I have words.
A lot of unfinished words that claw at the edges of my skin, ache at my fingertips to be let out. These words somewhere in the middle of breaking, aching, and hurting come up with complex theories I can’t quite fathom into proper sentences. Sometimes I wonder, maybe the best way to describe the inside of my head is a zigzag pattern making no sense because all pleasantries put aside that is how it is:
Not comprehendible, unexplainable, and raw.
However, an even better way to put it is a blank page. Because at times, most of the times, when I’m in need of words, fake consolations, self-satisfaction. It leaves me alone in the midst of nowhere clutching my own self, without medicine for the headache it caused.
Yet at other times the train of thoughts that rushes through me leaves me breathless, and I stop in between my tracks like a child realizing he stepped on an ant, except it’s not the death of an ant that makes me pause, it’s the birth of a new skull breaking idea inside my head. I’ve been trying to write about one of such many thoughts, yet I can’t since I don’t know what edge of it to start from. Thus, I heartedly apologize for the stretched introduction making you roam in unnecessary details, but I’ll get right into it now.
So, I was walking on my balcony on a not so lovely morning, stepping in between the gaps of a broken ladder laying on the uneven floor, making up next to impossible scenarios at the back of my mind, maybe some part of me hoping they wouldn’t magically be so unreal. In between which I thought about rain, and I thought of my friend who lost her grandfather in weather like that, I thought about her inability to enjoy rain like the rest of us. I thought about how we, human beings develop strings to the most natural yet obscure of things – the rain, for example, and hang the worst of our tragedies or our most joyous moments to it. I thought maybe if I could, I would offer my own life to be taken away instead of her grandfather’s. What is a teenage girl's life worth in exchange for the life of someone’s father, another’s grandfather, someone with a family to run? I decided I would be quick to offer my life if I ever can in exchange for anyone else (I understand I can’t do that but thinking doesn’t hurt). That’s when it made me stop all of a sudden and think;
Would I trade the life of my own grandfather for hers if I could?
And it made my eyes swell up with tears, I do not know why. Yet I realized the thing that had been knocking me down lately, wanting desperately to be written was the realization that love for someone is greater than one’s own life ever so naively. It was the selfishness I had towards the life of someone I loved – my grandfather, whom I could never give up, not even to take away the pain of my dear friend. Yet, I wouldn’t give a second thought to my own breaths written in this world before giving them up for someone.
Attachment is a deadly thing I believe; it could turn into a war of lives. Is this selfishness? To want to hang onto the life of someone even if they’d be ready to give it up. I might never know for sure. Maybe I wouldn’t care about my life, but someone somewhere for a fleeting second might think about me in some distant memory, probably envision me embarrassing myself in a circle full of people by cracking a joke clearing lacking any shred of humor and dare miss me
My point is certainly not to boast about how important my pointless existence is, I’m not sure what I mean either, perhaps what I’m trying so hard to say is that we’re all constantly trying to save one another, meanwhile forgetting that each of us is someone to another too.