Erased

I wonder where all the lost hopes and dreams of people in the world go to. Is there a gigantic container that contains all these discarded ambitions that never came to fruition? Is this container at the saddest place on earth, or some unexplored cave in an undiscovered part of the world? Or is it somewhere out of this world already, way up high or deep down low, hidden from the beautiful world so as not to demoralise the hopeful masses?

It's the start of a new month, and probably a less than epic conclusion to a horrible one. The month of May has been unnervingly disastrous for me. The month has been arduously long and dramatic that I will never expect myself to want to live it ever again.

I closed my eyes for awhile and imagined what the month has brought upon me. And alas, I see jealousy, disappointment, resentment, unhappiness, wilfulness, disobedience, irresponsibility, blaming and finger-pointing, miscommunications, cowardice, and action-packed ridicules. So many emotions were evoked in such a short time. I can't deny that the month has also brought about some happiness and relaxation, but they have been so ephemeral that it almost seems too hard to negate the mass of the undesirable feelings. I have never believed in the magnitude of atrocities in this world. A disappointment is a disappointment, and wilfulness is wilfulness; there is no slight cowardice or minor miscommunication, because it just does not happen this way. Undesirables would never have a magnitude - in any amount it would make one unhappy. When I feel unhappy I won't insist I feel less unhappy or not-that-happy.

I've tried and failed many times. In my life, I've learned that if things don't go your way, you have to let it go, or the only 2 ways it will eventually go are 1) You hurt too many people on the way due to your insistence; a price too great to justify your intentions, or 2) You'll never learn to listen, and you'll never discover the talents and brilliance others have to offer. Because in life, no matter how much you choose to ignore this fact of life: The world does not revolve around you - it always comes back to haunt you. Maybe it's just me, or a part of me that is so reluctant to let go or pretend that certain things did not happen. I hate myself for that. I believe in poetic justice. I want to believe that poetic justice exists. But sometimes it doesn't. And therefore it doesn't.

It's undeniably the most difficult to let go of the things that make everyone feel unfairly treated or double-standardised, especially when the people who cry because of these things are people who believe in justice. Please hold my hand tight, and tell me that everything's gonna be okay, even if someone decides to be less than expected. Teach me how to let go, how to live a lie, and how to close an eye. Because I can't do it alone.

Episode by episode my story unfolds, to the extent that I can almost be read like a book. I am utterly jealous because you have what I yearn for. It isn't a great deal, but it's a big enough deal to make me feel undone. I remember just before I went for my course, I told myself that I wanna do well for it. Some part of me determined that I should top it. And that's something special about me - sometimes I feel that I can channel all my focus and drive into one single aim and execute it with such vigour and determination that I can be certain that I will succeed; like how I promised to score full marks for my Math test in my Primary School streaming exam, which I did (and that was the only time the miracle of a full marks ever happened to me btw), like how I decided that I wanted to score 2 points for my 'O' Levels, which I did, and like how I wanted so badly to prove my worth to you. But in the end, it's me that you don't trust. It's me that has been a disappointment in your eyes. It's me that's less than adequate. It's me that underperformed. It's me that screwed it up. I'm not clamouring for attention - don't get me wrong. I never wanted to claim credit or fame for what I do. I just take so much pride in what I do that it hurts me to know you disapprove. And there's nothing I can do about it.

Because I have been a fool for too long. I've been a fool too long to not realise that I've always been the substitute. But I won't complain, because life has been fair to me. I get my fair share too, and hence there's really nothing much to complain about. After all, our paths will probably never cross again.

You can let go of my hand now.  

I want to believe that poetic justice exists. But sometimes it doesn't. And therefore it doesn't.

This thought has been locked into my head. I have truly let it go.