What are you supposed to do when…
you can’t find a reason to smile anymore? What are you supposed to do when your world comes crashing down on you and nothing can get you on your feet again? What do you do when the ones you love aren’t there for you? What do you do when the idea of hurting yourself enters your mind? What am I supposed to do? I’m so lost.
The Day I Realized Humanity Is Cruel
It’s pretty insane that I found out this fact when I was 10. To some that may seem premature, but to me it came too late. I went 10 years of my life thinking that humans are friendly beings. I thought everyone possessed empathy, but I thought wrong. Let me tell you why I think that humans are cruel creations.
It was around mid-February and I was 10 years old. My home caught on fire and everything was annihilated. I find some irony in the situation because when we bought the home, I remember asking my mom “What if our house catches on fire?” as my mom lit a scented candle to fill our new dwelling. She responded,”That will never happen. Don’t you worry about it.” Well, my mom didn’t know that it was going to happen. And, it wasn’t long after we had bought the home for all our personal belongings to disappear forever. I recall crying the night of this horrible catastrophe and I feel my eyes water as I write this. I absolutely hated seeing my mother bawling. I could read her face like an open book. Her eyes said something along the lines as What am I going to do? We had nothing. We didn’t have a roof over our heads that was home to us. Our lives changed forever.
The next day, I had to go to school. I didn’t want to go but my mom forced me to in order to get the troubles off my mind. So, I got aboard my school bus with hesitation.That’s when it happened. Kids were laughing at me. Yes, you read it right. They were laughing. No, they weren’t sympathetic one bit. I felt as if someone kicked me in the heart. As we passed the place where my two-story house used to stand, the kids on the bus made fun of me. I still don’t understand how people could be so mean even until this day. I know they were young, but this doesn’t phase me. It doesn’t matter if you are 4 or 94, you have to show compassion and sympathy towards others who are suffering.
I’m shaking my head and frowning right now. Whenever I think about those kids, I want to take action. I wish I could change people to feel not hate. It’s out of my control. Cruel is just another word to describe humanity.
Listen,
I know I’m different. I’m not like most people. I hate when the bright spotlight shines down on me. I blend into the scenery, a wallflower. That’s who I am and I have come to accept that. I don’t want to be like you. The idea of being obnoxious and loud makes me cringe. I like to withdraw myself from the world around me sometimes. The peace and quiet fills me with delight. Oh how I love the word quiet. It makes me sigh with relief. The stress diminishes. I can be me. I’m comfortable. I guess it’s weird to you that I can be quite bipolar in my moods. One minute I’ll be in the midst of conversation while the next I shut down as silence blesses me. It makes me laugh that you are the one to fill a room with your deafening voice as conversations take a brief pause. Why can’t you let that moment linger? I don’t understand it, but you don’t understand me. So, it all works out. I’ll come to you when I’m looking for a quick chat and you can come to me if you need a shoulder to cry on.
Prompt:There’s a guy sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper…
This morning, I woke up to a wonderful surprise. My cramped apartment situated in the chaotic city of Manhattan did not have any unpleasantly cold drafts as I crept to my tiny kitchen that is equipped with a refrigerator, a stove, a sink, and limited counter space in just my pajama bottoms and plaid flannel robe. As I brewed myself a cup of joe, I switched my outdated televison set located in my living room to channel 3. Every morning I would watch my favorite news station. It surpassed all of the other three local news stations for its accuracy in predicting the weather and the fascinating news stories that got my sleepy brain to wake. I left the room to begin making my favorite breakfast(scrambled eggs with a side of hashbrowns) after the always breathtaking news anchor, Rita Jones, read a story of a murder that happened in the city last night into the camera. Those were the stories that made me shiver and wonder what was wrong with the human race. I won’t say I’m a pessimist but when I look at people, I am.
I cracked a second egg against the green frying pan as I hummed a made-up tune. My humming ended when I heard the chipper voice of Robert Rhodes, the best meteorologist in New York City, come from my television. I expected to hear him say the high temperature for the day would be 36 degrees fahrenheit and possibly a chance of rain. It is the third week in February. It’s only normal to expect such weather. However, Rhodes surprised all his viewers, including myself, when he said the high for the day was going to be 58 degrees, and no cloud in sight. I felt like a child who just found out they had no school due to snow as I practically vacuumed my breakfast off the plate and made a quicker change than an actress in a play. I grabbed my light jacket and was on my way to where I am at the present time. Central Park.
