Irrational Feelings

I made it no secret that I’m not much of a people person. Some rare individuals I could respect for their nuanced depths, or their sharp quirky wits and their kind gestures, but humanity as a whole? It’s a nightmare.

Just open any history book and you’ll see why. All these endless political upheavals, our ancestors’ unjustified prejudice from bias, savages bigoted and blinded by their bitter hatred for one another. It’s written all over in our past, and an acid knot forms in my chest whenever I read of these things. 

We pretend like these things are a relic of the past, but that might be the greatest lie told on this planet. Just look at the internet. Parades of hubris and cruelty, wars over skin, gods and love, it’s still all over the place. It seems like no matter how much our society evolves, it's just our natural instinct to crave for vanities rooted from irrational feelings. 

Irrational feelings. All greed and hatred owes life to that seed planted in our heart, and I used to think that it was a great curse all of us just had to bear. It's always that damned evil tempest that blinds us all, and drops of tears run down my cheek at the fact that people couldn’t simply respect the nuanced nature of our emotions. 

It was always too loud in the streets, and back when I was of youthful age, I convinced myself that this deafening uproar was something worthy of respect, a part of life I simply had to accept. But that flimsy illusion soon fell apart as I dove deeper into the chaotic abyss of humanity’s most cursed actions of cruelties. Looking at the lengths that people will go just for simple cash or short flashes of fame made me question how we even managed to survive for this long.

I used to dream about how sweet and sublime silence might be. About standing in fields of grass with solitude, liberated from all worldly needs. Perhaps then, I might be able to live a life with meaning, one beyond the chains of irrational feelings. I prayed to the hands of fate above to silence the Earth from the bigots that roam the streets. 

By some coincidental twist of fate, I think my wish has been granted because the end came with no herald or warning. One day, I woke up not to the usual honking of cars or loud cheering from the soccer fields far away. What greeted me was silence, and that was my only companion since that day.

The sun still rises and lights the ocean, rain still runs down on the trees, but the cities are now nothing but a skeleton of their former selves. Buildings decay and lay stagnant like rotting corpses, a shadow of the world that once was. The dirty cars are now home to little squirrels, a relic of a forgotten past only remembered by me. No voices echo in the streets, no cars honk or music plays from the cafe, and only the small chirpings of birds dance in the sky. It seemed like humanity’s death came and went silently with no warning, and nobody was spared. 

At first, I did not mind this tranquility at all. In fact, I came to relish the peaceful utopia laying before my eyes. For once in forever, I lived my life with bliss and meaning, visiting every corner of mother Earth’s greatest gifts that I have long forgotten. The magnificent waterfalls roaring in glory, graceful forests gently whispering comfort, the smallest of rainbow roses and to the grandest of mountains: all of it was so different from the asphalt and concrete in the world of men. It truly healed my soul from the wounded words of misery from people.

But for the last few days, I couldn’t help but feel that something was…off. An uncanny breeze wrapped my heart, and it’s been growing in my mind like a parasite. Walking the grassfields doesn't feel quite the same and I feel so…empty inside. 

I learned to cook on my own, to hunt and even build – amazing skills that may have been respected by some people. But even these little accomplishments seem to only remind me of the things that now lay beyond my grasp. What was the point of becoming great if “great” has no witnesses?

The truth is…as much as I hate to admit it, I think I’ve come to miss people. Not just certain individuals, but the species as a whole. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I used to flee from people for their petite cries of envy that fill my heart, but now that they’re gone I couldn’t help but feel the presence of the vast, growing void that they have left behind. 

The other day I walked by the park in front of my apartment, one that I barely even visited before. It was always too crowded, with annoying little plagues of children and families with their pets. They had no respect, leaving behind bags of half-eaten food to rot in the grass, ignoring the dog waste littered on the bushes. 

Now when I walk through those now dried up and withered out grasses, the moss-filled benches, I don’t feel a sense of hatred or frustration for the people that live there, but I only hear the echoes of joyful cries and see the smiles of love. Sometimes they’re so convincing that it feels so real. I reach my hand out to feel the gentle touch of a small puppy, only to realize in disappointment that they are only a figment of my imagination.

I went to the diner just across the park, one of very few places I visited often because I couldn’t bother to cook. Storms of curses rose to the edge of my throat whenever the waitress took my order too late or when my food came out dry and cold. The ringing cries of toddlers begging for their mother’s attention drove me mad, and deeply forbidden thoughts rose from my heart.

