At the junction

Recently in one of the days, I was coming home in my parents’ huge-ass Serena from Jon’s place at about 1am, passing by Court 8 and Court 9, and at one point on a straight road when I almost reached my house, I slowed down.

Somehow I felt utterly dissatisfied with the way I spent my holiday. Not only did I barely achieve (nor halfway through) my aspirations for my holidays, I felt a tad bit bored, sad, maybe lonely, and a little apprehensive of the remaining days to come.

At the junction turning into my house, I almost stopped in the middle of the road to think. I contemplated of injecting a little life into my otherwise complacently dull life, and the only thing I could remember thinking was driving straight to KLIA there and then.

Why KLIA? Frankly I don’t know. Maybe the thought of hearing the familiar airport chime announcing arrivals and departures would revive my hopeless travelling pangs, or maybe I just want to see people, where people – irregardless of their size and colour and attire or whether they shave their armpits or legs – congregate. Just sitting down there, snapping photos stealthily, of strangers sleeping on the bench, their mouths wide open, or women in burqa patrolling some of the 24/7 shops – maybe I could’ve spent my time better that way.

I just want to escape from it all – this dreadful routine when literally I am left quite alone, when everyone else is actually doing something. If you want to count the amount of hours I have been in front of my laptop in a short span of 5 days, I can tell you assuredly it would be more than 50.

But then I didn’t go to KLIA in the end at the ungodly hour of 1am. Not because I don’t dare (I really wanted to snap pics of myself alone at KLIA at such an insane time :)), nor worry about the amount of petrol it’ll consume (which I can quite easily pay myself), but it’s just that – I can’t stand travelling somewhere alone.

I want someone else to share the excitement, the euphoria of adventuring, the panic when missing a train or forgetting an extra pair of underwear, someone with similar interests, someone who would and could easily converse with me, someone, anyone – and fuck it if it’s just one other person hanging out or travelling with me. I don’t think I’d complain.

At that point at the junction, it was either straight to the unknown, or turn right to the familiar garden, familiar house, familiar room. It was like a scene from a dreadfully draggy indie movie, where the protagonist decides on a choice that will change his life forever – for a full minute.

Sadly that protagonist chose the road leading to all things mundane. Or maybe I’m just exhibiting symptoms of loneliness.