And maybe you know, it was this feeling of being alone yet not alone that set me on the path I am now. Who knows? Who can tell the reason for being? No one. Not at all. Why did I do the way I did?
Now I think that after all the times of wanting to be alone, deep down inside, deep deep down inside myself which I don’t even know it exist until now, a part of me wants to be accepted and acknowledged. That part of me wants someone to tell me, “Yes you exist! Yes! Yes! You are the best friend I ever had!” That part certainly craves for public attention. He is the I who wants to stand on the stage and perform, the I who craves for a standing ovation and the I who wants to win awards after awards. He is the I who wants to stand out from mediocrity.
You know, I don’t blame him after all. That part of me I mean. People have always believe that they lead a unique life right? Very much special. I always hear “I have the best family in the world” or “My friends are the best people I ever met”. But have you ever consider how significant are you? How much of you really matter to the world? When I disappear from this surface of the world forever, who would care? Aside from my family members, perhaps nobody would. Who would go to my funeral? Who would be the ones crying and who would be the ones shedding crocodile tears? Who are you to me? A classmate? A visitor to my weblog no doubt. Just another statistic. Another jump in the number count. There it goes, 14,112th visitor so far. Welcome!!
The 4 million smiles. Did I really smile? Was I even in there? Did the delegates even bothered? Statistics again.
Me. 1 person in a sea of 4.4 million people. I account for 0.00000022 percent of the people which the Government is concerned about.
Us. Singaporeans in an ocean of 6.5 billion people. 0.00066 percent of the world’s population. What a drop in the ocean.
Me. A Singaporean in the ocean. Negligible. What I do with my average lifespan of 70 years isn’t probably going to interest the world at all.
Perhaps I had already acknowledged this fact: that I was only a statistic, when I was in high school. I began to sink deeper and deeper into oblivion. Not caring who was beside or who wasn’t.
Or did I really do that? You see, even memories lie. They only remember what we want to remember. Humans embellish the truth to their own advantages.
There is no truth.
And faced with this bleak fact, perhaps I did really sink into oblivion. It was also during that period where my thoughts turned “dark”, for the lack of a better word. What word can describe suicidal? I wanted to see how death was like, how it was like to end everything? But people told me that was escaping away from reality. It was a weak-minded person’s solution to everything he cannot solve. Nobody wanted to know what is the feeling before a person dies. What really runs through your mind when you are about to die? Prayer to God? Does it hurt when you die? And how about after you die? What happens? To say that curiosity kills the cat in this matter wouldn’t be incorrect.
So it probably began from here. My period of “thinking too much” or “sensitivity”. Some people call me sensitive, too sensitive in fact. Am I then? That is the me in them that they are thinking of, not the true me though. Do I even care about what they think? No. If I am not “sensitive” as they call it, I wouldn’t be writing this. Hundreds of posts before this wouldn’t even exist either. And I have been termed “emo” as well. Generally I see it as a derogatory term. “Emo” seemingly refers to something that is fashionably sensitive and melancholic I think, a term that came about because of all the “emo” bands sprouting over in the States during a certain period of time, not too long ago.
As mentioned earlier on, I retreated from the crowd because of this period of sensitivity. I wasn’t concerned with anything anymore. Prevalent societal traits became meaningless to me. Playing soccer with the rest of my class? Maybe. The occasional indulgence allows me to keep up to date with certain events of interest. But I have no interest in ball games whatsoever. None at all. Basketball? Same thing goes. I played just for the sake of belonging. But once that motive passed, I gave it up. No point in forcing something.
As I advanced on towards college, the absence of such traits became even more obvious. Seldom do I speak to my class and if at all, do it in as little number of words as possible. I don’t even know what was I trying to prove that time. What could I have gained by being anti-social?
Again, like what people say, hindsight is perfect. I don’t know whether mine is though but it seems as though being anti-social was my way of standing out from the crowd. Only by maintaining a state of absence in the crowd could I make my presence felt. Was that what I was really trying to do?
Technorati: musings, writing, prose, fiction, short stories, death, emo, from autumn to ashes, melancholy, dreams, singapore dream, singapore, sensitivity, college, high scholl, elementary school, world population, singapore population, truth, 4 million smiles, anti-social