On the top of my lungs, what I really would want was to shout to the world to back off. Isolation was what I really needed, a peace of mind, and a peace of heart. Heartaches squeezed me dry, and where would I belong? I never knew. Scream.
I was at the peak of my adolescence, and it was such a shame that I was still hanging at the peak of immaturity, not knowing and not getting any. Living with the company of misery, I learned nothing but cowardice. Stuck, just stuck. As time went by, I became more and more apathetic that oftentimes I would just ponder that life would be easier if I became a non-living thing.
A NON-LIVING THING. Odd, it is.
What if I became an oven toaster, or a whiteboard, or a piece of chalk? What if I turned into a refrigerator, or maybe into a giant bookshelf? What if I got to live a life without a bruised heart, without a futile mind, without exhausted blood vessels beneath my skin, then, just then, life could have been easier. No social obligations, no meeting of expectations, no future anxieties and no painful memories, just a non-living thing.
If I were a non-living thing, I could just be in a corner, watching people groping for trivial pursuits, wandering and wandering with their lives full of regrets, full of heartaches, full of despair. If I were a non-living thing, I could spare myself living a life of hopelessness, of emptiness, and of pain. Away from a life of nonsense, in short.
If I were an non-living thing, I would not be worrying to death meeting deadlines, or pleasing teachers, or apologizing to leaders, or dealing with life’s craps, maybe, if I were a non-living thing, I would not be busy winning the favor of the crowd, busy fixing broken relationships, and busy thinking of what others feel and think about me. I would just live my OWN life, minding my OWN business, living as a non-living thing, understanding no one, loving no one. Alone in an island, in short.
If I were a non-living thing, I would be contented being submissive to those who use me, for those who need my help. I would be contented doing my purpose, making the lives of the people better, providing them comfort and care. If I were a non-living thing, I would not have time worrying about my own lifestyle, rather I would be occupied being part of theirs. A superhero, in short.
If I could just be a non-living thing, but I could not, I simply could not. Nevertheless, despite of all these fraud safety that I had knitted in my imagination, I thought that being a non-living thing means being shallow, being empty, and being dead. Sometimes useless, and sometimes taken for granted. What if I became a non-living thing? What might have I missed? Would I be better and be who I am now?
How about experiencing the best relief when I found an oasis despite of chaos? How about the ecstasy of appreciating that I have someone by my side when everything seemed not to be alright? How about being part of the happiest and darkest moment of my family, of my friends, sharing with them my laughter and my tears? How about experiencing the joy when everything I worked hard for turned into a great success? How about the feeling kissing the one I truly love under the night sky, whispering affection under the moonlight? How about being showered by the peace of God and realizing that He is in charge?
How about experiencing the rush of adrenalin? How about enjoying the sensitivity when I feel my heart beating? How about losing my sanity when I am head over heels with somebody? How about falling in love and being complete? How about being warm and alive?
If I were a non-living thing, my life might have been easier, but would I be happier?
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