From my first breath to my last,
From my first breath to my last,
Isn’t sadness invasive, showing up uninvited before your eyelids?
Of course, I am not speaking of what comes with ordeals, but that that dawns upon you with a day you should be grateful came along. Perhaps you are, but the fear of emptiness or its opposite, whatever to you that might be, is crippling.
Have you ever been told anything along the lines of this sadness being a choice? Like many other things that people tend to undermine, that particular numb sorrow is too often misunderstood.
I am not qualified to advise so I will address the matter as it applies to myself. That feeling in me is an odd mixture of silent indifference and dormant frustration. When meddled with, the dormancy subsides into explosive anger.
Because is it not frustrating for groundless unhappiness to come and claim parts of your life away?
And the guilt of being meaninglessly miserable is past bearing. I am grateful for everything, so what right do I have to let the misery in?
But sometimes, I let myself be weak for a few minutes or a few hours. As long as my state doesn’t compromise anyone’s happiness (well, unless prompted), I make peace with guiltless sadness. Because resistance is painful, and dwelling on “you’re only looking for something to cry over,” is excruciating. It’s in the wiring of my brain, I know it, and it sometimes can’t be helped.
But then I breathe, because as complex as the matter is, if a feeling that grave is only one blink away, then perhaps happiness shouldn’t be more than a few cups of coffee farther.
Again, this is how I feel and deal with it. Take it as one of those days if you wish. I won’t explicitly delve into anything related to serious, clinical mental health issues (yet?), not mine nor anyone else’s.
If you’ve checked my first post, you’d know that I wasn’t really expecting anyone to take much interest in this blog. To have reached a hundred followers in less than a month is exciting, thank you! And yes, it did have a different address just earlier today. How do you like the new one?
Also, I’ve set up a new twitter account for writing and reading updates. It is a bit underfurnished at the moment, but I do hope I don’t end up neglecting it.
Your mere smile shifted something within.
One year has passed since I graduated; since I left university with an Honors rolled up in hand and a very well received major in my cap.
One year since I, who was regarded as one of the best in my college, found myself in a stagnant stage of life. No schedules, no semesters, no classes, no job.
And for a while, it ate me up.
I put up a casual front. No job? Sure, I deserve a rest, don’t I? No job? It’s fine, the market’s down, isn’t it? No job? Sure, I’ve been blessed with accepting company; I don’t have mouths to feed now, do I?
“Why are you as stressed as someone who has to support a family?” a stunned doctor asked.
During the past year, mere, temporary self-doubt turned into full-fledged loathing. There were applications all over, forgotten interviews and abandoned emails, crippling anxiety, and self-doubt I’d cultivated and nurtured ever so lovingly.
It is a strange, baseless yet deep-rooted notion that I have. People around me have been alarmed upon noticing that I link my entire worth as a human to relatively meaningless things. Still, I am a believer in intrinsic value. I was a student of science after all; I do know that everything bears its purpose. I know and I know, but do I believe that that applies to me? For the first time in my life, knowing and believing conflicted in my being, jolting me awake in the dead of the night.
Was I really nothing but studies and grades and a terrible sense of humor?
Slowly, the thought I’d been furiously pushing away crept up my spine: No job? Why not? Why them and not me?
That, I’ve always known, is a poisonous thought. The bitterness of comparing yourself to another, the sourness of jealousy and envy, the feelings you can’t help but still manage to agonize over. So I decided to wrap myself up in all that hostility, to isolate myself because was I, with a mentality like that, even worth friends? I withered over the fact that no one reached out. It was terribly lonely, and that only fueled all the anger inside.
While inspiration is everywhere, being that invested in sadness makes everything sound pretentious and depressing. But what makes me feel better? Learning. An absurd thought, I know. But I’ve taken courses, dug up that little nerd, and started writing. Slowly, I found that darkness diminishing. Perhaps it still is not gone, but it soon will be.
I am unsure of what the purpose of this piece is (well, except to maybe release me from this major writing block). Therefore, I’d just be happy with someone taking even the tiniest thing from it. Hell, I’d be happy with someone reading this.
But dear reader, I hope that you always remember that you might feel stuck while everyone rises, but that is just a phase. You can exceed. You are worthy of this life, and so am I.
Her pulse leaps onto my palm as I hold her by the wrist, restraining her from the atrocity clawing at my back. The viciousness of her stare is too foreign when directed at me.
“Move,” she says, voice like the calm and its storm.
But I know that even the spine of steel that I have admired for so long will not be able to withstand the tragedy of a fallen brother. I let her through when she pulls her arm away, because she deserves conviction in her strength.
She stands by the body of her savior. That spine melts into her knees, weighing her and her pride down.
A few times, she calls his name. Her voice is low, but I can hear it quaver. She has seen death enough to recognize him, but she denies. With her hands and her words and her being, she denies that the face beneath the bronze of her hand is as inert and cold and ashen as it has become. And it is dreadful, how unlike her the tremble of her bloodied fingers is. But let her weep, no matter how concealed the sobs, for the years they spent comrades. What bonds the two, after all, isn’t an oath of familial blood, nor is it the promise of lovers. It is a vein that when severed, bleeds freedom and trust and strength.
I approach her kneeling figure, attempting to offer futile condolences. Her lashes have huddled together for comfort, every few in a group, forming little peaks on sharp green eyes. Only seconds later, something almost tangible reaches in, deep inside that gentle soul, and cruelly draws a cry as sharp as the blade she wields.
In life, there are only a few things (if any) better than the combination of good food and good company.
A desperate conversation gradually transitioning into laughter is an embodiment of friendship, isn’t it?
I do hope so because otherwise, it will only be the expression of an oversharing other.
Today, I learned to trust a little more. Today, I learned for the thousandth time, that the world is madder than humanly comprehensible. But dear reader, remember that there are things as pretty as dumplings out there.