Cringe.

I probably shouldn't have done that.

Uhh... I'm cringing real hard right now

And this is rather embarrassing to talk about,

But here's a place for sth like that anyway, soo...

I'll talk about what coming to the beach after the ending of the preliminary exams feels like later- it feels like being alive, and breathing, and feeling like things aren't that out of touch anymore- 

But for now let's focus on this... thing.

The wind is so strong it forces your frizzy hair in all directions, and the mat you set out to lie neatly is constantly warped into strange shapes. 

In that comfortably humid but hot morning air, you manage to lay things out and get comfortable. A look around, as you always do,

And you see people, construction, waves lapping at the rocks hungrily and patchy grass amongst sand that has long ceased to be clear and golden; in fact, it is covered in seaweed and litter.

Then something comes into view, and you zoom in on it: A man,  rooted next to his bicycle. He seems to be struggling with something, and you return to your book, only to look up moments later out of curiosity.

He too looks at you on various occasions, and you think nothing of it, returning to the book that's slowly starting to take a tragic  turn.

To take a break from it, you look up.

Then it registers in you that the solitary man is still squatting miserably around his bicycle, and that an hour or so has trickled by.

Tell me that what I do next isn't what anyone would do.

Tell me that I'm dense,

But it was just natural to me that I should walk over and pass him a packet drink since I've brought along a lifetime's supply of beverages and snacks.

"Hey." I say, passing it to him. "Thought you might need it."

He looks up, eyes a clear blue, wrinkled at the corners. He must be at least twice my age.

He thanks me, and it occurs to me how throaty it sounds, like it's not coming from his diaphragm, like it's from a bad cough and he can't really speak that much.

Deed done, I walk back to my mat feeling better since the need to do sth for someone who's probably feeling frustrated on a hot day here is gone. I felt lighter, and became increasingly absorbed in my book.

Later, when he'd fixed it, he'd come over and- you know what, let me write it out for you.

"I can pass you my number, we can chat over drinks or something"

I say it's fine,
"It's so that I can pay you for the tea." He says, referring to the packet drink and smiling down at me.

"It's fine, I'm glad you fixed it." I smile back, thinking that that's all to the conversation.

"No, no I can pass you my number and we can hang out sometime if you wish."

Something seems a little wrong here, I think.

"It's okay, I only passed you that drink cause it seemed like it'd help." My hands were in front of me now, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

He then proceeds to still tell me that I can have his number, really, we caaaan hang out,

And then he finally explains, "I was confused, you came over to offer me a drink when I can get them from way over there."

"Ohhh.. It's a long walk, that's why...." My voice trials off, and the realization of this hits me, right smack in the face, and I low-key wanted to burrow myself into the ground with a bouquet of white roses in my hands right there and then.

"I just thought," I answer slowly, the full impact of what I did staring at me, judgemental and unforgiving

"That with the weather like this, and your bicycle breaking down, you'd be feeling rather frustrated-"

Here I was interrupted with more "you can have my number, I'm giving it to you cuz you want it so much" 

And I just kept saying "no,  I'll pass "s until he finally left me.

"Phew", I mutter to myself.

.

And you might want to know that just fifteen minutes ago, as I was typing this,

The sound of a tyre screeching to a sharp halt had interrupted my reading,

And guess what-

It was him again.

Just as I was cringing over my own mistake, too.

"Here's my number, please have it, I-"

And I had to interrupt him because this was all becoming a little too much.

In his hands he held a small slip of paper with the scrawls folded within it, and in my best measured tone I say,

"No, listen, listen."

He stops.

I take in a fraction of a breath.

"I wasn't hitting on you, I really just thought that-"

"It doesn't matter." He stops me, words dragged out in the kind of tone that seems as though this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Shite, I think.

He might even be fifty, and I'm clearly a teenager who's only interested in reading a flipping book.

"I want you to have this number, because you can call me in the future and we can talk. "

Holy shite.

And here's where I think I was really being an unpleasant person,

Because the thought of holding onto a promise, scrawled on a piece of paper- that I, with my kind of personality, will somehow feel like I've agreed to-

Made another side of me surface,

And my voice hardened, taking on the firmest tone I could muster.

"I have to-"

I was staring at his hand now, because he's literally been shoving that paper in my hand, or in my bag, and trying to leave right after;

And I too kept picking it up to give it back to him-

That perhaps I was too harsh and impolite there.

"-reject this number, because I really don't see you that way."

He stares at me for a moment, letting the words engulf more of the peacefulness that I had just minutes ago, with my mat and sand-covered slippers.

And I opened my mouth to say "Sorry about this, but-"

He quickly tells me "It's okay", and cycles away like nothing ever did happen.

.

Suffice it to say,

That I severely regret doing that little gesture that I thought was alright to do;

I don't think I'll do it again though- perhaps it is such that any form of thoughtfulness equates to love interest, even if that guy could be two to three times my age.

Oh... well. If you think that you make bad decisions, and are awkward, think about me.

You'll feel better, I promi- Oh, I uh.. assure you.

.
Frankly, that ruined my mood though

And the little getaway that was supposed to keep me from feeling so bad all the damn time began to sizzle down to the ominous brew that I now am so familiar with.

Perhaps if I wasn't so alone
I wouldn't get so many creepy interactions with old men

Perhaps they would stay away from me because people in a group are protected,

And I kind of wish for my strange and disturbing encounters  to not happen again- if I'm going to have something love-or desire-  related happen to my life, it'd best be from my age range, with a non-desperate guy who doesn't forcefully impose his ideals on me.

Can I please have a normal and interesting story, the same way most real life love stories happen?


