A week has passed and I have not written in this diary. My skin is tingling with possibilities that something would trigger me off and I would stop writing. I really do not know that writing these journal entries like a depressed and woebegone freak would help me sort my life but I am trying. I have been surrounded by stinking rich people who have forgotten what insolvency is and I am amazingly repulsive to them. They are abhorrent to all of my pieces.
I am flimsy and trifling and I know it. My head has been dangerously capricious and wild since the last few years; it is difficult for me to say whether it is few or many. My life has been a circle of a disturbed playlist of sad songs and a complete mess; in short, an utterly screwed circle. Trust me I have tried to overcome this nauseating feeling but instead I have swept by much more stifling emotions.
I have been playing bootless games of being exultant and it is the time that I should stop playing. People around me want love, merriment and an amazingly cliché life. But the most important thing - they strive to be quintessential. However this time I have vowed that I would not fall for any of this crap. I am tired of people still pinning for my past. It is not like I am depressed. My life is just a puzzle and I am not able to figure how to put it together. My depression seems invisible but humour is an interesting stuff to write about.
But deep down, I am and will always remain galvanized with the idea of making my life whole again.
~ °•°•° ~
I had bought coffee and a cheap magazine before getting on the train this evening. Maybe I was trying to soothe and conciliate myself since I still had not regained consciousness from my deep slumber. We could remove the ‘maybe’ honestly. I had an evening shift in the restaurant today. At first I was actually offered a morning shift but waking up so early is totally out of question for me.
I work in Las Palomitas, a very you-can-totally-take-mirror-selfies-here kind of restaurant. I didn't object working here because that place seemed like a farewell to my stress and strain. But anyway, I had bills to pay so I needed to work.
The train had jolted and screeched back into motion and everything outside became a blur; an perfect Instagram-aesthetic one indeed. I was reading my magazine while my head rested on the window. Even in isolation, I had felt eyes on me but I am used to that. I really do not know what people feel about me but sometimes I get really edgy and unhinged around people. But I usually take my liberties very liberally and sometimes that becomes a downright offence to many people.
However, today the train had a very ‘merry’ vibe since it was Christmas. The radio had been put on full blast with Christmas carols and everyone had drinks in their hands; an weird urine coloured liquid, in short beer. The Christmas crowd was very great on the eyes. My mind had said to me that all this scene was dead but I could not help the smile that had slithered to my face when I saw these people.
I had tried to stay out of the flashy Christmas but it was as tough as graduating. I would die out of obesity but I would never end up in such a kind of situation. Yes, try hearing my hate for people; it is on the loudspeaker. The people in my train had shitty personality with their teeth decayed and bloodshot eyes. They stink like shit heads. They looked like patients of AIDS with gross modifications. The end.
~ °•°•° ~
When I got down the train, I had brushed off the invisible dust. At that point of time, I hadn’t known why but suddenly I felt very ‘yo-what-is-up-it-is-Christmas-ya’all’. (NEVER MIND MY FUCKED UP VOCABULARY) I felt like holding someone and bawling for a good fifteen minutes but today was not the day. Somehow I had still felt enthusiastic and jovial; jovial enough to do alcohol binge and be robbed off of all my stress and money. Was that a fast mood swing? Quite possibly, and I have been accused of mood swings many times. And why not? Me and my mood swings laugh and mock people together every time.
My fingertips had become cold, very cold and I was sure that my nose had become totally red by then. I had become very sensitive to cold over the last few years. I decided that I would walk to the shop rather than taking a taxi. No, I was not trying to save money or something. No sarcasm included. PLEASE SENSE THE SARCASM.
Honestly, Worcester streets were a delight to be on during any festival. Nothing here is short of sensational and happiness. All the shops were lighted and a Christmas tree stood in front of them and of course, a glittery star on the top completed the entire scene. I could not really distinguish whether the trees was real or fake. In a far off house, I saw a family celebrating Christmas. There was a little boy and his parents. They were smiling and helping each other with decorating the Christmas tree. I do not remember the last time I had celebrated Christmas, or rather any festival with my family.
Before I had gone to the restaurant, I had stopped by Airlyn’s mother’s flower shop. As always, Mrs. Scott had looked very bright and I had to admit I was vaguely curious about her pale limbs and her sweet face which had flushed like a pale rose. Her shop was filled with small stuffed Santas and the smell of cake. When she saw me she grinned and gently hugged me. Repressing my natural annoyance at such affability, I had hugged her back. She always does that and at many times I resist rolling my eyes.
