I Cried Over a Fucking Celine Dion Song II

I should’ve just gone straight to home after work that evening. I could’ve just read my January book in my room, but I found myself ordering my usual at Starbucks.

So after my eyes got tired, I went out of the coffee shop expecting only to hit the hay early. But no. My genius feet weren’t tired yet of thinking where to lead me next. So it brought me to the department store.

It was actually not a bad idea. I mean, I could use the opportunity to find something to buy for myself. For years, I’ve neglected myself on some physical aspects, I realized.

Let’s start with clothes. I really don’t buy clothes based on how they look on me primarily but on how much they cost. So if I see that it somehow suits me and it is affordable on my definition, I’ll buy it. I also had two pairs of jeans. The older one I bought (2009…it was 2000 then so 9 less 0) nine years ago while the newer pair, seven years ago. They are the only jeans I have and both pairs are mysteriously getting smaller. Maybe my mom should follow the laundry directions indicated, moving/growing forward. I also shun the idea of buying designer colognes because I’m not seeking to be smelled at in exchange for a hefty price. I take a bath every day, and that’s enough for me. When it comes to shoes, I actually have three pairs. One black leather and a moss green for going to the office, and a high-cut Chuck Taylor for casual days. All of them haven’t got a proper cleaning from their owner. A friend also made me promise that I will buy a watch as all professionals should wear one. Well, I promised him to probably buying one, so I haven’t broken my promise yet – or will never.

I almost grew up not giving a damn on how I look like. I always think of the price I have to pay for looking good. I thought, physical appearance doesn’t really matter, as long as you are a nice person. So my face was pestered with pimples and for months, I carry the map of the galaxy. I didn’t seek professional help. I relied on cheap astringents instead, and it made it only worse.

So that night, I searched for something that will be good on me. I went up and down the floors, one moment looking for a shirt, then a pair of rubber shoes, the following moment.

A new pair of jeans.
A designer watch.
A weekender bag.
A chair to sit on.

I could not seem to make up my mind. I discovered that it’s very frustrating not to know what I was looking for. And to make things worse unexpectedly, that freaking song started to drill its way to my senses.

I know there’s nothing wrong in being practical and thrifty same as being extravagant if you have the means. I’m more than capable of buying “happy” that evening, and a part of me which I could not make sense of, probably figured out what’s happening.

That night, I was not able to buy anything shiny and new. I was still wearing my tattered pants and my Chuck Taylor imitation.

But I discovered one thing: sometimes, our eyes get too tired of putting up with what we keep in our hearts, and it would not hold up longer than we expected. Even if our logic could afford to buy practical reasons, it won’t fill in to something that we need eventually. We may not know what actually happens to us, but nevertheless it happens; and it’s the worse feeling. At the same time, it’s a revelation:

I went to the mall to find something of worth, but realized it’s not even there in the first place.