In the depth of that night, while the sun was sleeping, she was like the moon; part of her was shining and part of her was in terrible sorrow. It is hard to smile when half you is dying. There were noises in the quite night. The thoughts that people let go before they sleep hung in chaos in the air. The weights of these thoughts were weighing her down.
Ana worships Sartre and she can’t decide whether his genius has made or broke her life. At 23 she is familiar to the death that someone must constantly live in order to experience life; the emotions, the words, the feelings, the time and circumstances that pass only once. The people who must make the society, they break it instead.
The whole world is a circle, revolving and whirling. She is trapped inside, nauseous and wanting to get out. Sometimes when the world slows down she would watch as it turns, witnessing and grieving. She watches the world and the world never did the same.
She remembered her friends and how they all smile in every photo of them that were etched in her memory. Her friends who’s been with her through all the happy moments, were never there when she was crying in front of a blank word document. Loneliness is a room, closed and locked. Her friends did not try to barge in. Nobody kicked the door except her. She always has to save herself when she’s in need. And she saves her friends too, when they’re in need.
“Please come with us, it is happier when you’re around.”
How selfish is that remark?
They’re only happy when she’s around because they have someone to laugh about. Her social skills may be awkward but she’s real. She never wanted to hurt people. Words for her are precious. She won’t make a person feel bad with something that makes her feel good. Her friends needed to laugh, they laughed at her, but she never laughed along with them.
She needed to runaway and search for a place inside her soul. That place where she could sit silently and be herself; a place where happiness can’t be found inside a bottle, a place where men does not exist to dominate her feelings. Her friends had poured her with too much of their selves and all of them were stored inside her. She’s a glass full of other people’s frustration, insecurities, disappointments and pain.
Ana packed the dvds, she watched those films till some of the scenes happened in her life; the cds, she listened to them till half of her brain became a portable storage of hundred of those songs; the band shirts, she wore them to every concert that robbed her. She packed the memories placed it inside a box and burned them. The fire blazed as if it was laughing and mocking her for those times she gave herself to others. For a moment she wanted to jump into the fire. But no, the fire is other people; they burn your true self reducing you to worthless ashes of what has been their own invented puppet.
To hell with them.
