10 people to run after me, to see if anyone had died (and take amateur handphone videos and pictures to be forwarded Malaysian-style) or just to sibuk, but no one did. So i inspected my car some more, and a girl came running and stopped breathless when she saw me, asking if I was alright.
I said yes, and she asked what happened.

I said I 'terlelap'. I didn't exactly sleep, I was blinking. Unfortunately my brain reserved some energy during the second (or two) long shut.

I'd rather not elaborate what happened after that. I was pretty jolly and carefree and pretty much 'pasrah' the minute I saw my car, much to their shock (them=police).
I guess my head has started to tune out... and snap out of... this.
Out of life.
Routine.
The adrenaline rush. I was sleepy. When I'm sleepy, I'm not on earth. I'm in Lalaland. I'm married to Jude Law and many other tall handsome rich men. I talk nonsense I won't remember.

I have been feeling this... urge, not urge. This strong feeling when I walk alone, this beating on my back, in my head, pushing me physically towards harm. Taking the dangerous routes. Walking in the dark (where I could easily get mugged, kidnapped to have my life exchanged with a fee, raped perhaps, sold as a slave to some sick perv, forced into pushing drugs up my ass [literally] transporting it out of the country as a job, kidnapped to be a bank-robbing partner, the list is quite endless).
Telling me it's time to snap out of it.
Snap out of life. What is life?
Let's find out. I want to know. Is life my routine days? Is life what I only do during my conscious life? Are all my dreams considered as life too, or another life?
What if my dreams ARE my life, and all this is a dream. A lucid one.

What if I got myself into an accident. A bad one. I want to see something change.
I want to see.
I want to see differences. I want to compare.
What is life?

I think I should go to a doctor one of these days. My head hasn't been functioning so very well since last week, waking up with a tornado in my head, physically causing me to lose control of my eyes, when I shut them tightly my body still sways with the tornado, the white noise at an unbearable decibel.

For once in my life, I felt motion sickness. And I was static on my bed.

I'm not sure why, my maid said I've not enough blood, which kinda makes sense to me, so I might check my blood count.

I told my mom about the dream I had of my brother dead, and she didn't sound shocked or impressed.
She in fact, just sniggered and said 'You and you're always with your morbid dreams. Always.'
Hmm. Ok.

Oh, and my parents are pretty fucking pissed at me crashing ma brand new car, I feel like a kid with a tooth under my pillow begging for the Tooth Fairy.
Only the Tooth Fairy would be Xzibit (sp?). Gangsta style. Towdally.

I didn't get to bump into my dad until 2 days after the event, when he saw me in the kitchen and he had that look on his face like he wanted to punch the living daylights out of me, and even addressed himself as 'aku' before correcting it to 'papa'.

I do feel bad.
And I'm actually even thinking of going back to college for next semester, and not defer.
Apart from snapping out of life, I want to make shitloads of money and get the fuck out of here.

I was looking through my old (2000-2005) stuff the other day, and I found newspaper clippings.
I used to cut articles and pictures of things I liked and kept them in a box.
I had Andromeda, galaxies, colourful ones, nebulaes, picture of a father crying over his dead son's pale body, and this huge newspaper cutting.
I was confused when I opened it, it said something about the Himalayas.
But when I glimpsed at the pictures, I didn't even read the captions, it was meant to be. I remember now. I've always wanted to venture out into that side, the cold side.
Somewhere like well, the Himalayas, Mongolia, Siberia, Russia.

Wishful thinking for now.


Anyway, a lovely quote I got from an old friend.

Sad, fragile, and delusional just like this guy.

I have let everything go.
Every little thing I have kept from him these past few weeks, all gone.

I know, he is very much upset by my actions.
Can't be bothered if he would understand.
Asked if things were going to be cold and awkward between us from that day on, he agreed.




Hugged him before I left his car for my cold bed, still warm. Always warm.
He's always warm.
Told him I'll miss him. Very much.
He said we'll see each other again on Wednesday, for his Random Acts of Poetry thing, asked if I was gonna be there.

Of course I will.
I've always, and will always be there whether he likes it or not.
(Yes, there was a time when he told me not to come for one of his shows due to some misunderstandings, but I went anyway, he didn't notice until I went back. I still don't know if he was upset or happy I was secretly, proudly there watching him work.)

Smiled at him as I said bye for the 5/6/7/8/9th time.
Some goodbyes are hard, annoying me endlessly, lovebirds who find it hard to put down the phone, best friends who tell each other to put down the phone first, schoolgirls saying bye appx 14 times before seriously ending the call.



So great this love I feel for him.
This huge lump.
Smiled as I stare at the person I'll be leaving.
How unfortunate.
So great all this pain, so great the size.
So overwhelming.

No more musty car rides.
No more the small bumpy car.
Abandoned.
No more the firm hand while I cross the road.
No more the warm shoulder while I watch movies.
No more the person I talk to everyday, without fail, occupying 95% of my daily thoughts.
No more the long talks.
No more Fairuz.

...
No more Fairuz.