today I didn't fall asleep in chinese class, received a new phone cover in the morning, and had sogurt with Marcus and Kennedy after school :)
but when we were on the bus to NEX today, we saw a boy and his mother and the two of them chose to sit diagonally in front of us. The boy had cuts all over his arm and I remember there were overlapping slashes on his wrists. Slightly above, nearing the upper side of his elbow, his cuts formed letters which made up a word that I couldn't get a clear view of. I've seen images on tumblr and I've heard of people who cut themselves but I've never seen it for myself till today. What originally was curiosity turned into a weird indescribable sadness inside of me and I had to swallow really hard to keep the tears in. I didn't quite understand why I felt sad then because that sadness just overwhelmed me too quickly that I hardly had a chance to react, but thinking about it now, each cut seemed so deep and painful both physically and emotionally and i'm pretty sure that if i ever ran my fingers over his skin he wouldn't even flinch or move away just because.
every day of our lives we pass by countless people - on the train, on the streets, on the bus, even while queueing at the supermarket. yet we never really realize that they too are living a similarly complex life as ours and the close to hundred percent chance that we may only appear once in this vivid and elaborate story they've written for themselves. they'll probably just remember us as "the dude who took a long time to pay up for his groceries" or "that weird girl with braces and messy hair" or "the really cute guy i saw the other day", but likewise, we only play an "extra" in the lives they lead. we often hear people saying how they'd kill themselves if they had the choice, but 98% of these people actually lack the guts to do it. the remaining 2%, are they people who are stuck in a living hell, struggling for breath and screaming for help but realizing that they've only got themselves after hitting the bottom? perhaps for them, death really seems like the greener pasture on the other side.
he didn't seem sad or depressed and despite searching for an answer from his face, i couldn't find any reason that would cause him to hurt himself this way. i think i understand now though. is this what they mean by "suffering in style" because you bleed and bleed and bleed so much and after a while it sort of becomes as numb and easy as breathing for the sake of breathing.
i think he's one passer-by whom i'm going to remember for a long time to come. i hope the people in his life don't forget him as easily as the paint that fades off peeling walls, and although i wonder how long and how many stitches it would take to mend those wounds, i hope they try to do so and create something beautiful soon because the weakest people are very often the strongest people.
thank you for making me realizing this today.
