Everybody’s hurting

In the news yesterday, a girl accidentally killed her sister carelessly while drunk driving. She sounded apathetic when she talked. I felt sharp anger towards her. I thought she didn’t deserve this world nor this life anymore. She was a disgrace to society; a murderer of her own innocent sister. She seemed to sound crazy when she talked. She looked emotionless; it was as if she was possessed. She’s the type that no one will ever understand. She’s probably hurt. This world is full of hurt. Full of walking souls; miserable, in pain. In the end, I wanted to give her a hug. I imagined the faraway and numb look on her face.

I wanted to go home and hug my little sister. I’d give up a limb for her.

I got confronted at the bus stop several weeks back. It wasn’t a big deal but I still recall how I chose to remain silent and composed while the bus driver laughed.

I got yelled by the same guy for a mistake he made while he was inattentive. I’m sure he realized his mistake and felt bad afterwards, but I still got hurt.

When my mom yells at me due to frustrations in her own life, I know she’s not the perpetrator and nor am I the victim. I just know that sometimes we get treated as people’s punching bags. Sometimes it hurts being passive; people really may not know how sensitive I really am inside. It hurts me, and my eyes moisten in the silence amid darkness. But the sounds of crickets at night whisper to me that they really do know. My sensitivity is as clear as daylight; it really isn’t something that I could ever hide very well. Yet I understand why we get treated as punching bags. The perpetrators are hurting as much as the victims themselves. Everybody’s swimming in a sea of hurt. A dead man killed on the cross is a hurtful sight that’s inspired an entire religion. We’re all just walking around carrying our own stories and burdens. It’s a quiet world if we just let our minds hush. It’s a loving world if we just look into each other’s teary eyes.

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Dark hallway mission

The voice tells me to get into the elevator and to go to a certain floor. I do so as told. Instinct tells me to walk down the hallway. There’s promise of a grand prize; the greatest thing, the highest goal. There’s supposed to be something that I’ve always wanted at the finish. I’m told to open the door. I do so.
And there you stand, behind that door
wearing a black and white tuxedo. Your chiseled face looking even sharper against the shadows. Your creamy skin and shiny hair, contrasting each other. Your glass-like eyes, contracting in the spotlight directed at you.
You are fully attentive and looking at me,
but with a look of worry. Wordlessly, you give a notion that you want me back, that you’re begging for me now. That you’re willing to disregard everything for me and that I could too, for you.
But there’s something unkind, untrustworthy, and cold about this whole new setup. There’s doubt brewing in my gut.
There’s an uneven tune playing in my ears.
And there’s a sad, tragic, unstoppable feeling,
that I wished it were true.

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Magical bird

In my childhood, I saw something on TV that stuck with me. This guy entered an empty house full of… birds? They flew around in slow motion. They shined. They were women. It was a house full of beautiful women. They smiled and they greeted each other silently. They walked around in slow motion. He observed them as he walked between them and around then. A woman, with a sweater on, looked at his direction and smiled. He smiled idly and waved back at her. She walked towards him and his happiness lingered with a sigh of relief. She walked past him and greeted her friend. His smiled dropped. It was as if he was completely nonexistent.

I’d say hi to him. I wouldn’t ignore him. I’d comfort him. I’d lead him through this oddly foreign territory. I’d smile next to him. I’d put my head on his shoulder and link my arm to his. We’d sit on the sofa underneath the ray of sunlight penetrating through the window. I’d look at him and he’d look at me, and we’d be lost in each other’s eyes in a vast blue sea of wonder. We’d form a pyramid with our finger tips. I would whisper of love and my dreams and fill the void in his empty heart. It’s true. That’s what I’d do, if I were a magical bird.

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