For the past weekend, I find myself in the company of friends who I did not have the chance to meet up with. These meet ups always ended up as a time to present one another with individual results slips of sorts.

We compared.

The comparison was on how I was faring in my life against my friends’. This environment never fails to remind me of how rapid life can be, and how under accomplished I sometimes can get. In any case, I would considered myself an early bloomer; however, the hard work seemed to have negated through the years of maintaining status quo. For sure I have not fallen. It is just that the high possibility of such a day scares the hell out of me. So much so I dare not dream of tomorrow.

And in days like these, where it is gloomy on the inside, I wish I have friends who I can speak freely to. There are many people out there, but none knew me well enough not to judge and not be quick to offer their seemingly correct solutions. None knew me well enough to just listen and provide comfort.

And in this season-less country, I have ironically, seasonal friends. I am always trying hard (too hard most of the time) to provide, and there is always a longing for something in return.

Perhaps, my provisions were construed as ones accompanied with ill or weird intentions. The extra care and concern that I maintain in any relationships are guaranteed a bitter aftertaste. An aftertaste so immense that it felt as though you were downing delicacies for a week and the next thing you knew, you were completely sick of it.

While I constantly rant about the numerous shortchanging experiences I had, I knew very well what I want. I could have done less, but I might eventually regret doing so.