It is drizzling, and the place is quiet. No one else in the apartment except myself, and I am ashamed to say that I am getting a few goosebumps and feeling quite jumpy at the revelation that I will have to spend the night alone out here, with more than half of the hostel residents already vacated their rooms for the holidays since yesterday. As I was attempting to absorb my music notes for the exam tomorrow, which is on a Saturday no less – there came the horrifying sounds of a wailing Celine Dion blaring from the speakers belonging to the apartment residents on the ground floor. I locked the doors, and thought twice about leaving the room window open.
One of my bad habits is that I tend to resort to having unnecessary thoughts and scare myself in the process, when I am all alone in a relatively empty area, and have only myself for company. Well, it is not like I have only four white walls around me – but as we all know, walls do not have ears. Neither does my yellowed mug or my uh, domesticated Shark. Shoes may have tongues, but I will personally freak out at the thought of having my own pair of sneakers responding to my ramblings. At times like these, perhaps it is natural that I long to hear some human voices so that the whirring of the fan may not seem deafening, just to make me feel a bit secure and.. not alone.
On the other hand, being alone means that the speakers’ volume may be raised to preferred level – which, in my own terms, means relatively louder than usual, reaching almost twelve o’clock on the dial. To do whatever I like, without fearing that someone might just barge in through the now-locked door. Free from expectations and long, idle conversations.
Being alone could prove to be such an ambivalent issue. Serene; yet deceiving. Yet, I know that I am content with the idea of solitude.
Right. Looks like I will go to bed with the lights switched on for the night.