Wandering with the Wind...

Saturday, June 18, 2011

There's so much to think about ever since we found his site on google. What originally started off as a form of friendly curiosity ended in the discovery of things so long unknown, so absolutely unknown that we were blown off our seats in that tiny instant. How can someone be so different? Whatever happened to him? Why is he the way he is now, a sad and lonely soul too distant to be embraced?

He was such a brilliant young man, and I'm sure that right now, deep inside, he is still that brilliant young man in one way or another. We just can't see it because of how far apart from him we're standing. Perhaps he is hiding for some unspeakable reason, or we're just sand-blind, but whichever way it is, an enormous, crucial observation has just scaled up the bridge of our nose, past our eyes and up into thin air. His english was gorgeous on the site, his essays full of wise contemplation and psychoanalytical philosophies that kept me reading and craving for more. I feel ashamed to have never seen or hazarded a guess about that part of him; what appeared to me, and which I accepted, was an aged man with not much up his sleeve and whose vain attempts at art (after being a chem teacher) was somehow plaintive in some ways.

How wrong I have been! How wrong I still am right now! It unnerves me that I can be so unobservant, so blind and unseeing that I eventually succumbed to taking him for who he appears to be.

Now, how am I to return to school and face my coursework? I am making a mockery of myself. Instead of being that perceiving soul standing up from the rest of the crowd, I am just as blind as the crowd is, blindfolded and unseeing, even if I may be aware of another direction I would wish to take off in. And there he is, trying his best to help me complete that hypocritical artwork. How ironic, how satirical my artwork can be in terms of admonishing myself! Self-portrait alright, I think it really fits, despite in a crude way, to be one right now.

Reading what he wrote drew me back into my old blogposts and those diary entries when I was a kid. I was surprised at how similar some of our thoughts were; our depression, our desperation, our fears at losing our grasp on the reins of an untamed creature like life. Deep beneath that aged face and slightly irritating demeanor is a poor soul just like the rest of us, with the same experiences and perhaps more. For once I felt this strong urge to reach down to him, reach out to him, to pull him out from his pit of misery. This is not a heroic action a matyr would do. It is simple, basic human kindness. I want to help him. I want to help him because of how human he is, how much like us he is.

Ever since the start of the year I just knew something was a little amiss about him. When many people urged me to join in the blasts of criticism targeted at him, what I saw was a sad, sad soul, so immensely lonely and forlorn, shrinking from the hurt and pain of exclusion. He needed understanding and acceptance. You could tell it just from looking at his eyes, that timidness, the slight hesitation sometimes when he speaks which makes me cringe. He's expecting rejection, expecting to be taunted and teased. And yet at one point in time my earthly emotions overshadowed my more perceiving intuition, and I yielded to the onslaught of negative feelings towards him. I felt so annoyed, so furious with some of things he did. I couldn't understand why he does things that way. I couldn't understand why he couldn't be a different person.

And now I can't understand why I didn't see that different person in him.

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~~~*Played with the winds at 11.40am*~~~

Aurinya blogged at 11:41 AM

Roaming the Winds