I’m sorry, Alia.

Dear Ally,

Caveat: I’m not a misanthrope or a misogynist.

It’s lunch time when my hidden lies were discovered by you.

Somehow I’m glad it ends unceremoniously, but to end it in rage while you yourself in a wretched feeling are not what I’m intended. What start as a silly banter between an anonymous lurker and a thoroughbred USJ-nite went as far accepting this pseudonymous entity to her circle of friends. I should had made a stand by then, and retreat back to the netherworld where I came. Yet, that’s beyond my control; the wildfire had started to burn downhill amassing charred ruins in its desolation.

I lose my appetite, half-way through lunch.

I shouldn’t have lied in the first place. And yet, it’s not my intention at all to be in friendship with you. It’s like a gong to your ears. Deafening, no? Then why do I proceed and become the pathetic eunuch I’m? Truth to be told, my aim is not to deride you, or make a fool of you in front of your friends. In fact, I liken myself as a phantom contact of the internet world. Who’s nothing but whatever you label he is.

I want to cry, but I didn’t. I feel sick. And you wish I choke to death.

I’m one year older than Farah, an engineering grad from UK. I’m in the midst of a relationship disaster, and yes, I didn’t do all this mindfuck as revenge to the effeminate counterpart of my gender. Shy? Maybe I’m but I deliberately made me sound like a sadistic masochist who snickered at the sight of a damsel in distress. And all that had been uttered is in parallel of the real world I’m living [pitifully]. I dabble with Salvador Dali’s surrealism and Salman Rushie’s blasphemous fantasist world. Where in fact I should start a journey of Paulo Coelho’s transcendentalism adventure instead of imitating the person I’m not. No, I don’t need a shrink. Freudian chair give me an itch, no matter how comfortable it is.

I know it hurt so much, but no matter what I do, I always be an arse.

I listened to the hypocritical staging that we act upon to this charade: the parasite roommates, the asshole acquaintances, the pet peeves, the work loads and the numbing lethargic world of a student. It hurts me to be the bearer of the phantom antagonist behind the protagonist role that you had entrusted me upon. I’m like a dagger to the spleen. A coward you may call. I’m not proud of it. Bullshit? Yes…whatever.

I lied down on my bed, and dream of alternate reality. It seems my own mind lies to me.

My pathetic attempt of labelling me as a homosexual and a sex deviant didn’t even succeed in letting you go of that amicable trust. I would come up with an honest brutality as simple as the honest truth of this travesty, but not now. All the same, it seemed, all is but a history.

I woke up with tropical sweat. Damnation ought to be the reason of this heat.

In perfect reality, I’m still an introvert. I’m whatever you pigeonholed me. Trust is a fleeting social contract that I distrust. I apologize for all the mindfuck you and your friends had suffered. I would thank you for your honesty and camaraderie; but I guess I’m too selfish for my own good.

I’m sorry, Alia.

Goodbye.

Sincerely yours,

Anally Anonymous Asshole.