You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

You were so excited in the beginning, thinking of all the things you want to do and can do. One week in, you start questioning whether you were really excited for it or just excited at the notion of it.

You wonder if you're actually depressed.

You were manically happy one moment, then absolutely anti-social the next. You weren't sure if you wanted to be here or you were just here existing. You were confused and you feel lost but you bottle it up inside because you don't want to worry anyone. Tears unconsciously fall from your eyes but you brush it away so fast, it wasn't obvious that you teared up unless one was to look at you carefully.

Someone notices and it pisses you off.

You tried your hardest to fend off anyone noticing, but someone sees through your facade and you get extremely pissed off, you weren't sure if it was towards him or to yourself.

And then you become robotic. You go through the day by muscle memory, ignoring everything, hyperaware of everything. You both cared too much and too little; you become hardened. You tell yourself you don't want to get attached anymore—you only ever get hurt. There wasn't any point. And then you descend to darkness.

You're lost.

So many attempts to climb out of the well, drowning, drowning, drowning. You didn't want this anymore. A plea. A cry for help. Nothing.

Save me.

She couldn't breathe.

There was too much at stake and too little to sacrifice. Anxiety attacks her, hundreds (thousands) of invisible needles prick her skin, cold and hot at the same time. Her vision is littered with black spots and her lungs felt like they were collapsing. Too many thoughts, too little thoughts.

She didn't know what was going on.

There was silence, there was noise; too many things going on, nothing going on. She didn't know what was happening. Too many people around her, not one person around her. Her senses were failing, her senses were on overdrive.

There was both too much and too little.

She sinks to the ground, her knees weaken and give way. Her eyes see too much, too little. There was too much colour, there was no colour. 

Her hands make their way to her head, stopping too many and too little. Her eyes become blank then dilate, her breathing becomes ragged. She starts shaking, she pulls her hair tight. People around her notice; one attempts to approach her.

She suddenly starts screaming.

People around her jump in shock, almost disgusted, almost disturbed. She starts scratching her arms, rendering them red and almost breaks skin, until somebody pulls at her hands.

Strong, tight, commanding.

The smell of the ocean invades her nose, and whispers (snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it) pour in her ears. Her breathing calms down, she stops shaking, she closes her eyes.

She collapses.

Murmurs were everywhere.

(Who is that man? How are they related? It's not our problem now.)

And then suddenly, no one remembers anything—the lady and the man vanish.

In the shadows of an alley, the tall man carries the woman, and vanish into the wall.

A black cat emerges.

(Her power is far too much, far too great for her to handle. She was overwhelmed and finally collapsed.

Bring her back. Her training is nowhere near done.

Understood.)

The cat's green eyes become blue.

The pouring rain marked the end of summer.

She was walking, her face void of emotion, her strides confident but almost trying to be invisible. The pavement was wet from the rain, small puddles on the side. People were rushing about, occasionally bumping into her. Her pace was slower than normal (but definitely not to the point of annoying the people behind her), her posture rigid and almost secretive.

Too many things going on in her head. Nothing going on in her head. She had no idea herself but she was doing something.

She swipes her card and waits for the metro at the platform. Beside her, high school girls were chatting about. Behind her, a lady was on her smartphone, the familiar sounds of Candy Crush reaching her ears. She takes out her earphones and drowns in her playlist. She gets lost, her eyes shut.

A chill runs up her spine and her eyes snap open. She looks sideways and backwards, not seeing anyone suspicious, until she looks forward and onto the opposite platform.

A tall man, dressed in all black, was staring at her, almost piercing her with his look. She looks back, captivated, before a train gets in the way. She gets on immediately, trying to look at him through the glass, only to be disappointed.

The man disappeared.

Curious but also a little frightened, she resolved to forget about it. Five stops later, she gets off her stop and walks to her apartment. Caught in a junction, she wills the red light to green. Another chill runs up her spine and she looks to her right, stunned to see the same man from the station. She opens her mouth, ready to ask him something, when the light turns green and everyone starts walking. She walks ahead, eager to get to the other side, when she notices him gone again.

Startled, she walks around the neighbourhood, throwing him off her trail. She suddenly noticed that she arrived at the older part of town. Bright neon lights captivate her, almost hypnotizing her. Her face becomes devoid of emotion again, walking toward the place of neon lights.

The man in the black coat—the same man from the station and the junction—was at the gate. Her eyes become blank and she walks in, him following behind.

She never saw the sign outside the door—the sign that only someone like her could see.

Behold the haven of shapeshifters.

