Last night, you got the answer to the first of the three burning questions of the past seven months. Not in the most direct manner anyway, but it cleared up things, a whole lot and more. You had anticipated that it would be just the case, but you still took it hard, a little too hard.

You had your supportive group with you right at that moment. They are the best one in the whole world, no wonder you love these girls so much. You tried to keep your cool, almost to no avail.

"I just need to cry," you announced to them.

They looked at you sad. Little bubbles managed to drop from your eyes along with some expletives you whispered many many times.

"Turn right, Princy," you said to your sister the driver, "I have these poundings in my head, we need to stop by at the grocery." You were hoping that a sugar-induced comma will be a temporary sweet release, literally, from it all. At home, you took a shower and then you went to sleep, or at least tried to. For the first four hours, your eye lids were closed but your mind did not.

You usually went running in the out to help you passed through a time like this. You figured that 5k in the morning would be just perfect, plus it was only just a couple hours away. But when the alarm finally went off, you felt sudden cramps on both of your feet. You decided it was best to just stay put for a couple more hours and you crawled back to the fetal position.

When you finally woke up, it felt like your world was just not the same, it was emptier and idler. Once you managed to put yourself together, you felt like cooking lunch from scratch. You forgot when was it exactly the last time you do just that. You and your sister were able to gather all the ingredients for the menu --steak with mashed potatoes, her inquiry, some simple fried rice, yours. You then proceeded to cooking. You suddenly remember what you liked about it. You enjoyed the stillness of the moments. It was just you and the million of micro things to prepare before you could finish those "perfect" meals.

Gosh, they were delicious. Your sister agreed too.

When the time for football practice time came, you already fell much much better. The cooking helped a lot, you thought. All the way through practice, you made a mental assesment. All these times, did it deserve the commotions (that were mostly in your head)? You knew there was a switch somewhere in your heart to instantly turn it off.

"It was never the object," you said to yourself, "it was the idea of the object."

You went home relieved. But several hours later, you still couldn't help yourself but to nurture this wild growth of tini-tiny hope and to fall for the same thing over and over. You know you shouldn't.

By the end of the night, mostly what you felt was anger. And it wasn't directed to yourself, anyone, or anything else for that matter. You just hoped there was a mental sandbag you could punch and kick.

You knew with time, you would be just fine.