Just like the movies

I had just finished reading a book of a story I had known so many years ago. That time, it was the way the writer intended it to sound like when the little voice in my head read it. I was so much moved by the way he described events, people and emotions. Those emotions! If only life in some way could imitate art, well, if only it were even possible for something like this to happen!

 I considered myself a very emotional person, yet in someway I got very good at hiding it. I got used to convincing myself that it's just a waste of time feeling something, or at least thinking about feeling something. That opening the door, or just leaving a little gap where light could enter, will wreck me eventually.

I grew tough. Tougher by the day. I even scare people away; looking so collected and so whole on your own is always a deal breaker.

I am deprived of emotions. I search inside of me for them but I fail to find enough of them for the people I handle everyday. If there are some left, they would be merely the remnant of what I once held inside of me.

Yet in my heart, still yearns the old me to the slightest glimpse of hope that someday I will be loved. This "embarrassing" side shows every time I witness an outpour of feelings. I'm not made of stone, apparently. And just as I try to make this side more obvious, I get laughed at for crying over a movie, or tearing up to a song, or just reacting to a gesture I thought was sincere towards me.

It is then when I pray the most that life would truly imitate art.

How have we become so poor on the inside? It's almost scandalous that it's impossible a man tells his lady that he loves her, without risking a million gazing eyes towards him. Even friends no longer make their loyalty a priority, for interest's sake! I lament where we've become. So bad that I pity myself instead of blaming it for where I have gone.

But then I'm bewildered, how on earth is life not like "the movies" when people who create movies are, well, alive?! From where would poets, authors or artists in general soak the vividness of their emotions? Don't they live on the same planet we live on? Why isn't it that we wonder from where we got all the stiffness, instead of pondering at their "mushiness"?

I admit that not all people are created equal, especially when it comes to feelings. But we could just try! We could just pray for more enlightenment when it comes to searching our souls within. I can't say that this is the answer. Truth is that I am still looking into it myself. I may never reach the shore when it comes to just this...