Thursday, February 4, 2010

Well, I'm having trouble eating again. Food just makes me want to vomit.

And I can't sleep to save my life, either.

This bed is so empty.

These nights are so cold.

I came to a bit of a realization tonight. As I sat in the cafeteria, alone for dinner as usual, I came to the realization that I am not special.

I'm to the point now where I recognize probably every fourth person that I see on campus. I keep seeing the same people over and over and over again. All these random strangers. All these faces that I've grown to know and love. All these people whose lives I would love to share. Not out of nosiness, but out of curiosity. And maybe a distant hint of love and care. I look at them and theirs, reading the happiness in their faces, wondering what sort of stories and passions they have hidden away behind those eyes. And they look back. They look back long enough to register that there is a person sitting in that chair over there before resuming their business. And that's fine. That split second is enough for me. I revel in that brief but telling moment of human contact. That moment right before eye contact is broken. That nanosecond right before the mutual glance turns awkwardly to an unnerving stare. That indistinguishable but definite moment when neither party wants to look away. That moment when time hesitates, and barriers break down, both beings stripped bare and turned to the most beautiful, primal spirits.

And then time continues, unaffected and unbroken, as both heads turn away, ignoring completely the transaction that just occurred.

It was upon contemplation of this that I came to my realization. I sat there listening with only my ears to the conversations around me, taking them in. Three about who did what at the party last night. One about a guy and his bitch of a girlfriend. Another about a good book. I sat there and listened and realized: I am not special. I, much like everybody else in the crowd, am just a lonely face to be glanced upon, briefly brought into focus, and then swiftly forgotten.

When I drive, feeling every ounce of resistance in every push of the pedals and every unit of frictional force acting upon the tires as I turn the wheel, my car moves just like every other car.

When I do my homework assignments, lost in the wonder of mathematics, I follow the same rules as everybody else.

When I read a book, I read as everybody else reads.

When I unexpectedly run into an acquaintance, I put on the same happy face as everybody else.

When I wonder where my life is going, I wonder with everybody else.

I am not special.

I realized this as I sat there in the cafeteria, alone for dinner as usual.

Tasting, but not tasting.

1 comment:

  1. This is Tony's Jen; I'm special and can't figure out the internets.

    Have you ever considered being a writer? I love reading what you write. I haven't been commenting because I had some trouble figuring out that I needed a google account (because the google account sign in thing wasn't a big enough hint for me @__@), but I read your posts and I really enjoy your style of writing. Today's post was especially well written, and hence I got a google thing and here I am.

    Any darn way. I know what you mean about coming to terms with the fact that you're really no more skilled than anyone else around you. It's an awful realization, isn't it? When you're young, you just assume you're special... Not necessarily better than anyone else, just different, somehow. Realizing that we're all in the same boat is a maturity thing, though. Most people never embrace this, so in a way, you've taken a step up just by seeing it.

    However, I wouldn't say you're not special in some way... If no two people are exactly alike, then it follows that everyone has something different and special about them. You may not see it yet, or maybe it doesn't exist yet; it may come in the form of contact with someone else, maybe someone you haven't met yet.

    Just my two cents, which is probably worth less than two cents! ;)

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