Sunday, July 23, 2006
Tranferrable sadness 
The trouble with me is that I often find myself bearing transferable sadness, that is, carrying the burdens of others upon my shoulders. I coined these words myself to mean the opposite of vicarious living.
Perchance it started as some self-righteous need to be the moral compass for the people around me.
It comes in all forms.
I first discovered this when my best friend in junior college confessed to me that he had slept with some girl he had no feelings for over the holiday breaks, and I found myself so devastated by his self-destructive behaviour that I burst out crying and had to be consoled by him.
Same for when I found out a close girlfriend slept with some bastard she met at her workplace and I imagined myself in her position, in the anonymity of that cheap dingy motel he brought her to, not being in control of what was happening. I cried and asked her why, and told her I was sorry I wasn't there to stop him from advancing. I really was.
And then I found out that one of my best friends at work had been lying to me about himself and when I found out from someone else his dark deeds outside of the office, I couldn't sleep for two nights, and yet I couldn't bring myself to confront him. I pendulated between feigned ignorance and forced indifference towards his unacceptable behaviour, although who and how he chooses to be is really none of my business.
Throw in a hundred other big and small incidents, and you will begin to understand my self-inflicted moral affliction.
Finally it struck me that no one is really answerable to me.
Blinded momentarily in my attempt to deal with what has been happening, I decided that I would no longer care about what other people do with their lives. I shall lead my own, and I shall be happy in my cocoon of oblivion.
But now I realize that that is obviously not a good solution, or a solution at all.
And so, at age 23, I am learning The Art of Human Relations all over again.
Perchance it started as some self-righteous need to be the moral compass for the people around me.
It comes in all forms.
I first discovered this when my best friend in junior college confessed to me that he had slept with some girl he had no feelings for over the holiday breaks, and I found myself so devastated by his self-destructive behaviour that I burst out crying and had to be consoled by him.
Same for when I found out a close girlfriend slept with some bastard she met at her workplace and I imagined myself in her position, in the anonymity of that cheap dingy motel he brought her to, not being in control of what was happening. I cried and asked her why, and told her I was sorry I wasn't there to stop him from advancing. I really was.
And then I found out that one of my best friends at work had been lying to me about himself and when I found out from someone else his dark deeds outside of the office, I couldn't sleep for two nights, and yet I couldn't bring myself to confront him. I pendulated between feigned ignorance and forced indifference towards his unacceptable behaviour, although who and how he chooses to be is really none of my business.
Throw in a hundred other big and small incidents, and you will begin to understand my self-inflicted moral affliction.
Finally it struck me that no one is really answerable to me.
Blinded momentarily in my attempt to deal with what has been happening, I decided that I would no longer care about what other people do with their lives. I shall lead my own, and I shall be happy in my cocoon of oblivion.
But now I realize that that is obviously not a good solution, or a solution at all.
And so, at age 23, I am learning The Art of Human Relations all over again.
"There is no hope of joy except in human relations."
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery
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