As I sit at the corner table in the hall, I see different personalities. Different, yet the same. A group of undergraduate Accounting students, ledgers and calculators littering their tables. One person's voice stands out, loud and boisterous but also very helpful. Another group, a bit more quiet, have their readings pushed to one side and prioritizing breakfast over anything else. A girl takes another table, her calculator out and her pen and paper on top. But she takes off her glasses and puts her head down, hoping to catch at least a few minutes of sleep. Professors walk in and out of the study hall, some with food and papers; others, just their phones. People are already milling about.

The bells chime and the students and professors stand up in a panicked frenzy. Exams are looming over their heads, wondering how many answers they could get right; wondering how many students are going to fail the exams. As soon as the last student leaves, the hall becomes a little melancholic. Nothing is left.

And it's another day in the university.

This was her first party with her college friends.

This wasn't her first party, but this was the first one she had with her college friends. She hasn't even gone on a party with her best friends. She went on parties but neither group of friends knew she did. She preferred going to parties alone, create a new identity. No one knew who she was when she was alone. She's met a few people here and there, but not close enough to add them up on Facebook. But this was a birthday celebration and if she declined, she'd be the only one who didn't attend. Plus she did kind of owe her friend for bailing on the after-semester obligatory party her friend planned.

In the car ride, she was being lectured about what to do and what not to do in the club. Pretending she had no idea about anything, she listens intently, schooling her features when they tell her not to get drunk. Partying alone has made her responsible of her drinks and anything else she intakes. When she wasn't on the dance floor, she was at the bar, chatting up the bartender. Sometimes, the best conversationalists can be found at the bar.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the car stopped. Looking out, she sees the familiar club with the black and gold exterior. She hides a smirk when she sees the bouncer give her a subtle nod in acknowledgement. Her friends were wearing dresses in different colours and heels that she knew would get uncomfortable after the first hour. She mentally winced at the torture their feet would go through, until she remembered that she had to act like she knew nothing about clubbing. She managed to convince her friends that she'll be fine wearing her ankle boots. Heeled, yes, but not too high to get uncomfortable.

Two hours in, her friends were either getting drunk or getting hit on. She rolls her eyes in amusement before downing her own drink. Just as she was about to stand up and make her way to the dance floor, someone slides against her on the couch and puts his arm around her shoulders. She was about to tell him off when she saw who it was. She chuckles and relaxes against his hold.

You didn't tell me you were coming, he says.

You didn't tell me you were going out, she answers back.

They carry on the conversation until both of them heard the familiar name of the DJ they always danced to. He stood up and offered his hand, gesturing to her that they dance to DJ's set, and she takes it, letting him pull her to the dancefloor. She catches the eye of her friends and she could see their shock and disbelief painting their faces. Before she could answer back, he already pulled her against him and started swaying.

You gonna introduce me to your friends?, he whispered.

Only if you behave, she replies.

Both of them knew what she was talking about. He promises to behave and she leads him to their table where her friends sat. She introduces him to her friends and encourages him to sit with them. He declines, telling him that he was also with his own friends, then gives her a peck on the cheek and makes his way to his own table.

What was that all about?, her friends ask.

Nothing.

Because it was a secret she'd like to hold on to just for a little while longer.

It's six past midnight. You're on Twitter, on Facebook, on Tumblr, on Youtube, on various websites. You shrug and browse some more, thinking you still have enough time. Your readings are laying on one side and you turn a blind eye, coffee sitting innocently on the coaster. You're reading something else–something non-academic. You say, this is just a break, as if you're trying to convince yourself (and you are trying to convince yourself).

It's six past one o'clock in the morning. You reluctantly close all your other tabs and go back to your readings. Four lines in, you open iTunes and play soft instrumentals. They did say that listening to classical music would boost concentration. You pull up the playlist and Erik Satie's Gymnopédie No. 1 plays on your speakers. You concentrate for a while, until you feel your eyelids drooping and you immediately stop that playlist and pull out your collection of EDM tracks. It wakes you up, but it also distracts you from finishing anything.

It's six past two o'clock in the morning. You managed to get half-way through your readings and you applaud yourself for that. You convince yourself that you deserve a break so you go to the kitchen and make yourself a nice bowl of instant noodles–ramyeon so you stay awake. Your lips feel hot from the temperature and spiciness of the noodles and you get distracted. Your readings are lying helplessly on your bed and you're still battling against sleeping.

It's six past three o'clock in the morning. You finally finished the readings and started on the actual paper. You get tense because the deadline is closing in and you have just started on your paper. So you make yourself another cup of coffee and type word upon word. You have no idea if it makes sense because all you see now are jumbled words. You mentally curse yourself for always thinking that you work best under pressure or cramming because of all the results it gives you.

