Over the past two weeks, I’ve been in a mood.

A mood where I couldn’t care about anything including school, books, and anything that dealt with lots of people.

While I appreciated the company of a good friend and a good wholesome conversation with said friend, I found the people surrounding me to be too noisy. Too loud. Too much.

Their voices were like bees, constantly buzzing at my ears, trailing in the skies in zig-zag motions. And no matter how much I hated them following me, I couldn’t stop it because they were there at places I needed to be.

Yesterday, I went for a walk because I was too fed up about people near me. I like to add that they were strangers. They weren’t friends of mine that I’ve suddenly grown tired of (although I would like to also add that friends or acquaintances annoyed me too but just not at that moment). I got up from where I was seated in a dusty dimly lit cafeteria hall in my university that uncannily resembled a high school built in the late 70’s and walked out into the wet weather the last day of March had to offer.

A light mist coated my hair, clung to my clothes, and made my backpack wet to touch. I didn’t care. I kept marching with a purpose of having no purpose. I needed to be alone. So, I kept walking past the streets, past the abandoned shops that were once boisterous with activity, and kept forging on against the climates till I turned onto a street that led to a neighborhood, filled with the poor, the addicts, the people who suffered more hauntings of demons than any of us.

These streets don’t bother me in broad daylight. But as an out of shape female, I would be the first to admit I would be scared if I was there between the chilly hours between seven and midnight.

Moving on, I kept walking. I walked and walked till I reached a thrift shop I’ve visited a couple of times in the past. I bought some books, almost bought a dress, and walked back to the train station, feeling content about the activities of the day.

However, as I’m writing this, I’m nowhere near an adventure I had yesterday. I’m at home where I’m supposed to be comforted by the scent of my familiar sheets, the books filled on my shelves, the endless amounts of tea in my shelves. The truth is, I feel unsettled. I feel like I’m stuck in a slump. Like I can’t find the motivation or joy to do anything anymore. I want to be alone. I want to be with a room packed with people. I want the music so calm and soothing, I can barely hear the lyrics the songstress wrote. I want the music ripping through the speakers, bursting my eardrums, causing mayhem on the streets.

I am conflicted. Indifferent. And everything in between.

I just wished I’m past these emotions. I know it’ll pass. I’m just waiting.


One thought on “Slump.

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