Life sucks and then we die.
But we know life really fucks us bad when one of your most cherished people drop dead, suddenly and all you get is a fucking phone call that says, 'you remember him? The guy who always sits next to you in the exam hall? He died in an accident. The funeral is later today'. Well, who wouldn't remember someone you went to school with for a decade, fought with, almost fell in love with, and then totally wiped the slate clean and didn't talk to for three fucking years? There are so many things I shouldn't have and I should have said.
Honestly, I don't see a proper point, a clear cut picture of life anymore. Shit was at a distance and then shit got real. Now, it got boring. The perpetual cycle of an absurd life even for a person who thinks absurd people are shit. What a huge fucking hypocrite?
Can't watch movies or read. Can't write, hell I can't even think. I think I left my life take it's own path without really giving a fuck. Why should I alone keep giving a fuck about life, about tomorrow when there is really nothing called tomorrow.
Nothing seems to really affect me as if I'm just some piece of stone. No deaths no amount of pain really shakes me anymore. I just hung up on one of my best childhood friends when she said that, she practically assumed that I'm not okay and started to tell me how I was the strongest person she knew and all the unsaid bullshit. What the fuck is the problem with people. She knew how much I cared about this person, and she was inviting me to his funeral? Sick joke, life you fucker.
Talk to me, they say. Talking would help, they say. But fuck, what do you do when the only person you can talk to about his death is literally dead. Grief doesn't expend by talking. Sometimes everything is a fire stove, we just have to burn within ourselves and wait for the fire to fade.
No one is strong. No one is weak. No pain is too much pain. Everyone goes through their own shit and try to cope up and go through it the best way they can. So where is the place for judgement.
No amount of pain, nothing literally can affect me because I simply don't let that happen. Not because of iam strong or shit but because I have an infinitely large ego and pride that wouldn't let me. And I always find a way to be happy, no matter what. But if I can be this person then how am I also the person who fears that someone I love can die? Or be terrified of failure? Or be terrified of growing old alone? If I have this much ego then I should be able to say fuck you to life and move on right?
Well, life, you really have a way to get to me. Where is that pride that says to me not to break down, and move on because I shouldn't give a fuck. One sick person I should be. We know we are getting older when the people you grow up with start dropping dead.
Again, she asks to me attend the funeral. But it's far away, hundreds of kilometres away. But even if I was there, can I remember the face of someone like that, hell knows what I had to do to forget my father's face. Especially when I hadn't seen that face in five years since I left that place and haven't even talked to in three years. They know that too well to ask me to come, to actually hold me at a place like that. Fifteen years it was.
There is really no goodbyes. Maybe I should work on hardening the heart, more. Maybe if I keep doing this, one day, I'll forget what it is actually like to feel moved by anything at all.
I remember playing tic tac toe. Playing hide and seek. chess games. And as time went by, comparing marksheet and screaming when he won, comparing paintings and laughing when mine was better. And as more time went by, realizing things weren't as innocent anymore. And then as time went by, forgetting the existence of such a person as I have always done. I realize it has been years since I've played chess because it just won't be the same. Now I'll remember that I will be the one who didn't attend his funeral because, as they have said ' she didn't really care about him, he was a fool. See, she isn't even willing to attend the funeral'. As if, me watching them take him way to burn would make a fucking difference. They won't even let us see the burning, the smoke above. What measures how much a person loves her friend? Is there a scale, fucking retards.
But then, as I quietly sit here, I remember, of how, all the funerals I hold for people are very quiet and often, in my head.
I've read something that goes like, 'I'll cry on the kitchen floor, but no, I will never ask you to come back'. Yup, better off dead, my dear friend. This world is a cruel place. And we'll all be there one day. But no, won't let my voice falter. I know him too well to know he'd be actually disappointed if I spent more than a day like this. But dead people don't make rules da kanna.
It's just ice tea. I just happen to like whiskey glasses.
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