Now when I sit in that little corner seat next to the window, I can smell not just the gentle wavering fragrance of syrup and butter on the pancakes, but I can also smell love. It might sound crazy, but the gentle hums of voices, the way people used to share their lives with one another over a simple meal warmed my heart. Of course, I could only wish for it to be real.

I saw a concert ticket laying on the floor, all wet and faded. Its contents were barely visible, yet it reminded me of that one time when I went to see a concert. I regretted it deeply back then, and looked down on those who enjoyed such things. I just wasn’t able to see the merit of being stuck in such a big, smelly crowd and listening to their loud obsessive songs.

But now, finally after losing it all I see what the true merit of it was. The miracle of music, of the passionate roaring love we have for the little things of life. Strangers bound by the same melody, adrenaline (not caused by anger) coursing through the veins of all from the heat of love.

I think about the little things I used to take for granted and hated so much – riding the crowded subways, entering the noisy cafes or even standing in line at the store. I used to dream about being free from these mundane, petite chains of social custom. To live a meaningful life free from people as a whole. I thought the apocalypse gave me that, however now I see how wrong I was.

What I did after the end of the world wasn’t living, it was surviving. Finding half-opened cans from decaying supermarkets, purifying water from the dirty sewages, all of that kept my heart beating and my body healthy, but it wasn’t living. Living came from meaning, it came from people, not from the lack of them.

By all accounts, I know that this rising emptiness and longing is irrational. I have everything I need: food is plenty, water is clean and my shelter is safe. There’s really no logical explanation for me to feel so miserable. But my heart…it craves and yearns for a gentle hug or even a small smile from a person.

I used to believe that irrational feelings were the origin of all evil. Fear, pride, greed and hatred – they blinded people, made them stupid and cruel, draining meaning from the life we live. I thought that these irrational feelings were permanently bonded to men like a parasite, and the only way to purge this evil was to get rid of humanity as a whole.

Yet my rising unreasonable yearnings for a simple companion, to feel a single bright ray of love and friendship is just as irrational if not more than the feelings of hatred. I see it through the mirages ringing in the small corner stores of the streets, and I can only beg for it to become reality once more. In retrospect, I finally came to see that irrational feelings are the greatest blessing of all because of the passions and aspirations that give even the smallest events of life meaning.

All my life, I looked down on men for being slaves of hatred, but now I realize how much of a hypocrite I truly was. I thought I was above irrational feelings. The hatred, prejudice and greed that runs in our blood. But what I really hated was the vulnerability of being human, of needing others to heal my soul.

During some nights when the stars bathe across the sky, I sit on the rooftops to admire the magnificent beauty of the spaces above. Before, the city lights with mixes of pollutants from factories drowned them out, and only now can I see them shine brightly in the skies. I used to dream about being an astronaut, and looking at these stars reminded me of the loveliness of nature. 

But the stars in the skies are only an illusion as well. They’re only mirages from lights from the past that took millions of years to reach me. Some of them might not even exist anymore, and they’re only ghosts haunting the atmosphere.

Ironically enough, they’re just like the irrational feelings of humanity. I see it in my memories – their smiles, laughs and cries – but I know that they’re only my imagination. What remains is the faint reminders of our glorious past, stretching across an endless void.

Looking at the night sky, I sometimes wonder if anyone else is out there, wherever “there” is. I wonder if we share the same ache, the same pain and longing for a simple companion. Still, I stopped searching a long time ago. Imagination is a blessing because I know they’re never coming true. But to hope? It’s a risk I cannot afford. It’s followed by disappointment, and that’s too dangerous.

Yet irrational feelings control me once more, because I couldn’t help but write messages on the walls or even on the floor. Sometimes there are SOS and rescue, other times short anecdotes of my life. Maybe there still remains a small sliver of hope deep inside my heart: hope that I will be found by another person. If that happens, it’s not like we have to talk, at least not right away. Just sitting side by side will suffice, looking at the night sky and enjoying each other’s warmth.

Tonight, the stars in the skies are brighter than ever. I look into them and draw constellations of those that I have lost. I pray once more, just like how I prayed before all of this happened. I beg to the hands of fate above that I will live a meaningful life filled with irrational feelings of companionship instead of coursing through the streets surviving in the empty streets.