It's six past four o'clock in the morning. You're close to finishing the whole thing. But it frustrates you because the paper still lacked one page as indicated by the required number of pages. You curse out loud this time and type even more glorified bullshit just to reach the minimum number of pages required for the paper. It doesn't make even more sense to you, but you hope it does to your professor. You could barely understand the reading material and you force yourself to wring out more words. You finally reach the required number of pages and sigh in relief. Never forgetting to put in your References page (in APA format, of course), you immediately save the paper. You check it over once again for grammar edits and once satisfied (even if you could barely understand anything because you're so tired), you save it once more. You copy the file to a hard drive and send it to your own personal e-mail (because you're that paranoid), then crash on the bed. Before going to sleep, you set your alarm for school. Doesn't matter if you only get three hours of sleep–as long as you get to class and have a spotless attendance record. That, and you liked the class.

A week later, you get your paper. You grin put your paper in your bag. A 98% perfect was written in red ink, along with one of the most comprehensive papers on this subject I've ever read. Keep up the good work! scrawled on the side.

That four-hour insanity was definitely worth it.

It was in the middle of October when you met.

Rain was pouring heavily in the city, and people were rushing about with their different-coloured umbrellas. She was on the sidewalk, waiting for the lights to go green, when you approached her. Rain was steadily pouring heavier and you asked if she could share her umbrella with you—at least until you cross the street and go your separate ways. She says yes right away and you thank your lucky stars that she didn't turn you away. The light goes green and the both of you cross the street. It was there where you noticed that the school uniform she was wearing was the same uniform you saw at the all-girls high school beside yours. She offers to share her umbrella with you until the both of you get to school. Apparently, she noticed the uniform you wore as well. You invite her to coffee, if only to thank her for the trouble she has to go through. She accepts and you wonder how no one else is blinded by her dazzling smile.

One coffee date turned to countless weekend hangouts. Your mom noticed how happier you seem when you talk about her, and your best friend constantly teases you about her. You ignore them, content that you found a new friend. Nature takes its course and that friendship turns into something more. So you court her, and it was a long affair. A lot of your friends tell you to give up, but you don't listen because you know she's worth it. It takes a year and half before she finally says yes. The feeling of elation, of finally being able to call her yours and her finally being able to call you hers was incomparable.

But you have fights. Other couples say its normal, so you take it all in stride. But one day, the fight was bad. It was so bad, you called your friends and had a boys-only day. One of them breaks the pact and brings a female friend. You and the unexpected female guest got to talking and found you had so many things in common. When it was time to part ways, you exchange numbers and promises of talking to each other again. There's a feeling at the pit of your stomach—that this wasn't right. But you ignore it and chalk it up to the residual anger from earlier on.

But things escalate from there and you start hating yourself because you know you're cheating on her. You don't deserve her, you don't deserve her, you don't deserve her keeps playing in your head, and you think of breaking up. But you're selfish and you don't want to let her go, don't want to let either of them go. So you continue on, pretending that everything's fine.

One day, she catches you with the other girl. You couldn't run after her because you deserve this, you deserve this, you deserve this. You think you should finally be happy because she's far away from you now. You won't be able to hurt her anymore. That if you can't be happy, then at least she will be. You even sever your ties with the other girl because the both of you know that you don't love her. Sometimes, you see her from your classroom window. Your schools were literally only separated by a wall and your chest goes tight when you catch her. After graduation, you never see each other again.

Three years later, you're in the same situation as to when you first met her. The only thing that was missing was her. You see someone waiting on the sidewalk and you gather enough courage to ask if she could share her umbrella with you, just until you cross the street. What you didn't expect that she would be there. Both of you are shocked, and you wonder if fate was rearing its ugly head and threw this at you. No matter how much you convince yourself, you've never really gotten over her.

You're caught off guard when she gives you a smile and says yes. You take back what you said about fate and thank your lucky stars once more. As soon as you get to the other side of the street, you thank her. You think about asking her out for coffee, just to catch up on old times, when she does that dazzling smile again.

Only, it wasn't directed to you anymore. You turn and see a man about your age, only taller and tan (compared to your pale complexion). She hastily says goodbye to you and you see her run up to the guy and give him a kiss. You wonder why anyone didn't hear your heart shatter to pieces when it was so loud. Your chest tightens, like when you broke up with her, except this was worse. So you walk away because you can't stomach seeing her so happy without you.

You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this.