And he died a miserable and lonely death…
He was not
known at all. At least from the inside. Most of his acquaintances are friends that
only knew him from his physical features and what he allowed from his ideas and
thoughts to be conveyed from his head. Greatly misunderstood, seldom dealt
with. He was your typical outcast.
He was known
amongst his family and friends as “The Foreigner”. He roamed
around with his mind when he was joined by his fellows and peers. They talked
about sex, football, women, sex and stuff. He listened, did not interact
though. He supported the motto of “Friends” in general, yet he
did not fully succumb to it in his daily life.
The need to
his friends was minimal, yet required. What he needed was a sense of reality. A
sense of salvation. A sense of approachability. A sense of attention perhaps.
A main thing
in his daily routine was him entering the bathroom in the morning, or at night,
or when he wakes up at any time of the day. He enters the bathroom, closes the
door, feels his belly button and begins his day. He would stroke his stomach’s
hair and look at them as if they are aliens or unknown objects. He would
then, almost automatically, look at the mirror, yet he does not look at it for long, not
yet at least. He finishes his daily homework, then the contemplation
begins.
“What am I
to this universe?” He would ask himself, while sitting on his thinking chair,
i.e. the toilet seat. A pretty weightless question when uttered, yet to him it
meant something more than that. He was not one of those goal-driven individuals
who thrived for success. Being successful and having a meaningful life are two
different concepts that are usually mixed and understood as the same; at least
that was what he thought.
“What am I
to this universe?” That particular question has a snowball effect on him.
Rather, a domino effect in his case, as it all tumbles down to a non-existent
answer to that demonic question.
“What am I
to this world?” It starts now. The unfulfilling, undesirable and untimely
feeling of all. Making sense of things was not one of his strongest traits, nor
was his sense of self-worthiness. But Alas, it is a rollercoaster. He had to go
through it whether he liked it or not. He must, or else why does he live?
“What am I
to my country?” He made progress. He went on to the next level. He was ACTUALLY
making progress. Non-materialistic progress at that, still felt and to some
extent realized. Why would I make progress? He asked himself over and over. I
will die anyways, he would fantasize, thinking of the unthinkable.
“What am I
to my family?” As you can see, it is starting to get more and more personal.
Not because he thought of his family. But because he knew where this is all was
going. Where this has led him to daily battles against his inner devils. Where
this has led him to that final and most cathartic yet surprisingly relieving
question of all.
“WHAT AM I
TO MYSELF?”
I am
nothing. I am nobody. I am non-existent. I am null.
Negative
thoughts perhaps. But when he gets out of the bathroom, he relived them
again, but with a clearer mind. It does not necessarily subtract
from his bathroom experience to think with a clear mind. On the contrary. It adds to its negativity.
It was like
a train. Stopping at stations. Passengers coming in, passengers coming out. The
train is the same. The driver is the same.
Regardless
of what he thought of himself as a person; or rather as an entity, he managed
to get through the day. As much hate he had towards himself or disdain
towards his surroundings, he did not overreact or tried to project those
thoughts in any physical way. For example he did not cut himself or hurt
anybody. At least what we know of.
He was
sullen, observing, quiet and detached. It did not get him in a lot of trouble.
Though he had to answer to some inquisitive remarks said to him by his friends.
Remarks such as “Why don’t you go out with us?” and “What is it with you and
loneliness?” His answer was simple and concise at all times. “I just prefer to
be left alone.”
Granted, it
might have rubbed his friends and peers in the wrong way, yet they were always
subconsciously attracted to him. They did not perceive him as repulsive or
unwanted; rather, as different. They respected his privacy and knew whenever he
wanted to climb out of his reclusive cave, eventually he will. And he did on
several occasions. Occasions which affirmed and cemented their belief in him as
“One of them.”
At one
occasion there was this girl he knew from class, just on a superficial level. They
only knew each other’s names and spoke briefly and they both forgot about that
conversation they had. He saw her walking down the other side of a street by
herself. He acknowledged her presence and waved at her. Something difficult for
him to have done. But he did. She was on the verge of waving back, but she
failed. Not because she did not like him, but because she was being harassed by
a guy. Almost instinctively, he went to them and it is safe to say without
getting into much detail, he was more than capable of handling a fight. The harasser
went on his miserable way and left the girl alone. With our guy. They talked
again, only this time a bit longer. He walked her home and she thanked him with
a kiss on his cheek.
Other guys
would have thought that kiss to be the first cornerstone of something romantic
to come between them. He on the other hand did not. He just felt recognition
and attention. He did not act upon it. He never did in his life.
Young,
different, detached, aloof. Those are the traits that are remembered by anybody
who knew him. His inheritance so to speak. Someone who, in one way or another, made a difference in their lives. Not a physical one perhaps, but at least he
did something that will be stuck in their heads.
If people
were granted the power of consciousness while they are dead, he would have
been one of the first people to use it.
His first
thoughts in his grave would have been: “I WISH I COULD CHANGE THE LIFE I LIVED.”
