My final week

No, I'm not about to die yet. But I am leaving in two days time and to me its the same bloody thing. There isn't that grateful or expectant warmness that would be splendid but rather the frantic, manic depressive state of mind that perpetually drones " you're not going to see/feel/experience this for the better part of a year". Of course, there're always that staple - new friends to meet, worse challenges to surmount, neurotic ways to better myself etc - nonsense. Nevertheless, as eager as I am to embrace the new, I am somewhat reluctant to relinquish the familiarity of the present.

This is getting nowhere.

Nevermind, allow me to regale you with tales from the life of a slacking bummer. Lol, that's kind of redundant innit. I had another farewell on Sunday, this is one involving almost exclusively adults, save the odd child or two that parents will not leave to babysitters. Managed to host and feed 55+ people in my humble home. I had, among my guests -

• 1 Ian William David Howell
• 1 Senior School Assistant
• 2 Pastors
• 4 Cell Group leaders
• loads of other church people/relatives

My mom organized the event so that I would be getting plenty of last-minute advice. Seriously can't remember how many Bible verses were quoted. And I did get other lesser gifts ('cause officially NOTHING beats advice) including a Bally wallet and RM800+ in red packets.

Darn, I'm going to be roughly brought back down to Earth when my classes start come August 28th.

Been playing tennis pretty often too, but not as often as I wish I could. After all, I've ONLY played for 5 hours this week ^^. I realize that I really need to improve on my fitness. My puny legs can't run fast enough to return all the balls that come back. Where my game is concerned, the irony is that despite how much I revere Federer and despise Nadal, my methods are rather similar to those of the latter. At least, the style I employ is ever so disgustingly increasing in its Nadal-likeness. Oh, I swear I shall get buff in Berkeley. Then again, I do have a deplorable penchant for failing to honor my word where my physique is concerned. I actually told Ching Chern I was definitely going to have a six pack by the end of Form 4 back then. *looks down at stomach and sighs*

And then I watched "The Break Up" with yea mum. Bad choice. Throughout the movie, I could feel myself cringing. The familiarity. I remember, she used to wonder how people could fall out of love so easily after months and years of self-immolation in the pyres of passion. I don't think they do. Because I am painfully aware that under all those layers of hatred and revulsion, the me that loves her is still sheltered. The festering wound nearly, but only nearly, draws all attention away from the warmth that still emanates from within. Yet, this is all pointless. I'm sure to her I'm but a stain on her life, a mistake to be forgotten. I'm leaving. This world, this insular bubble that I call my world, shall not be rendered static in my absence.

I am so pathetic I disgust myself.