Random Moments of Completeness

"Yes, I am sure!"

I was all smiles in front of my department adviser when she kept on giving me disbelieving glances for leaving my course. She kept on spewing out questions: "Are you sure dear?", "Your Physics grades are okay!" And all I could do was to answer her affirmatively (how else, really?), trying to somehow convince myself more than I was reassuring her. I give her a big smile, hoping it looked passionate enough so she could shut up before I up and ran towards the Math building. Truth be told, I am still not sure. Maybe I will never be so sure - God knows all the things I just want to do! That's the thing with me: I want to do everything. Good thing she caught on, because we proceeded to discuss what would be of my remaining college years.

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There I was on newly cemented sidewalk, uncharacteristically out of my desk chair (albeit obligatory), just walking. My thumbs were characteristically shoved into my pockets. I was in the verge of whistling some made up, happy tune. Maybe I had prior purpose (hunting for subjects), but now I was just walking. Maybe walking away, or walking to - I'm not quite sure yet. I was walking without particular mirth or exhaustion. I was just walking by buildings and people and cars, dreams and ambitions and failures, the past and the future and right now. A banana cue vendor passed by, and suddenly it smelled of delightful and familiar caramelized brown sugar. It lasts a second, or maybe two. It went back to smelling like freshly cut grass on the first day of school, and later on of smoke and hot cement, and even later on of Mc Donald's distinct fast food smell. I sigh a happy sigh. It was a nice content feeling. In that moment, I realized, I was in equilibrium. Everything was just pristine. (I maybe wanted to break out into a song and do air flips.)

Equilibrium, I also realized, is never permanent. In fact, most of the time they are just instances. Or maybe even half of such instances (so fleeting, they are!); sometimes maybe days, or some unconstrained time period (some odd-something years, if you're lucky enough). But the point is that they do happen: Random Moments of Completeness. It's nice, and it's what keeps us moving.

And it is what's keeping me from completely falling out of myself.

My tenses are off; proofread me, willya please.