Jin and his Roomy

I live in a small but pretty decent dorm which is five minutes walk from the college. I share the bathroom and shower with my suite-mate, who thankfully I did not have to share the same room with. The past years I had roommates who actually make me engulf myself in colossal misery that I swear I'll never sleep with another person in the same room again. My suite-mate is a decent guy and we actually shared a bottle of Laphroaig on our move-in day. He was from a small town near Naples, thus my reference to him as Frenchie, and I actually thought we could be friends for the rest of the semester. Never did I thought he would add to my utterly abominable woe. I do not take back what I said about him - he is a decent guy, a terrific one indeed. The fact is that Frenchie was a handsome guy, not the kind of handsome to induce homosexuality (I just wanna make clear that I didn't fall in love with him), but the kind of handsome who could bring the self-esteem of a normal-looking guy like me down to the sewers. Every time his picturesque smile soar across the lobby of our dorm, or whenever I hear of a white-teeth freshman girl in his room, my self worth sinks a little - why can't I be like him. This isn't jealousy - jealousy induces a certain kind of negative train of thoughts or actions with it - this is a  simple deep-rooted  admiration and constant reminder of the disappointment our good god have given me. I must be pathetic - letting my well- being be determined by a guy who did me no harm at all. I guess that's what sitting in your room all day makes you - fuss about all those little stuffs. However,  there is the hard-stratified truth that if I have just a dime of his angelic attributes - I would be much happier than I was now. His face gleam of after-shave as he greet "good morning" with enthusiasm for the exciting new day. His triceps flexed with streams of luscious muscles as he revealed his stone-hard abs. His side of the basin was flourished with shine and without a piece a piece of hair to be found, while my side contains every nasty debris you could find in a guy's dorm room. I guess he's the one who's been scrubbing the commode all along- for that I'm grateful. And, I certainly am not romanticizing him at all. I guess maybe I'm just shallow (I try to hide it, at least) - I find myself avoiding any possible encounter with him. I find myself more and more withdrawn; I sometimes even hold my bladder when he is in that bathroom. His content was diminishing mine.

I am Jin

My name is Jin. Please do not mistake my name as a gesture of formidable love for anime or an infantile fervor for the Japanese culture - I simply have it as my alias as I heard it is unwise to  give your real name on the internet. It is simply a name I picked up of a game named Tekken I played on my Play Station One when I was a child. Jin - the name sounds heroic and sinister at the same time - a fusion of both so foreign and amicable. My father once told me, these one syllable names often brought a certain kind of tone to it that brings people to its attention - the stresses and folds of a contralto. I wish my name was Jin - instead, my father named me this boring monotonous two-syllable name. My handshake weakens whenever I vocalize my name. While some glimmers with vigor and confidence, I dwell in its mediocrity - I guess, maybe, I'm just being over-dramatic. I go to a college in a small city in Alabama. If it is to your convenience I'd like you to read this in the voice of Sal Paradise from the movie On the Road - the silver-toned all-American articulation orchestrated among witty speech and poetic gestures. I don't mean much by it. It is just a rather disappointing movie that I've opted to watch, just to see Kristen Stewart's scene, but I just can't seem to get rid of that voice - as crazy as it seems, I now read books, subtitles, and even the newspaper with his voice in my head; I guess it'll pass in a while. My actual voice sounds raspy at best - to be fair, I'm not sure I know how to describe voices in words. It is the kind of voice which somebody else will get annoyed at after a conversation lasting more than ten minutes - the kind that gets made fun of at the karaoke - the whimpers of a pre-pubescent ten-year old kid mixed with the gruff bark of a scrawny old man. I truly do not know how to describe voices in words. Let's move on. This is not a call for help. This is not something which satisfies the human's insatiable need for attention. This is not a story meant for entertainment. This is just my way of letting it all out - a healing to all the shit that happened over the last three years. It is my only wish to stay as invisible as I was over the last few months - no flashy clothing, not getting out of my room unless absolutely necessary, avoiding conversations with passer-by acquaintances. I'd like to be forgotten like a bird, to be unnoticed, and most of all, to be left alone. I'm not salivating for attention, but I guess a man needs someone to hear him out. So, here it is, my story from my own personal experience - or they could be utter delusions. Lately, I find it difficult to tell the difference.