I take my anonymity for granted

I know i’m nowhere close to being “popular” or well, basically well-known at all.  But it’s surprising how it only just occurred to me  that— I really really cherish my anonymity. I spend most times drifting,  in the undercurrent of reality.  I absolutely detest, with paranoid obsession, to be acknowledged or worse– to be recognized.  I guess it’s a testament to the unhealthy amounts of time i spend in my head, i get uncomfortable some other subjective reality shatters mine.  The security guard at the condominium with the pool i crash is just the security guy on the night shift.  He is not, however, the indian man who recognizes and acknowledges me with a familiar nod.  Jesus christ, I don’t need to know that you know that i’m the girl who regularly strolls in with pseudo-nonchalance, disappearing into one block and then appearing at the pool— on your CCTV.  I also do not need that all-to-warm smile from the midnight-shift-malay-auntie who works at Esso.  I don’t need her to constantly greet me with “hello girl! cannot sleep again ah? Tuna puff again? You need cigarettes also?”  She is like the vocal embodiment of my secret shames— late night carb binges, a pinnacle of unwholesomeness.  And why must she be so damn nice to me.  Fuck that.  Why can’t i just be a ghost.  The real me at least.  Why can’t i keep the wholly and largely not too pretty image of myself INVISIBLE from everyone!???  The stretches of time i spend alone make me happy, it’s just not something i necessarily want to share with or want the world to see…

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