cold war.

the butterfly effect might sound far-fetched, but it kinda happened. i can tell you the whole chronology, but only to make you yawn.

if you're reading, yeah. i'm writing about you. i hope this would be the last post ever, if you know what i mean. and i think we can all agree that it's a good thing.

so here's the story.

i am not a fan of elevators. i used to get chills. blame it on Sri Terengganu flats in Sentul where a great-aunt lived in the early '90s. i used to dread going there.

then as i grew older, i became acquainted with awkward rides. i hate being in the elevator with one other person, we know each other's names, and that's it. do i start a conversation? if yes, what do i say? do i keep quiet? do i look on the floor or at the door or at the buttons? do i smile? do i pretend i was texting on my phone? seriously, major pressure. i know, tell me why am i making this issue a very complicated one.

living on the 11th floor is not helping. unless i wanna do cardio work, it's a long way up the stairs.

then there's that person i was not on talking terms with, someone i've been trying to make invisible. multiply that pressure a gazillion times.

stupid i know, this whole cold war. and i believe that i'm responsible for the most part. things get too cold that by the time i get tired of it, i have no idea how to undo it.

then came the elevator. damn it, it was the longest ride ever. to cut the story short, i blew up the chance to break the ice.

until a few days ago, a series of events brought us back to that same spot, and the courage felt divine. it wasn't so hard wasn't it?

thanks.

i hope this will be the end of it. i promise.