Perhaps,


 if I weren't so alone, I wouldn't seem like a target.
Perhaps then all my confessions wouldn't be coming from creepy, thirsty old men.




.
EDIT:
You know what,
I'm really pissed off now that a few hours has passed.

And to ensure that I never feel anything like this again,
That mum doesn't have a chance at blaming me for attracting such weird people (because she did so today, and believe me..
I took damage.)



I'm not gonna do shit like that for strangers anymore.
I'll make myself even more unapproachable when I'm alone in public,

And self-pity is never gonna lift me up
So I'm just gonna work hard. At becoming someone lovable, so that I can actually make friends and be surrounded by them in the future,

Then I won't reach new lows like its a never ending pit,

Then I won't get so sick of people because whenever I try to do something nice,
It doesn't work out well and I end up detesting those people so darn much.


You know what,
I'm angry now,

Angry at mom, sad that she'll tell me I'm overreacting for the terrible way she insisted upon her view,
Angry at people, at myself, for letting the breeze and improved mood make me want to do something nice for people,

Angry at how terrible mom made me feel.

And it really hurt me. It's so heavy, the way I'm so upset by everything.
And I think that my mood just isn't picking itself up no matter the getaways that I arrange for myself,

But at least it's driving me to do something.


Goddamn it, never again- never am I making myself look vulnerable and accessible.
And even though the fault obviously doesn't lie with me,
It was the problematic guy, and the problematic ones who cross my path;
I know that I don't deserve having them do such disturbing things,


Mom's insistence that she's right has made me decide something.


That I'm angry enough to not even let this happen again.

I'm no victim,but I'm sick of all these creepy uncles.

Next time someone tries to force his phone number on me,
I'm gonna use vulgarities if that's what it takes.

And I'll rip that paper in half.

Why be respectful, when it only hurts you?

Still in the middle of exams.

I think I'm starting to trap myself,

I think I'm choosing not to take walks because closing myself in,
Not actually doing that much work anyway,
Is better than the guilt you get from actually going out and
Feeling like you've taken an actual break.

I think I'm caving in,
Caving in to my strange desire to close myself off further as a way to cope,
Crumbling a little,

Because I can feel so much better on one day,
Then so much worse the next.


I keep crying.


I dread graduation,
I dread shuffling around aimlessly trying to find a picture frame that I can squish myself into,
I dread the gloom of wishing for the day to just be over,

Because I won't belong,
Like I never did.

I dread playing games with the class,
Becoming sentimental over people whom I don't care about, who don't care about me;

I dread typing with a stunted finger and an expressionless face like now;

I dread wishing to miss something because we all know that there's nothing to miss in this school, not friends- only the drama club- not the class- only one or two teachers-

I dread shuffling around with a smile painted on my face because I won't
Belong
;

And I will hope to be.






.
I cry so easily now.

I wish I didn't,
But I'm starting to close myself off

And it feels like a prison of loneliness whereby I don't think that talking helps;

My eyes are dry now.

The oasis that was my emotions have shriveled up into a crisp brown leaf;
I feel happier one day then
Worse the next

I repeat myself because it feels like I'm getting it out, but I'm not.

'Tis not yet four but it'll soon be.

Some days I collapse from fatigue at four in the morning

And some days I get so freaked out
I awaken at four.

Either way...


I have this perpetual look of exhaustion coupled with a strange form of alertness now.

It's like your eyes are sunken in,
The dark circles foreboding and revealing,
The veins in the whites of your eyes tell a story;

And the rest of your face looks focused, at attention,
Because your lips are quirky at the corners and your skin looks rested,
You have a gaze that seems to drink in everything: because you are, you're trying to memorise so much;

And adrenaline keeps you going.


The crash from that rush-
Worse than sugar or caffeine-

Is dizzyness that takes away your conscience for a little while.

Few seconds,
And you're back
But even sitting down makes you feel so much more rested.





Right now,
'Tis not yet four but it'll soon be,
As always-

I need to stop screwing myself in this way,

But it's hardly a choice anymore.

Windswept hair; Flushed cheeks

You ever cry so much you begin doubting your mental health;

You ever,
Question how often you should be upset,
With matted hair and sweaty palms,
Given the pressure that you're in:

Are you the only one,
And is it normal- are you still- alright, are you genuinely pushing too hard-
Should you slow down, because this can't be good.

I honestly feel like sleep has become a serious issue,
Because I never used to be able to function on so little, and for so prolonged a time.
What's more, all-nighters used to be by choice
And now it's only a symptom of something being rather wrong about the way I'm living-

I legitimately can't find a way to rest because I just feel so
Terrible,

And I've been weeping over things that make me have rather extreme thoughts-
I've been refusing to tell anyone about this,
And I push people away in the sense that I don't confide, and I don't open up,
And the slightest sign of disinterest I take to offence;
The slightest form of disregard is a reason to keep my heart locked deeper;
And the slightest shout at me
Amplified, recorded, and used as a means of building a border.

I choose not to talk to people because I feel like they don't care enough-


Oh god,
This is worse than puberty.


(Alright now
let's not go there, but you get my point.)



.
I'm pretty sure that this is just a passing thing though.
Come December,
When everything is over,

I'll finally be freed from these swords and poison
And I'll finally stop injecting toxins into my bloodstream
From my very own mind,
I'll stop convincing myself that I'm a failure,
That I really dislike myself for how deep I can fall sometimes,

And I'll finally go back to my somewhat, on-selective-days cheery self.
(Perhaps I'm not that better off after all)


For now,
Please,
Allow me sleep-

I haven't had my eyes not burn upon closing them
Since a long, long time ago