I like to come here whenever I find the time. In the winter, it is difficult to motivate myself to walk in the slush and sleet. My last visit here was late December during the holidays. I enjoy people-watching and the holiday season is the best time to do so. Before I made my way down to the park, I stopped at a news stand on the sidewalk. My eyes glistened over the variety of magazines: from Playboy to People. I can’t understand why someone would buy either. Anyway, I purchased the New York Times, the newspaper I prefer, and walked casually to an empty bench in Central Park. The park is busier than I have seen it in a while. An old woman sits at the other edge of the bench. I give her a kind smile and say “good morning” which she returns happily. I open up my newspaper and find the story of the day. Of course. The story covered is the murder Rita Jones explained on TV. Well, that story is definitely not my cup of tea. I look over to the next page only to find two recent kidnappings of innocent children. Then, suicides. And homicides. And a gun shooting. I can’t take it anymore. I close the paper abruptly and by accident, crumple the pages. I lay the newspaper down on the bench closer to myself than the delightful old lady who is now reading the novel Pride and Prejudice. She reads silently with a sweet smile on her wrinkled face. I can tell by her complexion and dazzling, ocean blue eyes she must have been gorgeous during her youth. How can this harmless woman live in a treacherous environment? My eyes catch sight of three children playing frisbee with who must betheir father. The children, who consist of two boys and a younger girl, laugh as they leap to grasp the red frisbee in their little hands. Who would think of kidnapping a young girl like that, with curly yellow hair and a frilly dress? It’s sickening to think of such actions. Why, God, why? This park only has a handful of visiters at the moment but they all seem…normal and moral. Yet, someone wants to hurt them. Someone out there would do it in a heartbeat. At this point, I’m sick to my stomach. I crush the print in my hand, which is dampened from the wet bench, and throw it in the nearest trash bin. I storm off aimlessly as I rustle my unkept hair and rub my aching forehead. I try to stop my eyes from filling up with tears but I can’t as a tear trickles down my face and the old woman rushes to my side to ask what is wrong. I stop myself from crying and smile faintly. I laugh slightly and say, “Oh. Well, I guess I just needed to be reminded.Thanks.” She seemed confused by my response but said,”All right then. Have a wonderful day, my dear boy” as she gave a smile and walked away. I don’t think she heard me as I whispered I will. I feel despondent when I look at people but I can’t help but feel sanguineous by individuals like her.
Safety
Where must one go in this day and age when they become severely exasperated? Every human being needs to follow their idiosyncratic ways to escape the commotion of the world yet these actions only lead to more fatalities in the 21st centry. For me, whenever I witness another argument at the dinner table, I like to make the impetuous decision of grabbing my bicycle in the garage and heading out on an adventure to Nowhere. However, I’m beckoned by the clock ticking in my kitchen and the calendar that is securely taped to my refrigerator. It’s currently 2011 and those actions are not acceptable.
In today’s world, safety can be characterized as fiction, almost like a noble unicorn in a magical land. My father tells me stories from his childhood about riding his bike into town every afternoon after his tiresome day of schooling. It was safe then. No kidnappers running around looking for their prey. It was okay to ride into the dark hours as the bats and owls began to wake. Though it wasn’t the safest decision a young child could make, it was more widely accepted.
I yearn for my father’s freedom, for that ebullient rush of joy. I hate what the world has become. I can’t walk out my front door without locking it instantly. I must fasten my seatbelt tight in every car I set foot in because of the irresponsible and reckless drivers on the roads. I worry about my fellow students bringing arms to school over their rage and hatred. I have to hug my purse to my chest when I take a visit to the busy city streets. I experience the strict security at the always tedious airports because of the increasing terrorist attacks. I can’t ride my bike into the sunset for my fear of being snatched or even killed overwhelms me. I am not safe because I live in this world.
Contradictions.
They say I’m pretty, but I’m not.
I’m told I’m quiet, but I’m loud.
They think I’m smart, but they’re mistaken.
I think I’m friendly, but I’m told otherwise.
I have talents, but no one clarifies.
I believe I’m funny, but I come off as menacing.
They say I will live a lonely life, but I hunger for love.
I appear relaxed, but I’m anxious.
Everyone thinks I’m happy, but I’m sad.
I thought I knew who I was, but I don’t.
My Dream Last Night.
It was summertime. The sky was clear and their was a hint of humidity in the air. My mother and I decided to rent a quaint, two-story home just blocks from the water. It was just the two of us. Two people, mother and daughter, looking for an escape from our usual routine, even if it was the summer. Little did we know that my life was going to change.
A knock appeared on the door. It was early afternoon and silence filled the home. My mom opened the door and a young,handsome man introduced himself. He was a neighbor of the residence in which we were spending our retreat. He had been living next door ever since he was young and he had good relations with the owners. He appeared strong because of his built physique. He offered to help us with getting around the town or just any problems at all. He had a white, straight smile like a model you may see in a magazine. He looked like a model. Nobody could deny that he was good looking. It was an accepted fact.
I politely interrupted the conversation he was having with my mother and asked him of his age. I wasn’t fooled. He seemed to be in his late teenage years just like myself and I was right as he answered “seventeen” with that pretty smile. He was so different than the boys I usually fancied but I couldn’t help swooning and becoming weak in the knees.
