Judge me all you want, but when I was running just now, I literally felt infinite. Even though I was wearing Hsiup’s shoes, which were slightly too big for me, and which had terribly thin soles, and which were giving the back of my right heel blisters, I felt like I could go on forever. As I ran, I kept thinking of that story of that girl, who puts on these pair of enchanted red dance shoes, and keeps dancing and dancing until she runs out of energy and eventually dies. And as I was running, I was sort of feeling like that – this inexhaustible feeling of infinite energy.

It was only when I stopped at traffic lights that I realised the slightest bit of tiredness, but this went away as soon as I started running again. Dory and I ran to Buena Vista MRT, ran straight down to Dover MRT, and returned to Cinnamon; and half-way through this, I lost her, and when I reached UTown, I decided to do one more loop down to UCC, and back to UTown. And all throughout this, I kept thinking to myself: I could do this all night, I could go on forever. It was the strangest sensation of continuous forever; and I had to forcibly stop myself from going on and on. Even now, bathed and clean, I have that inexplicable urge to go back and run again.

Maybe it’s just symbolic of my need to escape from the present.

As Dory and I ran, we took the route which we walked along once when we were heading back from XLB Buffet at Holland V, we traced the path-way from Dover MRT back to Cinnamon that we took after Off Centre. Passing by, I’m struck by the transience of it all, the passing nature of relationships. And I’m starting to recognise the difference between emptiness and learned nonchalance. After a certain point, it’s too tiring to feel empty, to carry around that invisible weight of nothing. There’s no such thing as travelling back in time: be it to interfere with past events and change things around; or to go back to how things once were, once damage has been done in the present.

 I feel like I’m finally beginning to embrace this semester, half-way in, hopelessly confused and stubbornly logical, even when I’m still held hostage by my own wandering emotions. Maybe this is now the status quo, and I’ll have to get used to it. I’ll need to carve out new routines and fall into new patterns of behaviour, or interaction. And Time, the great healer, will eventually wash over all wounds, and leave only the faintest scars.

this is the second of (my) reign