“Good evening, Mrs. Scott.”
She reciprocated and patted my shoulder, she wasn't bad honestly. Maybe I liked her, I thought.
“Ah, Merry Christmas, Aly. I have some fresh roses. Do you think you would like some?” I had looked at the roses and they gleamed from the light from the street lamps. I wanted them. I needed them.
“I’d want a bunch of them. How much will that be?” Those roses had looked way too alluring for leaving them alone.
“Seventy-seven quids,” she said as she packed them.
I paid and walked out of the store. I was in love with those roses and I was not managing my overwhelming feelings very well, as well.
~ °•°•° ~
The restaurant was buzzing with drunk high schoolers and clingy couples when I entered. The air inside the restaurant had felt a little clammy but with the aroma of freshly baked Lasagne, I felt my blood circulate again with the warmth. There was a boy with his maths book on the table with a mocha. In another table, a family was sitting. The grey frontage and the jazz playing in the background was enthralling and had completed the entire scene. But no matter what, people have been corroding my insides since day one.
As I had placed the roses on cashier desk, I heard the door click open. The bell rang; it had a very winsome kind of sound. Mrs. Rosé had greeted the new customers with her saccharine voice. I had not really paid much attention to them since I was too sponged up in my roses. Honestly, it had been a joy to be basked in them.
I left the roses and picked up my notepad. As I had walked towards the table to attend the customers, I noticed the unnerving look that Mrs. Rosé had pinned me down with. I was itching with the urge to never see her again but it was my work place. Under any other circumstances I would have stabbed her.
I brushed off Mrs. Rosé from my mind as I stood near table number eight expectantly clicking my pen. They were a group of four; three boys and one girl. They seemed to be around my age but one of them felt slightly … distracting. He had most striking and conspicuous grey eyes I had ever came up against.. He was literally a white blonde; a very coquettish blonde indeed. Somehow, he felt very indescribable. Or maybe it had been just my nerves.
His entire group was a bunch of immaculately sculpted humans. Photoshop, eh? I couldn’t look beyond their faces. Oh great, I looked like stalker. But honestly, I had not been riveted by a boy since a long while. For one awful moment I had thought I might fan-girl. DISMISS.
I noted down their order and I was thrown by their interests in food. Oh good, it is not just me. I teared my eyes away from them and whispered a thank you as I walked away. Moving with an stupefying athletic speed, I went to the kitchen and placed the note on the counter. Mrs. Rosé was giving me the typical you-do-not-know-anything look as I paled at our eye contact.
“Mrs. Rosé.” I nodded at her.
I had felt a little anxious around her as my belly had ached with knots. She was a perfect French housewife and very fuck-able even though she was an old hag already. But the fact was, her husband cheated over her. Ouch.
“Just ensuring that you make it out alive from her.” Mrs. Rosé said.
My breathe had felt like useless flapping of a bird as I unlocked my phone and texted Samantha. I had waited for around five minutes only for the order to be prepared. How the fuck can someone can cook so fast? But perhaps, I’m underestimating the chef and overstating my words.
“Here take it Alyssa.” The sound of my name had felt way too heinous in Mrs. Rosé's mouth. Does she have issues with me or something?
“It is a lot. Be careful.” Can I dump it all on your head, please?
I took the large red tray from her hand and looked at her expectantly to open the kitchen door. But instead she just shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen. Ugh, I cannot even – I carefully opened the door with my legs and walked towards table number eight, in short to the grey-eyed-sexy-blonde guy.
I lowered my gaze a little because I didn’t want to look at him and start obsessing all over again. From the corner of my eyes I had noticed him talking on the phone while his friends talked among themselves. It was suddenly quiet. Was it my imagination or the first stage of falling in love? Damn, too much sarcasm?
But, all my thoughts had vanished in a snap of second as the tray slipped out of my hand. It literally fell off my hand. When did I become so clumsy? As I had made a miserable and luckless effort to catch hold of the tray in a very ugly ninja style, I tripped. I fucking tripped. Damned, shoelaces. I had embraced myself for the impact of the floor but much to my trepidation I had ended up falling on someone. It took me time to realise what the heck was happening and wow, shit. My life is a lie. I was on top of Mr. Sexy blonde who was completely drenched in coke. This situation had probably looked like some calculated sex position soaked in poverty from a little distance and is this what people mean when they say 'Food brings people together.’?
~ °•°•° ~