DISCLAIMER: This post might possibly be too dark for some…
Over the last few months, going by the little blessings that have visited his way, his outlook on life should have improved considerably. And it would have if he were just another troubled soul, but he is not. He should be thinking of the inevitability of death and the ultimate meaninglessness of human existence a lot less than he did about half a year back. But…
You could even say he should have already become considerably more positive in life. But you would be wrong, because he still carries a great deal of skepticism in him. And many are the times you will make a promise to him, and he will stare blankly at you and nod as if his head rests on a pair of highly ductile shock absorbers. On the occasions that he responds with words, they will be labored because his head carries more weight than it should.
Often times, he will seem fine because after all, he weighs more than 90 Kgs and stands at about 180 centimeters. That’s about 6 feet tall. And his skin is still the color of freshly caught tilapia.
By all indications therefore, he is an okay fella, a healthy fella, and dare I say, a good looking fella.
Telling by a simple glance, you would be forgiven for concluding that he is a normal guy. Because he can still laugh at your jokes, and even make a few of his own – often inappropriate ones. But he is not normal – not by a mile and a half.
None of us really is anyway.
Only those who have known him for as long a while as I have will tell you that he is just but a shell of the person he once was. His laughter for instance is remarkably shorter than it used to be back in the day. And his smile no longer covers the corners of his mouth like it used to a few years ago.
It could be the weight of the world squeezing out the joy in him. Or it could simply be that he is no longer as innocent as he used to be.
Life done killed the child in him.
He now talks in a deeper register and his words are chosen and calculated a great deal before escaping his head.
If you have known him for as long as I have, you may realize that he no longer enjoys the things he used to.
He cannot watch movies with the gusto he did before.
He no longer eats with the zeal that he used to before, and he will often find excuses to skip his meals.
You may also notice that he often takes longer and hotter showers because he must be mulling over the meaning of his life in the shower. Or fighting the demons of suicidal thoughts. Or trying to wash away the feelings of hopelessness.
His asthma has gotten worse and there are mornings when he will be unable to wake up because his respiratory system took a beating in the cold of the night.
He now sleeps a lot more than he used to, and he forces himself to wake up more often than he would prefer to.
The kind of music he listens to is rather sad and he will often shed a tear or two as he internalizes the lyrics. Because only music provides an escape from this cruel cruel world where even expectant mothers can be raped and then stabbed to death.
Many are the times that he will blast the music right into his eardrums to numb away any pain that he feels or to kill the sadness that sits in his soul.
His phone will rarely ring because he done isolated every single person who may call him.
He lives in his own island. An archipelago filled with thoughts of human mortality, and the constant desire to end it all.
That may be the reason why thoughts of death and the end of times occupy the center of his mind.
Somewhere in him, sometime back, despite all the positivity that can be found on earth, the music that played in his soul just died and left a void so deep and ugly that even he refuses to look into. His entire being now sits in a quiet corner in a big vacuum of despair, fighting demons that very few people- if any at all- will ever understand.