there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for you
we stick together and we see it through
cause you’ve got a friend in me” —You’ve Got a Friend in Me - Randy Newman
sometimes, when two broken people meet, they make each other whole again.
I have never been a part of any clique, as far as I can remember. Always, always, I had a good friend or two, friends whom I hung out with individually, but never as a group. Over time, I began to proclaim that I disliked cliques, and, don’t get me wrong, I still do, but subconsciously, I think I always knew that my intense dislike stemmed from the twinge of jealousy I felt every time I saw a clique meet up, never having had the opportunity to experience friendship of that kind. I’m not entirely sure why that is the case, but it appears to be a consequence of my nature; perhaps people like me just aren’t cut out for such relationships. I don’t really know, but what I do know, is that if I have to deny myself to get into such a relationship, then it most certainly will not be worthwhile.
Moments like these are when I feel the most selfish. I question the friends I have, and I wonder why they never seem to give as much as I do. Always, always, always I am the one going out of my way to make things happen, which seems to me like an indicator that I care more about the relationship than they ever will. I wonder what it must be like to be popular, to never have to lift a finger yet have people lavish attention upon you. I wonder what it feels like to have a friend like me. I wonder whether I am truly giving as much as I feel like I am, whether others are giving me as little as I feel they are. Most of all, I wonder if I am truly receiving less than I deserve, or that I simply deserve the little I get. All things considered, I probably won’t ever find out. But I grow weary and tired of having to try so hard, and yet get so little. No doubt I will just get over this episode, probably within the next hour or so, and just press on with my life, but doubt is a constant shadow, and inevitably I will experience yet another of these depressive episodes.
To those of you who care and somehow manage to see this message, whose existence I am extremely doubtful of, thank you, but you have got to make your care and concern more apparent, otherwise I won’t know you exist (you, as in people who care about me). This much I can promise you though: if you reach out to me, then I will endeavour to never let you down. That’s who I am, and that’s just what I do. If you don’t exist… well then this will just have to suffice as a personal rant, and I guess I’ll make do, as I always do.
The time must come when every man faces his mortality.
It may be a little premature, but I have come to terms with my own. For years now, I have contemplated what death means to me - me as an individual and as a human being. Even now, I don’t have the answer, and I doubt I ever will, not till I pass through the veil to the great beyond… and perhaps not even then.
What I have observed though, is that oftentimes, we complain of a lack of time to do the things we would like to do, and even more so, the things we have to. We then wish that we had more time, time enough to accomplish anything, and everything possible on this earth. It’s an experience we all share, I am sure.
But what we don’t realise is that when we do this, it demeans, trivialises the purpose of our existence. For we are human beings, and by definition, that means we are mortal, shortlived, and cursed with a fleeting existence in this world. We have but a finite period of time to live out our lives, to carry out our duties, to realise our dreams. And for all the limitations imposed upon us as a result, it is our mortality that ultimately gives meaning, and purpose, to the things we do.
Time, such a limited resource - truly the only completely unrenewable resource available to us. Simultaneously, the one resource we cannot do without. Consequently, the more time we put into something, the more it means to us… Much like how a birthday present made by hand over the course of months will always be dearer than a birthday present which has infinitely more monetary value, but was bought in a second. It is the time we put into our effort, that infuses it with this quality, this pricelessness. Take our mortality away from us, and we will no longer feel like anything is quite so special ever again.
All things must come to an end. Even we. So what is important then, is to do what we can, where we can, when we can, while we still can. Death, is an inevitability, but Life? Life is a choice, and we must all choose to embrace it. And seeing as how we’re all united in our lack of time, why can’t we embrace each other too?