Apologies if this all seems like your average session of teen angst, but it was something I felt I needed to write, for some reason. Get my thoughts down, clear my head.
Something’s wrong with my evenings these days. Something and nothing.
Sitting here again, with calming piano music in my ears, I look around, feeling the strange melancholy again. The table’s filled with trash and miscellanea as usual. A fan since it’s been so hot lately (thankfully the temperature’s reasonable now), plenty of empty glasses, a few other dishes… A pair of muted speakers, bottles, a notebook… A green happy birthday card.
I take it in my hand. “Happy Birthday 18” in silvery letters adorns the cover. Inside, I find all those ‘great’ things that coming of age brings, described in rows of faded emerald writing. I read through them, and get stuck on one particular one.
“The opportunity to move into a flat of one’s own, and live a self-sustained life with friends.”
With friends. What friends?
I put the card aside, a sudden feeling of dread lurching in my stomach. Fortunately the emotion fades with a small sigh.
The last note of the piano rings for a moment, and fades. The track changes, and the silence is filled with the quiet sound of a music box. Probably the most heartbreaking tune I know. It actually made me cry silent tears, the first time I heard it. Still waters my eyes at times.
Another sigh. Oh dear. What the hell is wrong with me?
Slowly turning to eye the table, searching for I don’t know what, I notice a couple of empty cider cans… Crowmoor. Very good stuff, both the name and the drink. I slowly reach for one of the cans and idly roll it in my hand, staring at the logo of a setting sun behind a black tree. Kinda gloomy. Fits my room, not to mention my mood. I put the can back on it’s place amidst the chaos that is my desk.
These moments make me feel so strange and different, detached from the world and the ordinary teenagers’ life.
Then again, they also reassure me of the fact that I’m unique. For what it’s worth. I mean, for all my self-reflection and thinking, I don’t think I’ve gotten a thing, other than the sensation of having at least tried to know myself. But what else is there to do to think these days, a vainglorious attempt at being deep, alone in the dark. Would trade it all for social skills or peace of mind any day. But I don’t even try, since I’m a firm believer that chasing idle dreams, addictions or other people won’t bring happiness or peace. It’s ironic that you only need to search inside yourself instead. You need something special of your own. My problem is that I’m clueless as to what I want.
What a flawed train of thought. It’s quite apparent that what I want isn’t here. Ought to look. Get out there. Anywhere. Just go… No. Not when all feels a bit pointless. Not when there's nothing to work towards. I need a goal...
The things that made me exceptional, what were they again? Where have the conclusions to the meaning of life gone, I used to have them figured out... I can’t remember… I’d need her here to tell me that. But she’s away.
Suddenly a little wisdom I read somewhere comes into my mind.
“Imagine life is a game where you juggle to keep 5 balls in the air. You name them – Work, Family, Friends, Health and Spirit. You will soon realize that work is a rubber ball; If you drop it, it will bounce back.
But the other 4 balls, they are made of glass; and if you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably damaged or scuffed, or even shattered. And they will never be the same.”
Looking around in the dark room of mine, I can’t help but wonder who dropped my ball of Friends, and wherever I threw the one of Spirit.
