Today’s daze left me pondering over a mini social experiment, minute as a pop quiz, that I wanted to try awhile back: but was too afraid to.
On the Friday before flying off to Perth, the squad was supposed to meet for dinner-ish in the evening at Harbourfront. The initial time was 6.45pm, which dragged to be an hour later. Reaching at about 7pm, I went to the roof garden to sit as I read Cheryl Strayed’s Wild. While waiting – Navi was next to arrive, and he asked if anyone was around. Despite seeing his text, I chose to read on and not respond. Before you think me irresponsible, let me introduce the little dilemma that was debating whether or not to reply. There was a little temptation intruding the thoughts, one that speaks of selfishness. Likening my unresponsiveness to what it would be if I were to suddenly disappear; being almost definite it would have been unnoticed. The immediate thought of it almost left me saddened: who wants to be forgotten, after all. But if there came a day I could hike the PCT and leave everything I am, I was, I should be, behind – along with the good and the bad and all the ones too indispensable to me, this pain would be nothing. This pain would be worth it. This pain, this pain, this pain. Wouldn’t hurt as much as the sticks and stones that may break my bones. I would be able to let go, and perhaps I could deem the self to be strong, and redeem. Perhaps this thought is warped, it is perverse, it is irrational. But the prolonging pain numbs the sadness, or so we would like to think.
As much as it is comfort being around the ones we love and have known us for the longest – the screaming loud ‘inadequate’, ‘unworthy’, ‘inferior’, ‘inconpetent’ overwrites all other possible forms of thought. And it underscores how flawed a person you are, that no amount of liquid paper could hide the bold threads of lines. The comfort was one that allowed you to soak in sadness, yet it made you feel like you were about to choke on the overwhelming hot tears that have, countless times in your imagination, streamed down the same path on your face enough to create a meander of its own.
But how do you go on explaining this irrational, complicated feeling, to the ones so dear to you? It is neither a beneficial sort of thought, nor does it empower, neither is it worthy of mentioning in the precious minutes that are ticking away playfully. Furthermore, it is pointless in bringing up a point as such – they would not be able to comprehend it, nor would you want them to break it down and simplify it for it requires them to be lowered to how low you really were, or were feeling. And so there you are, letting the sting bite into your flesh, into your mind, into your battered heart as you let the minutes walk away from you while you fail to get hold of yourself and of reality and of your thoughts and of everything you ever loved.
How do you try to return all their kindness, is then another tough nut to crack. I found altruism my solution, my comfort, my medication. Because it is how scary a low you never want someone to feel that way and so you try very hard to pull a person up despite allowing your mind to be dragged down deeper into the abyss.
Turning 21 – i suddenly don’t know where to find my plasters. I guess feeling broken has grown to be a norm, but the past week has been intoxicating and terribly detrimental, as if one were to break countless times, infinitely, into a million shards that would be better off scattered all over the world. Maybe 21 would even be a miracle. Not like anyone would remember, actually.