Which one am I?

I get a little distressed whenever someone observes that the online and offline personalities are not quite the same.

I asked my close friends if they ever felt a disconnect, reading me. They said my blogs are just another side to me. They know the real me, in person. Mostly reserved, the quiet one, far from eloquent, and often clumsy.

Figuratively speaking - stumbling over words and expressions, lost in mid-sentences. Abandoning thoughts halfway, letting my usual mumble drift into silence, hoping someone else will pick up the slack in conversation and nobody will notice while I sidle into a corner to hide.

Literally speaking - walking into glass doors head-on (and bouncing back) during peak hours at fast food joints *BONNNGGG*, and almost crashing into the glass partition behind my work cubicle. My only comfort is in knowing that I will get timely medical attention before I can die from loss of blood. An Arian thing. (Ah. He beats me to it. Again. But I already had this written down before I collapsed on my bed, to upload after some sleep. So tired.)

The Arian-Piscean (Sun in Aries, Ascendant in Pisces) divide. I have in me, two extremities; the climber and the swimmer; the first and the last in the astrological chart; the primal and the evolved.

I confuse even myself.

Itching. Shedding. Evolving.

MUDD gathering. 8 March 2004. 1900 hours. Marche Orchard.

A too-long gaze and a too-familiar smile. I already knew before she said: "You look like that Hong Kong actress, you know." Yah, yah, I know. She never noticed this before, in the old days. She supposed it was the rebonded hair now. Sometimes, they also say it is in the eyes. And sometimes, the mouth.

And again, those words: "I've never stopped loving you the last eight years." flashed on the screen. I responded with a *blush*. And then, we were quiet. More than a week ago, when we first met up again (after about six years), it was: "I've missed you the last eight years." Then, silence. The first time, taken aback, I pretended to have lost the message amidst the frantic scroll of a typical MUDD session. The flirting has been deliberately and shamelessly outrageous - in the name of old times, and fun and laughter - too outrageous for anyone to believe, including ourselves.

His choice of words. The specificity of years. Eight.

Déjà vu.

I try not to think too much about the lingering gaze, a little too intense, and the almost-offer to give me a lift home, as we waved our goodbyes - the same look on H's face as we boarded our trains on different platforms one night.

We ARE still playing, are we not?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My eyes did not always look like this. I wonder if it has to do with spending so much time looking INTO eyes and faces, trying to read them. Or maybe, I am letting myself smile and laugh more often - the Grim Reaper scares people.

Knock. Knock.

I don't know what to "make" of this. All of it. I cannot "make sense" - to steal someone's words - of any of it, but it does not matter. Answers come in their own time. I learnt this.

There is something in the air.