I shouldn’t have done that: loitering on Facebook, trespassing into everyone’s privacy (as if there is such a thing), asking, begging, buying everyone’s attention so that I could burn a minute or two with somebody, anybody, and not feel alone.
I have become a joke to everyone I knew, a joke that people laugh at under their breaths, behind closed doors and closed windows, in the stillness of the silence after I have stood up and left the table, in the face of my much humiliated life. I have become both an irony and a tragedy to them in the saddest, most exaggerated form and sense. I have turned into a cliche, a very unfavorable one, in which people turn at me and remember something that’s both depressing and ugly.
It caught me by surprise, as much as by disappointment, upon noticing that when people talk to me, whether on Facebook or in person, they usually do it with quite care, as if I am a fragile piece of crystal that’s going to break with every word, any time, any where. People think I have issues. We all have issues but with me people think it’s quite different. People think I am in constant pain,which I really am, but in which none of them has to mention or be particular about. People think I am breaking, hurting all at the same time and that that is all I have for living. At the end of every conversation, when all the words are put exactly in its place, when the tongue grows weary of telling tales, people sigh with their heavy breaths and feel sorry for the pain that they do not, will not, can not, understand. They all wish me well, hope that I am happy, but beneath it all, they pray that they won’t end up like me, sick and half-dead, while the other half is on its way to dying.
People ask me on Facebook how I am, how I’m doing. You don’t really answer that with the truth, you make up half-baked answers: answers that are close enough to the truth but still leaves a part of yourself that is beyond anybody’s reach. Because seriously they won’t understand.
Everything’s that’s said and done on Facebook are all just mechanical. More so contagious, like some sort of a disease that lure people to log in on their computer and be consumed by the devouring public. Even the smiley faces and icon hearts are all just part of the entire idiosyncratic machinery. You try to find people to talk to on Facebook, you introduce yourself (sometimes you can skip that step), talk about everything under the sun, laugh at the most mundane matters, agree on some things, disagree, but not much. Say goodbye, say goodnight. But pretty much not feel satisfied. You want real people to talk to, real words. You find none of them in the real world so you decide to shut out once again. You lie in bed thinking their lives are better and yours suck. You think about a lot of regrets in the past that cannot be undone. You realize things are happening again: the people in the present slowly turns to be the people in the past until each and everyone of them become indistinguishable from each other. They meet you, they have you, they love you, they hate you, they leave you. Then back to full circle again.
Wow, talk about eternal recurrence. Except for the fact that Nietzsche made it sound so poetically beautiful but in reality it sucks, big time.