Again, I lost control of the situation and had put up a hard time for you.

I understood what you meant when you told me this evening that I have to make a decision and quickly. I wanted to rush myself for a decision. But I knew, the decision time is not yet here.

All I could do is to give you a hard time no more, stupid questions no more, and just enjoy the current moment. I am no longer having any expectation, imagination, or dream. I admit I had been away with the fairies. But I believe time will eventually fade the feeling away and we could be normal.

What you may already know is I didn’t text you to come online for a hard time. But what you didn’t know is over those sleepless nights, I kept measuring myself against your love for your ex.

Wanted to be around him a lot; sharing amazing intimacy; always think that he is cute and intelligent; wanted to be him at times.

Amazing bedroom fun, and the cute and smart impression,  I think I have achieved them. But a wall was erected instantaneously when I learnt that I wasn’t a figure you wanted to meet often. I knew the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. But it still had created some uneasy ripples in my heart when I was honestly informed.

And life inspiration? I couldn’t help but kept waking up at those sleepless nights, asking myself what could I offer as a boy making coffees behind the bar? Inferiority inundated my sleepless nights.

I used to think this isn’t one-sided. I used to believe you were trying to avoid what you felt for me. But standing in front of your love for someone else, I couldn’t help but feeling so naive, so immature, and so insignificant. I felt so, small.

You were always so nice to me. But I’d finally realised, I shouldn’t confuse kindness with anything else.

I, as much as I would like to maintain my infamous stubbornness, was really very thin-skinned. I was embarrassed. Embarrassed by my own naiveté.

I am doubtless that you do care for me. But I knew, it wasn’t anything significant. Nothing comparable to what you have shown to others.

I-don’t-love-you, I heard you said. I accept defeat.

It was at the moment when I submitted the application when I knew the power of control has now shifted onto another pair of hands. There is nothing more I could do from this point onwards.

It took me months to carefully maintain the crucial £800 maintenance fund. Not that the amount of money poses any challenge to me since I inherited a handsome savings from my scholarship. But the constant paranoia worrying that I might accidentally over-charge on my bank account and thus breaking the minimum benchmark for maintenance fund was almost unbearable.

My worry was further exacerbated by story told during an open house gathering in London. A girl was rejected visa because the period when she maintained her fund was only 2-month and 29-day instead of the pre-requisite 3-month.

Yes, the Malaysians, the Americans, the Middle Easterners, the Chinese, etc., have all warned me about the same thing – they will dig deep into the ground and use whatever reason they can to reject you.

Maintaining minimum fund was only one of the stringent requirements. The troubles to gather the certificate of award, the university letter, the sponsor letter, the bank statements, and renewed passport, which altogether had taken me almost a month, was tedious. But these were mandatory before the final stage – 49-page paper application.

It was as thick as a book so as my Italian colleague would describe the form. But I knew it was my job to file an impeccable and immaculate application. I had doubt of course as it was another generic form and not individually tailored. But thanks to the consultation service offered by university, my confusion was cleared months ago. So, I was confident.

However, I still found myself couldn’t stop checking. Checked, and checked, and checked. My heart beat rate increased by 10-fold right as I sealed the envelope. Nervous but it seemed inevitable and completely acceptable. I was at the precipice of suffering a fatal heart attack for no exaggeration.

But now I know, for the coming 6 weeks, it will be nothing more than a miserable hell of anxious waiting. I need luck, lots of it!

P.S.: The author is applying for the post-study work visa for the United Kingdom.

I know we’re not friends.

I also accept that we’re definitely not in a relationship.

But I also realise, I am nothing more than just one of those regular characters you already have. The only difference might be the free delivery.

It is part of the deal which we had signed on. And I understand I have since then signed off my right to demand. But the truth is I really am deeply troubled by what happened between you and the other people.

I wondered if I ever mean anything to you.

It was indeed sweet to know you think of me sometimes. But I also have been told (by you) that I am just foolishly getting over-involved.

You might be true in what you said, as friends have agreed. But they also have advised on the best thing to do. And I know it too.

Do I want to keep pouring out and recollecting my emotion in a repetitive cycle?

How many times do I want to remind myself of my own pathetic character?

Can I keep maintaining my sweetness and pretend that I do not want to demand anything at all?

I have no answer. At least not yet. I don’t know what (I want) to do.

I understand about your worry. But rest assured my humility and rationality will guarantee you a psycho- and drama-free solution.