I have to wonder what I’m writing up these days… =.= This verily did not come out the way I had initially intended. But since someting did come out anyway, I figured I’d just put it up for comments and criticisms.

‘He’ refers to our residential, not so residential, neurotic, and ‘He‘ refers to his object of fascination/nostalgia/longing and whichever way you want to put it.

Have fun reading~

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When he had first heard of his month-long business trip overseas, he had almost done what he would have done months ago. Freak Out.

Control returned to him eventually, though, and he soon found himself nodding in agreement at the notion, even as his inner self screamed in irrational fear and anxiety.

In a matter of days, he had packed his luggage into his ugly, black bag, and set off towards a destination more than a thousand miles away from him.

Life became a valley of hills to him, reaching its peak the moment he spots a weathered postcard peeking out from the edge of his letterbox, and drooping as far as the basin of a waterfall as he frets and worries about his safety and well-being.

Monday was a day of sunny ear-to-ear smiles as he carefully slides a postcard filled with untidy scribbles in practically all directions imaginable into his breast pocket. A French toast and sunny side up for breakfast and a day filled with ‘Good day’ ‘Good work’ and ‘Good night’s.

Tuesday could not have been better, as he re-reads the postcard for the tenth time in that morning with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich dangling from his mouth, and tucks it back into his breast pocket. Radiant and ready for yet another busy day filled with unmarked assignments, scrawls of essays with writings worse than chicken scratches, and roomfuls of post-pubescent teenagers with as much enthusiasm for education as adults were for overtime.

Wednesday was when things began to roll with snail-like pace downhill as he scrutinized each and every inch of the poor scrunched up postcard even as he chewed through a piece of slightly charred toast, watchful of any single sign of depression, frustration or agitation. Working hours seemed to stretch like an unbreakable elastic band, and the dull quadruple-note school bell seemed an angel’s blessing to him and his increasing irritation at those ‘brats’ disinterested attitudes.

Thursday was a day of over-boiled eggs, nonchalant shrugs and diminutive sighs of longing. The poor card that had once endured an arduous thousand-mile-long journey would pop up every once in a while, only to be stuffed back into his pocket seconds later and a downcast look overshadowing his face for a further few seconds. This day was also to be known as Assignments Day to all who attends his class, as relentless piles of work appear from nowhere and land right smack in the faces of his students complete with ticking deadlines and deadly threats of mark deductions.

Friday, a day of melancholy, nostalgia, and easily run-over tempers. A half-eaten slice of bread alongside scattered crumbs ditched on the counter and un-matching socks that would have gone unnoticed had he not gotten cosy with the cool tiled floor due to a pair of shoelaces tied in a single butterfly knot. Flying chalk seemed common occurrences in between lectures, expertly colliding into the foreheads of napping and whispering students, eliciting varying cries and complaints of pain.

Saturday and Sunday, long weekends of piles and piles of assignments for puffy red eyes to go through. Surviving only on cup after cup of coffee, and bowl after bowl of instant noodles, the days crawled on by as quickly as a tortoise across the Sahara desert.

And after four full cycles of both cloud nine and six feet below ground temperaments, he finally returned, and thus ended his month long misadventure with a ‘happily ever after’.

-Ende-