scrutiny

I am used to all this.

To the eye of your friend, the roommate that never was, you are perhaps one of the quietest person she’d ever met. Unassuming, that what i’d say about you myself. One wouldn’t know if they werent already in the know. (I guess this rings true more than ever now). Then, what will ever be known?

“Well she likes the same things you do, listen to things as you do, reads the same sort of stuff, but in character you are ever so different daripada dia. The opposite, in fact. “

Of course, this is after A, who like a child or a firestarter (fie-sta?) spills just about every other details she knows about me. As if there wasn’t enough things in the room to talk about. Let’s talk about your two for fifteen couch with japanese bird prints, misalnya. I’d look fabulous sitting there with this murakami book I’m trying to finish.

To uproot and unearth what was uprooted long ago. The medusa. There is nothing there. There is nothing here.  I am an empty headed brood with spiffy hair.

And those bouts of craziness that would always caught me unaware, once every few weeks, plunging me into a frenzy, apparently they’ve heard of all this, through, I don’t know. There is nothing to know.

Those long letters or rants sent or read in the dead of the night would render me speechless (hysterical, even) if ever discussed. Let’s never talk about that ever again eh, F?

(But there’s too many people with F as initials, surely I must be more creative than this)

Apparently courtesy is absent here, and all that is ever talked about is the idiosyncrasies and superficiality of human interaction (one that you’d find yourself in, as a Student Abroad) that every dialogue is fashioned towards sarcasm.

Of course, they found me in a good spirit. But tomorrow, we go home, right?