Wrong

Sadness would still imbue within had I not realised I could be wrong.

Finally opening your eyes wide to reality can really become an exhausting task. Some days, you begin to wonder why you even bothered to wake up. Why bother open your door every morning to see what you could have easily seen out your window, and out of harm’s way? Why bother eating food you don’t like? Why bother shooting up a vial of poison, such an uncomfortable death – struggling and asphyxiating your way out of it, just to taste the sweetness of your hiding rival?

Society is imperfect. We’ve created such a parasitic environment to live in, only to pass them all down to the cascading generations to come and teach every single one of them how to live through it. That is, if we want them to live and be better than us. But no one wants to be second best, so they learn on their own. The cycle continues.

Our voices only sing when the argent knight walks by; we bathe ourselves in own acidic self-consumption, boiling ourselves down to the adulterated, gold core. And when we see the black sheep, our alkaline lips spew at such heathen, but little do we all know that these have more than just the potential to protect us mutton in the bandwagon from harm.

It only really took one day to realise that this cynicism is flawed, and it all came around after a morning round of penciled-in circles and signatures.

I get lonely often. Sometimes when you sit in your room, mindlessly typing away and listening to nothing but a bunch of screaming and gun-shots from televised entertainment, you begin to wonder if there really is much of a life outside your isolation as you anticipate. I sometimes long to break free and breathe in fresh air, but it never happens that way. The air, polluted with its basicity and crudeness, just isn’t quite as lovely as le ciel.

So I try to make some friends and try to bring myself out of isolation. But I’ve never found a time where this didn’t end with a punch in the face, figurative or not. Am I truly dislikable? Am I truly belligerent? Am I truly a social outcast, with no mind or knowledge to befriend? Is no one at all interested in befriending for no true benefit except self-acceptance?

No.

I still have that nomadic instinct, and I know when I’m not wanted. Sometimes I ignore it, and sometimes I run as fast as I can. But for once, must it be a blessing from a God, that my instinct was once wrong.

I remember having a random conversation with two of my friends, being all delirious and carefree as I never am, and being happily tensed. It hit me at one point when I thought, “perhaps I’ve gone too far. Perhaps I’ll lose my chance at having a ‘friend’ if I become an annoying acquaintance.” So I left and made my exit. Never would I have ever expected someone to ask “why” I was leaving – many times it’s a hasty “goodbye” and a dash the other direction.

But this time it was different. Someone cared.

Maybe I’m being mistaken, or maybe I’m just misinterpreting, but it was the first time someone asked why I left and followed it with, “are you sure?” It was alarming, and probably will be the only time I’ll feel that way. I felt like I belonged somewhere for once, even if it was a simple moment at t=0. It was somewhere at sometime where I was genuinely happy with myself.

I left anyways.

I made it back into my room, my isolation, tearful and confused about why I was happy, yet shroud in melancholy. This year would completely end, without any chance of retrieval – I felt like I’ve been thrown into a bad dream again.

Life has become a nightmare, especially for this socially-ignorant boy. I wonder when I’ll wake up again.