self dialogue

i walked and walked until the new boots cut into my feet, leaving a line that was to become a scar. i didn't say a word.

looking out the window of the bus, i suddenly realised that i could look up without seeing double images. i was excited, but i didn't know who to tell.

with who do i share my elation and my gripe? with people who will be nonchalant, who will grumble about the wisdom of wearing new shoes on holiday and forget about it in the next hour? or with others who are distracted by their own elation and gripes? perhaps that is what life is all about, each busy with their own, and perhaps i am also guilty about being like that, but i can find no compulsion to let anyone in on my thoughts and feelings. people who does not really care, or are too busy to care. perhaps i have always been like that and perhaps that is why i have no friends as close as shadow, or family who understands. 30 years later, i guess nothing has changed.

perhaps that is why i am better at writing to express myself, because the paper and pen always listen.

ps: mum saw the scars when i put my feet up and could immediately spot the difference. i guess, no matter how old you are, mothers are the only people who will love you the most in the whole world. and pps, i am not able to see up without seeing double apparently. only images at a distant. perhaps i have to continue with my eye exercise diligently.