Epiphany

Transparent by Chris Yellow

"Dynamic life passes me by.

No one knows, no one cares!

If for chance I should today die

What would anyone have to say?

In what was I needed?

And where did I belong?

Will someone feel it deeply?

Was I here for just too long?

I know not why I can't cry.

I know not why I won't sleep.

I am just scared of my thoughts.

If I breathe, do I? Or bleed?

If I touch and smell,

Can I be touched and felt?"

Although the night was full and incredible, it was just another day that wouldn't start and end too soon, just another restless thought that giggled my mind disturbing it just enough to beat the tiredness, just enough to prevent the sleep to wash my body into the still of day, just enough strength in my brain to ensure my feeble awakeness, to torture me into my usual nightmare.

My daymare burst the sleep, sitting flat on the bed I grasped to calm my breath. Those eyes, those insensitive eyes that pierced my soul, that reached unstoppable to the horizon, that fought no barrier, that knew no boundaries that glanced at the full moon from within the room walls, that creeped me so... those eyes that haunted my mind for fifteen days now and showed no reason to stop, those eyes... those eyes... I see! Now I see! Those eyes are just as the others, looking at the distance careless of the surroundings... it wasn't that they did anything unordinary... it was that they didn't... and they wouldn't even try to conceal it. They looked right through me. They were as unaware of me as any other pair in the classroom, but they were transparent. They were so transparent that they showed how invisible I am to them. How nobody I am, lost in the crowd where I belong just as much as in all the other crowds I didn't have the time to get to know. Those eyes are no nightmare, I am! For the second time I face the fact that I am my own nightmare, what does that say about me? Am I that self-absorbed that I am my own hilliness? Who cares that I don't stand out in the crowd? I always made it so. I always made my choices so I could be myself and express my will and ``yet not stand too tall nor speak too loud''*. I build myself in the way I found fitting, I blended in just enough to pull of what I wanted and never actually cared for the masses to change one thing about me? Who am I? Have I been hiding in sight? Have I been allowing myself to think I was free and therefore unrecognized and ununderstood, when I was actually trying to fit in and building excuses for my slow success? Am I that sensitive to what people think that all my life I have been becoming transparent?

I refuse to accept so! I am transparent because no one really lost the time to know me, because I am shy and hard to get to know, because I am... unbearable in any way, am I? Why do people tend not to miss me? So what, I say as I might and am not the most common place, but I am nice and I care... why doesn't anyone? Why do I feel the need to puncture myself to feel alive? Why do I have the need for other people to acknowledge me? Why am I not self-standing as a hum...

My throat closed, crashed shut. I can't finish the word, not even buried in the dark of day, not even in my mind, not in this scramble of thoughts. Why can't anyone know me for who I am, miss me when I am gone or notice when I hurt? Why am I so different from the rest that I repel people and am left unseen alone among them all? Most importantly why do I care? And should I? I vow not to let those or any other eyes change my path by their judgement on me, and to understand the reason why only one person in the whole world would miss me, if I died, other than those who must? What did Sonya see in me, that made her listen in between the lines and work to know me? Why do I make myself so hard to read? Why do I keep testing people's will to pursue my feelings and find me buried under such wreck?

Sweat was falling down my face, caressing slowly my cheeks and tickling gently my neck. I opened my eyes and found that I had an epiphany over my recurrent dream, and though I figured out why I don't match the box, I am as self-aware as I am absurdly self-centered. It's been fifteen days and my dream revolves around me? It's been fifteen minutes and all I thought about was me?

Hey, What is the cumulus of egoism? Thinking for fifteen minutes on your problems and not only realizing your problems reside within, but that you are extremely self-absorbed.

I don't remember next, my limbs must have fallen first and my eyes must have followed. I woke up the next day, fresh from the understanding of oneself, burned out of the turbulent realization and the limited sleeping time.

-``If I had my teeth I would bite; If I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the meantime, let me be that I am.''**

Or in a less bitter way, I will ``be'' despite the morn and hope to be great at it. I wish for good things, that must count for something right? It is like the old dilemma of heaven: You should pray and go to the church and think about God in all your deeds. But, wouldn't the almighty generous good guy prefer that I was good just because? A new day will come, when all else is gone and the rest and I will find the best way to restart.