It’s a common belief that young people don’t think too much about their mortality. For us, we are represented as a statistic of those who dare to take risks, party too hard and have no cares in the world. Too young to be jaded and life experience as expansive as a newly bought canvas left untouched and still packaged ready for life’s torments to finally let us be defeated by the inevitability of destruction and sadness.
I for one prize myself for not being part of that statistic, yet all those nights endlessly plowing away days where I haven’t gone drinking, dancing and embellishing being a social pariah that would make Mother Theresa look like the extreme party girl compared to my lifestyle had given me time to introspectively worry about my life. The fact that it feels that despite my efforts on trying to move on from certain aspects and living a life that is a stranger to my own ideas. One that feels absent of glory and wonderment.
I think what I’m trying to get across is that for a long time, I’ve felt an ailment that has been harkening back from earlier days. Days where some nights I felt my body physically almost giving up on living another day. Nights where my mind would blank out to a surreal state of almost nothingness and a wake that almost seemed to never come. I was never certain what those were. Was it a sleepy death? Was it foreshadowing of my inevitable demise? Was my soul trying to escape?
There was a period of time where whenever those episodes occurred, I had something to hold onto. The last time was back in year 7, where despite my loneliness, there was a profound fondness I had for the vice president at the time. I yearned for their smile, loved the fact that life seemed to always make us collide as if it was destiny that we belonged together. As superficial as that sounded – who could blame me? Despite always seeking solitary refuge from others; part of me denied that aspect of belonging and the wanting to be the perfect person for another person. The sage with all the answers, the friend everyone could depend on and on a cynical basis – the one at the end of the day who would serve only to help others.
But times changed and as I grew older, while many things changed, some things stayed the same. Now at University – despite my former reputation for placing high regard of my academic career, there is always a tension that envelops and destroys any hope for success that I feel in my heart. No sense of motivation for the direction that life has taken me at the moment and love that has forever eluded or disintegrated from my grasp.
There was one point – where I kept replaying an odd remembrance, almost a mental tribute to specific moments where I have never felt before in my life. A warmth, a tingling sensation that wholly brought back all optimism that I have missed in my life. I believe in human terms, it is an emotion called love. I cherished those moments, every song I sang, every story I wrote and every thought I possessed always contained remnants of those days. Small little jokes I’d hear, those small comments and that encouragement and smiles that had brought me such joy, even the world issues that plagued my mind and any anxiety I felt would disappear, as if it never had existed.
There is such sadness into happy thoughts. As time passes, these memories once cherished start to disperse into fleeting fragments that seem more difficult to attain. Since being at University for two years, I’ve tried to find replacements, what lovers call the ‘rebound’ from episodes of dreariness and being stuck into the old thoughts that serve no purpose but to torment, every reminder almost being like a shard of broken glass cutting away any strip of motivation and cheerfulness the soul once had. I can’t remember those moments anymore. My motivation for University and completing my degree nowadays only encompassed that one very slim chance that someone would recognize me and realize that despite the harsh looking exterior and silent reserve was a heart that means well and one that would do anything to be supportive. One of those being a charming person whom I am thoroughly entertained but possesses somewhat a shy confidence that resembles someone I’ve repeated in my memory years ago. But there is little sustainability in having such fantasies. A ‘rational’ person would deem me as deluded and even deranged. But that’s okay. I’ve proclaimed those terms and have somewhat made that my signature.
I remember one man telling me that “There is no such thing as crazy. It is only a term people use when they don’t want to understand, or when they can’t”. That gives me much needed reconciliation when I hear that. Being forced to remain strong through adversity, always struggling when dealing with what ‘normal’ people find ‘simple’ and even been judged by having no hurt in my life is challenging but a struggle that has remained with me in my life.
The sustainability of having a mere half an hour to be flattered and recognized out of the entire week is the true motivation of why I do why I do. I had plans of grand schemes of someday singing, writing a novel and going into an industry that prizes the fulfillment of helping others through struggle. However for attention to be recognized, we kill the things we love. Slowly, but surely. For we prize the stupidity and suffering of others to be our ‘entertainment’ rather than the efforts of those dying to make any kind of improvement with the world around us. For all the attention, wealth and power going to those that disagree and would give no care for us when given a chance. A cycle of self-destruction that goes unnoticed by even ourselves, what is the point really?
What motivated me to finally write once more – is that hopefully I find an answer for these questions. And in hopes to rekindle any kind of joy and happiness I once felt almost four years ago. Times have changed so much – I’m aware that I will never have what I once had. What felt like that I mattered in this world to one person that made me feel that I was bigger than the world. I’m praying and crying for some magical design to somehow recognize through all the torment and suffering I have experienced, this alienation, the predatory discrimination against me and being involved in spheres of influence that churned me out once I had served my purpose in their silly grand designs that my struggle can amount to a reward so blissfully sweet – that I can somehow live through the punishment that seems to swerve and re-enter and permeate through our culture.
Or better yet, find the cure for a bitterness felt universally and through the ages. My time is short, and through that duration I haven’t found a cure. I hope and pray that this time is just a phase, another memory waiting to be forgotten yet the lesson applied with it never going away. I really hope I can find a cure. And somehow I hope is that when I look back at this, if I do live another day through this illness that seems to come creeping back to take my life and drain and leave me with sorrow that I will find it someday.
I don’t expect my friends to read this. And I don’t blame them. We all face a struggle in our lives, a holy war. But I guess as I slack away from writing my essay ironically dealing with ‘life chances’ that despite being brutally sick that I’ll find fulfillment dealing with mortality. Despite this jadedness, I forever have a slight optimism, much like at the bottom of Pandora’s Box. Somehow I’m quite puzzled to why throughout all my life I’ve had this, but I have to hope that the struggle is worth it.
I’m young but I see the world. And for a long time – we’ve killed, exploited and destroyed for the things we take for granted. I really hope I see them again. That at my philosophy tutorial that chair would be occupied. That in my life – I’d be occupied with positivity. That my efforts are seen and recognized. If you are young, remember you are the future. Everyone is forever young. The term old doesn’t exist – we are all the future of this world. Stop killing people. For those of us in the modern world – we don’t kill with physical weapons, but kill like invisible empires against the things we love. If there’s any lesson I’ve learned dealing with my own mortality and the knowledge of everything around me – it’s not a physical war we’re fighting anymore, it’s a mental one. If I’m absent of this world, I hope that everyone starts to see that it doesn’t take statistics to recognize problems – we are not just numbers, we’re people.
Because if I lose that motivation – I’m probably already dead. Never lose that light others try to take from you. And if you’re dimly lit and empty like me, I’m trying to rekindle to make my way through the darkness. I hope this is a phase. I pray for it to be a phase.
I’ve been stuck on the same pages unable to get through this section of the story. But I have the hope to turn the pages. And I’m looking forward to what I’ve left to uncover.
Stay young and find your light,