Mega Sick

I - Vanilla Beans

I stare at the empty canvas in front of me, diluted indigo ink has been dripping from the tip of my paintbrush into the wash bowl below for as long as I can remember of this afternoon.

Love has never been an easy thing for me. Calling it 'love' is a bit too much, it should be referred as a matte rof the heart. I don't think it's worth making a joke of if one are serious about it, especially her.

To be honest, I think I'm being a little bit over-sensitive, it could be because I just got rejected again. Not directly, the person I love probably doesn't even know I like him. Hence on the surface, nothing ever happened, I'm the too sentimental one.

The person I like has just confessed to me that he got a new girlfriend. The moment I heard that, I didn't know how to react. That being said, I was well aware I could throw a fit by dramatically falling down to the ground and cry out some victimized accusation similar to "Why didn't you choose me, I like you first, before that bitch!!!" But in reality, I was so calm that I could still stand still to nod continuously as if I was taking in his love story details so intensely.

Of course, I don't know her, so it's not that confident to say that I've liked him longer than her, but over a year is too much to fall into a void a guy who doesn't love you. It's 365 days of misery, no joke. Christmas and New Year and a billion of other nonsense holidays all end with me being totally worn out of waiting, somehow still holding on to that idiotic belief that may he was just busy, he didn't have time to contact me. This was rationalized by the fact that I have gone away to France for an exchange for over a year. I thought I knew something was wrong, but I still chose to ignore that. Because I again have an idiotic belief that he too, liked me back.

But who am I kidding? The guy is simply a dickhead who can't make up his mind on the heart matter. So right now, he's in an on and off relationship full of fatigue and confusion, as the witness say. He doesn't even know if it would last until the end of the month.

I continue to look at the drops of ink falling down the bowl and disappear into the darkened water. Personally, I think his story is already miserable enough, so I intend to let this 'love' die a little bit, and then go on from there. I assume a heartbroken position to make this sulking stage sounds easier to understand. And more sad.

In return, the loveless phase gave me a lot in return, such as this unlimited creativity, which literally felt like I can forge them from thin air. I was able to finish all three assignments for my major at school and several works for the freelance job I took with a local magazine in the matter of 2 days.

"Hey, how long are you going to look at that brush?"

And Declan.

As it turned out, I have been sitting and looking at the brush dripping ink into a bowl 30 minutes past my given time at Art Room 3. According to the schedule, this room should now belong to some guy from Interior Design.

I guess this is the guy. He's British from the sound I heard. Which makes me wonder why would somebody chose to come to this mediocre art school in this place to study, all the way from England.

Turning back, I thought I would see a person who color-coordinate his clothes, hair and accessories as sleek and stylish as most people in Interior Design major I've met around the school. But I was dead wrong. I turn around to see a guy in a canvas, oversized boat-necked tunic in tea-colored, with split hemps at both sides. His hair is about shoulder-length, wavy with one side tucked behind his ear.

One of his hands is holding a shiny metal hammer. The sunlight out the window graces on him, creating this mysterious, almost unbelievable angelic aura effect around the guy. For which, I really think I am either dreaming or having an illusion strike, because sometimes during creative time I often skip meals and drink nothing all day.