Blooming June

Room

There is nothing special about it. 20-meter student studio square, where as soon as the door is opened, the unpleasant smell welcomed the senses. Well, it is true that it is already better than hundreds or thousands of students who ended up homeless. Yet, one can always tell how the owner hasn't even opened the window facing the backyard. Empty dishes were lying around the corner of the bed. "They must've been dirty and reckless," some would argue. As if everyone forgets that sometimes, there are cases where it is not so true. Sometimes, it's that one c

ould've been torn between glad and resentment that they got to see another sun tomorrow.

It is funny how the world is full of wonders: those who were born with fully equipped bedroom, in a two-three store house, accompanied with loving parents. Then there are people jamming their bodies, depending on each other's' heat as blanket. There are people who can treat their room as a temporary station, but there's always people whose room is practically their whole universe. And then as we talk, the owner of that student room brushes the teeth, on a pile of unwashed dirty laundry, waiting for paycheck to come, just so they can afford paying the coins.

In a world thousands of kilometers away, they say that human beings have to make close friends with longing, emptiness, for they believe that everyone only has themselves to behold onto. Perhaps, it's true. But as the owner of this room sat there with freshly cut skin, as they placed themselves on the edge of the bed.... They cannot stop wondering, what is it about life? No, no. Perhaps, for once, they will stop behaving like one of those elaborated scholars. If they can be honest, as they brew another tea with the unwashed cup from yesterday, they want to say this: why do they have always had to be the alien of the society, even amongst their own kind?

Then, there will be days where they would stare the blinking screen, sitting side by side with mortgage reports. It has been months since they had the ability to actually useful, a responsible adult, whatever that means. As they pondered, the cushions were all over the place. It looked contrasting with what they had written on the board, hanging up the wall: Pulitzer prize award winner, year XXXX; releasing 10 books within 5 years; making another 20 dancing and songs~ "You have so many talents, never forget that." Those people would always say every time they sat by their side, listening to their witty way in storytelling or seeing the world. They would giggle, feeling warm, although the insurance bill was terrorizing beside the kitchen sink. "I still want to see more of what you're capable of tomorrow," the others would say again. What else could they do besides screaming on the top of their lungs, wishing that life would just make sense?

That room indeed had been their whole life in a while. Always has, always would be. There are days where they would put sleeping pills and tools within her arm reach from the bed. As they tried to battle the agony, they would also set the alarm for 8 in the morning. They knew that they wish tomorrow will never come; and yet, there they are, trying to make her body react positively towards the newly set alarm.