Paul and I

I had always thought that being sad was one of the steps to finding happiness. I had imagined it as a journey that I was on, and my destination was Happiness. A while ago, I saw happiness right ahead of me, so close almost touching when I reached out my hands. Somehow, it was only my fantasy that I had it mixed up with the reality I am living.

I was talking to my sister some days ago. She told me about the confusion she was struggling in, between her fantasy and the reality. I had thought she was ignorant, I had had no idea how her "screwed up" little mind worked.

I am always stuck in the world from which I have created, a dreamland; but from time to time, I am awaken from it to hell - where I am now. And I am always reminded of the absurdity of making my fantasy a reality. The only way to escape from here, the reality; to there, the ideal life - is to go.

It was what she told me. What does to go mean? Where does she want to go to? I was confused. She said she didn't know either, but it would be beautiful over there.

Thinking back, she was right. All that satisfies me, comes from successfully fulfilling my desires of the ideal life; while the reason that always puts me down is the failure of all my attempts. When I was young, mother would always say that failure is only a little situation on the road to success, and that, its existence is what makes success count. However, the point I'm trying to make is, it is no longer about succeeding or not; but whether what I have always longed for exists: My ideal life, of happiness, wealth, luck and love, altogether. I want my life to be amazing, full of excitements; I want a job of good pays and it has to be what I enjoy doing; I want my loved one to be as perfect as how I imagined him to be; I want to be adored, admired, to be looked up to; I want to be big, to be able to change the world. All these in my ideal life - they can never be achieved. Now, don't tell me I'm talking nonsense, or spill out your comforting words; I did measure the chances of living in it, and I dare tell you, it's against all odds. I'm hopeless.

There was this story (Paul's Case, written by Willa Cather) that I had studied in my Literature class. I like it a lot. I often parallel Paul's life with mine; we're two identical people - both pathetic, trying to create a real world out of fantasy, but we both have come to realize that it is somewhat a "losing game in the end".

If I run away one day, from this world that is incompatible with the world out of my creation, do not throw judgement at me. It's not that I am cowardly, it's not that I have given up - it will be because of the world in reality that I cannot stand. What is the point of living, if it is only existing in a world of repetitive let-downs of never being able to make my dreams happen?

If I run away one day, do not find me. I would rather die a meaningful death than to live a meaningless life.