Monday, July 23, 2007

Today is a good day to die

Alternative title: Not really ready to make happy

Earlier this afternoon: Went to school today and found out I had skipped three major subjects to study for a Theology exam that, as I found out in that prof-less classroom later, didn't take place.

Now: I have wiped out whatever doubs and reservations I have as to the existence of karma.

It was a humid afternoon. The kind of afternoon that gets your ill-fitting uniform sticking like velcro to your back. The kind that keeps sweat forming on your forehead even after you've wiped it time and again, with your already soaked hanky. The kind that leaves you thinking that, in this sea of immaculate white skirts, khaki pants, and sky blue polos; in this sea of smiles, laughter, high-fives and cheerful banter; in this sea where everyone is always having a good time with somebody; in this sea bustling with co-curricular and extra-curricular activity where everyone is expected to foster camaraderie and build goodwill and better friendships, you--you with your emaciated 3-year old flats, ill-fitting 3 year-old uniform, sweaty forehead, tired eyes, and downturned lips--you are all alone.

And so, as I walked alone outside the school gate--the same way I always did the past 3 years, I thought about it. Thought about a ledge on the 7th floor. Thought about falling head-first onto the pavement and seeing people from classroom windows upside-down. Thought about the last few things I might think about as gravity takes its course with heavy objects hurled in open air.

But then I thought of pain. The pain of botched suicide attempts. The pain of fragmented bones, impacted skulls, and blood oozing from flesh ripped open. And so I thought of other things instead.


And contrary to what the title suggests, and what you may think, I am actually a very happy person. I have friends. I have a loving-but-not-very-demonstrative-of-affection family. I live a comfortable middle-class existence. So I guess my little sad episode was just a culmination of the past few days--weeks, years-- spent feeling extremely alone, isolated, and out of place in the midst of very happy people. This feeling of never belonging--with my family, my relatives, classmates--even in my own body--overwhelms me sometimes. And it makes me sigh...and occasionally blog about it.


I hope I didn't live up to anyone's expectations that I am dark and brooding. I really don't mean to be. I really don't. Like hell I'd want to be labeled emo. But I'm just not the Carebears/rainbows-and-butterflies type. And even if they say it takes more muscles to frown than to smile, I still feel weird and oddly disgusted when I force a smile. Which leads me to my conclusion that no one can be happy all the time. And if a person always has a smile plastered on her face, she's either deluding herself into thinking her life's going to be so much better, or is teetering on the verge of insanity. See, it just isn't possible.