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...
