Invisible Man

I feel like empathy is a petty thing to ask for and I would rather not be sympathized with. Sometimes I just want to be heard and don't care about the response. Sometimes.

4 years ago exactly, I was spending the day with my dad and we had each other in hysteric laughs on and off. That's something about my dad that I love so much: he is me. And we both think, we both feel, and we try to solve universal problems like scholars. On this particular day, however, it was just us spending time together, smiling. As the sun began to set and the air was getting crisp we passed a wreck and began joking about being heroes and saving the people inside because he could run fast and I was super strong in our fantasy world.

Now, this probably all seems really stupid, as do the majority of day to day conversations. But this particular exchange of words will always have importance to me because it would be a while before we were happy together again.

The body pulled out of that car would be a boy, a 17 year old. Kurry. He would sit next to me at lunch, but never again. He would make everyone in the proximity laugh, but never again. He was just gone. Not many people realize how it effects an individual when someone just disappears.

This is the day that changed my life. Not because of his death, but because it was the start of a chain of events that no one had the power to stop. A chain of events that I would spend countless hours, that I was supposed to be sleeping, crying over. 

And today, I don't feel sad.

I don't feel much of anything. 

And I can't decide why.

Somber. 

I don't find myself wishing he was alive for my sake.

For his mothers? Yes. For his little brothers? Yes.

But I know it will never be for me again. 

Today, I am sad for everyone else. I am especially sad for my older sister who, before she had dropped out, had become closer to him than I would ever be. 

And for me, he's just a missing person. 

Here's to happiness and clarity.

I've been doing this all wrong. You see I'm not a bit sad. I'm completely content with EVERYTHING. I just get cynical some days and this skewed view is a consequence. But when I think about it, the ratio of days I write cynical blogs to the days i do not is extremely low. 

I'm happy; I'm happy.

Soy diferente.

You.

The you I talk about, the you I address.

Do you even know who you are?

Some times I don't even know who you are, so don't be afraid to be confused. 

I'm confused too. 

I used to be able to critically analyze everything and spit out the logical answer like an android. The problem now is that I feel everything so deeply instead of brushing it all off. I can't decipher fact from emotion. It's all so beautiful yet deadly. And no one will acknowledge the fact that there is this other thing happening in our society, this numbness that is enjoyed by the mass. Emotion isn't real, it's just this thing generated by our need to be like those around us. Unimportant things have become so important to our drowning generation. I can't name it, but I can put my finger on it.

I just don't want to be part of it; I just can't be part of it. Instead, I observe everything, wondering how we became such melted plastic, regurgitating the lies we have been told about EVERYTHING. It's the lies about how life really is. We paint each other this beautiful facade of happiness and the american dream and all the stuff that comes with it that and it's just unrealistic. Life's always going to feel the same and you're always going to have to work to gain any amount of pleasure. This silver platter idea that we have in our heads is poisoning our perspective.You don't just get to a point in your life when you can stop planning and just live. We have psyched ourselves into believing in this stagnant life style in which we are always getting to do what we want, when we want, with no budget and no concerns. 

I say that it's all a fake, but like the other 7 billion people here, I believe that I'm going to get there someday and I'll be so happy.

We'll never make it. And I'm so sorry :(.