The Girl Who Doesn't Deserve Happiness

Cos that's what it is.

 I wonder how some people can just whine and throw a tantrum and yet the whole world can give in and think it's very lovable whatsoever?

 I am a person who values words spoken at a very superficial level. Aural in fact. Don't you find words poignantly beautiful? It is as though they have a life to them; hinting of the care taken to craft them, and is great proof that quantity is loosely linked to the vast amount of meaning these meager amount of strung letters possess. So be it fabricated lies; it is nonetheless music to the ears.

 It is why sometimes I am so particular about the phrasing of text, the structure of language. To me, it is not a habit - habits can be broken. It is instead something that has grown to be a part of me, for that has intertwined with my emotions and sense of binary oppositions. Without it, I might as well become an empty shell.

 And so I am easily affected by certain phrases of speech, or dissatisfied with a handful of responses sent my way. What is "good"? There are so many variations of "good" with possible extremes in intensity. How about "wonderful", to show how proud you are of someone? "Excellent", to express your approval? Or "fantastic", if you are feeling tinges of both?

"How was your day?" "It was good." Really?

And so perhaps I had myself to blame for the reactions of surrounding people during this recent terrible happenings in my life.

 "I was very sad."

 No I was not upset, nor empty. It felt like you could picture the incident in your mind, cruelly playing over and over again. The helplessness as 'you' watch it unfold, the look on the face - I can all imagine it. And at the point of collapse, you feel the gunshot straight through the heart, and the sudden tremor slaps you in the face and all at once you had to swallow the fact that he is gone, whether you like it or not. The pain was excruciating, and the tears were so raw, so unstoppable. It literally felt like a part of you had die. Less of a soul remains. And instantaneously, the mind unveils the realization that what we normally worry about, fuss about are really, really so insignificant, so tiny, so unnecessary. This was not the emotion of feeling empty; I felt so real and so full of emotions and thoughts and fictitious happenings that my brain could explode any moment.

 But how could I even mention any of this? It was too private, and honestly it is only now I am calm enough to structure these feelings into alphabets.

"Cheer up."

How?

Of course now things have improved and I am trying to drag myself through this ordeal. But it will always be something that is never going to make me happy. Sorry but I can't 'cheer up' about it.

The meaning of phrases, sentences can all be altered so easily, with a bit of effort. You can't blame me for being annoyed at lines like "not bad" and "it was okay". Then what is the difference between them? If you can't express such things then how would you expect others to know you a step better? Your preferences and likings? It is as though nothing excites or amazes you. Tardiness is not a good reason I'm sorry to say. If an unclear message was sent across then obviously not a lot of effort was placed into it, am I right? And what so special about the reader if the words received were plain, emotionless, and easy to type? Doesn't it matter that I want to know your inner thoughts a little better, to feel just a little closer to you, to connect our hearts a little closer? I don't get it.