My mom left us to talk as she now was aware he was my age. Not only was I looking for a fun, relaxing summer, I wanted to meet a few new friends that would change my life forever. We immediately clicked. Our conversations flourished and as the days went by, I found every thought of mine containing him somewhere within it. Sooner than I thought would ever be imaginable, we kissed. It was magical. I was shy as I pulled away but he mirrored my emotions. He was timid about love. We both were. We didn’t experience much of it yet in our short lives.
I pictured myself returning to school in the fall, telling my girl friends all about him as they giggled obnoxiously along with myself. Then, I told my guy friends as they appeared a bit jealous over this “guy” who they felt they could never live up to. He was all I could think of. He was everything to me. My mom couldn’t help but mimic my inner happiness. She didn’t think true, fairtytale love existed but she was experiencing it right in front of her bare eyes. She repeatedly told me, “I haven’t been this happy in such a long time.” Everything was falling into place all because of him. I desperately wanted to find love and I finally found it in an unexpected place and in an unexpected person.
Peace.
Peace is imagination. It is creating a serene and nonviolent world within one’s mind. It is a utopia society where war is never fought and love is always given. Peace is a figment of the imagination. It is an illusion. A clever and creative nonentity. More or less, it is a hallucination. Peace. Peace is fictional.
Why do I say this? Well, it’s quite simple. There is so much animosity and corruption in this world that there is no way it could disappear. Some people are born crazed. Oddly enough, human beings have an obsession for warfare and weaponry. They take their antagonism against another individual by killing them. It’s sad. Why would one do that to another? Thousands of innocent people are killed daily because people rather create hostilities than harmony. There are approximately 6.8 billion people living in this world and a peace agreement among all of those inhabitants is impossible as counting all the stars in the sky.
Even though perfect harmony is surreal, I will still advocate peace and I hope others continue to do the same. It is just wishful thinking. Besides, it is soothing to slip into a world of peace and love. It is time to turn off the television, which showcases the killings and conflicts on the planet, and imagine a healthy, peaceful society.
Love of my life.
Have you seen this boy? He’s tall and slender with a charming laugh. His smile is enchanting and very bright. His hair is dark and long. It’s playful. It tends to dangle in his dark green eyes but he doesn’t mind. His fingers appear elongated as they drape the neck of his acoustic guitar. A pleasant melody environs any location in which he plays his masterpiece. He is the master of the instrument which he plays so dear. He does not converse much for he likes the peace and quiet but when he crosses paths with a person he is fond of, his educated and articulate dialogue is captivating and inspirational. He is there when a friend needs a helping hand. He helps beggars and strangers and family and friends. He is great with children and wants a family of his own someday. He believes in the Lord who gave him life. He prays daily and attends church every Sunday. He treats his woman like a princess. He holds her hand and kisses her unexpectedly on the cheek. When he sees his princess is distressed, he makes her smile with that charming laugh. He likes to listen about her day. Every song he writes on his guitar is about her and he serenades to her every night before the light goes out. He dances with her clumsily in the kitchen and in public places to make her beam with happiness. No matter how she looks, he tells her she is beautiful. No matter how busy he is, he makes plans with her. He never cheats on her or leaves her. He is always by her side. He loves her more than anything else and he makes sure she knows by telling her constantly. He can’t go on living life without her. He’s perfect and ideal. Have you seen him? Well, he’s lost. Where? In my limitless dreams. He is in the reveries before I close my eyes and drift away into sleep where I find him once more. Something tells me he’s never going to escape.
Life.
Why exactly is life abstruse? If you think deeply about it, life doesn’t require such complex thought yet we find ourselves lost in a world of chaos and confusion. Instead of accepting life as an aesthetic gift, we ponder our reason of being and spend endless hours in a day wondering what “life” really is. We are only given a short time to do what we have to do and then it is time to say farewell. But what exactly is “the end” like? Is it “the end” that closes up a fairytale story as we fade into an enchanted eternity in heaven or an “end” to our overall existence? Life and death cross our minds everyday no matter how we spend our time. We get 100 years in a lifetime, if we are lucky, but most of that time is spent wasted as we cry and moan about how dreadful and morbid our lives are. Some even decide to return the gift back and take an unnecessary exit out the highest window they can find. There is no reason to be so abased. Not all of us are blessed with prosperity and an affable personality but life isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s not easy and it definitely does not come along with an instruction manual. God, or whoever/whatever created this world, has good intentions and purposes for the creation of life. They didn’t mean for you to spend time thinking about why we are here and our flaws. Don’t think about your final bow. Don’t worry about a life without a heaven. Life will run its course, whatever that means. We don’t know what that course looks like and we aren’t meant to. Life is a gift so receive it with open arms.
