All I Really Want Is Twenty-Six Episodes Of Pink Fluffy Goodness
They're students together, and though distinctly different, have a group cohesiveness and loyalty enviable for any. Their closeness makes them a real family, if unbiological. They spend all of their free time together. Their mission is to make people happy. That is exactly what I want most out of life; more than the scientific pursuit of knowledge, more than understanding my own self, I want membership in a group of individuals only slightly more devoted to each other than they are to some lovely altruistic goal (even if they do benefit from said altruism and thus could be said to act selfishly thereby -- I say this as a utilitarian). And when their group was threatened, I cried. I cried hard.
I cried remembering the people I knew in elementary school, those in my scout troup, the one that fell apart when the leader moved away and no one was quite devoted enough to take her place.
I cried remembering the people I knew in middle school, those who competed with me musically and thus could never be true friends because we would never get over the hierarchy of whom was a more talented performer, who could play a chromatic scale faster, who had the more complicated part of that duet or that four-hands piece, whom had accomplished more for his or her age compared to the rest, etc.
I cried remember the people I knew as an expat, those with whom I had formed a terribly strong bond if a harmful one, those people I loved without liking them, the one I did also like and who let me into his world, the pain I lied in order to distract myself from the pain of losing him, and all the pain of the aftermath thereof, the people who taught me how and when to manipulate and how and when to give up.
I cried remembering the people I knew in high school who resembled theirs so closely with a charismatic leader who had pulled me into the group, distinct personalities who each won me over differently though I was the newcomer and they had known each other for years, a group I had loved and whose death I had mourned for a year by the time we dispersed, and how unlike I imagine with theirs this one has already all but died less than three years later.
I cried so hard that I became dizzy, my hands and feet began to tingle, and everything turned red and buzzy.
I cried knowing that the family-like group I have tried to forge here is only a sad mockery of theirs for three fundamental reasons: we are not devoted to any such higher order as making people happy, I seem to feel more loyalty to it than any else does or than it does to me, and it cannot possibly be anything but temporary. I cry because I finally realize that it just doesn't happen in this world. I cry because I give up.
What now? Keep trying despite forknowledge of failure, or renounce it completely for self-sufficience and denial of desire? And don't forget the foolish hope that someone will read this and cry with me and know that they're not alone, that we are devoted to preventing anyone else from ever feeling this way, and that this is the closest we will ever come.
I cried remembering the people I knew in elementary school, those in my scout troup, the one that fell apart when the leader moved away and no one was quite devoted enough to take her place.
I cried remembering the people I knew in middle school, those who competed with me musically and thus could never be true friends because we would never get over the hierarchy of whom was a more talented performer, who could play a chromatic scale faster, who had the more complicated part of that duet or that four-hands piece, whom had accomplished more for his or her age compared to the rest, etc.
I cried remember the people I knew as an expat, those with whom I had formed a terribly strong bond if a harmful one, those people I loved without liking them, the one I did also like and who let me into his world, the pain I lied in order to distract myself from the pain of losing him, and all the pain of the aftermath thereof, the people who taught me how and when to manipulate and how and when to give up.
I cried remembering the people I knew in high school who resembled theirs so closely with a charismatic leader who had pulled me into the group, distinct personalities who each won me over differently though I was the newcomer and they had known each other for years, a group I had loved and whose death I had mourned for a year by the time we dispersed, and how unlike I imagine with theirs this one has already all but died less than three years later.
I cried so hard that I became dizzy, my hands and feet began to tingle, and everything turned red and buzzy.
I cried knowing that the family-like group I have tried to forge here is only a sad mockery of theirs for three fundamental reasons: we are not devoted to any such higher order as making people happy, I seem to feel more loyalty to it than any else does or than it does to me, and it cannot possibly be anything but temporary. I cry because I finally realize that it just doesn't happen in this world. I cry because I give up.
What now? Keep trying despite forknowledge of failure, or renounce it completely for self-sufficience and denial of desire? And don't forget the foolish hope that someone will read this and cry with me and know that they're not alone, that we are devoted to preventing anyone else from ever feeling this way, and that this is the closest we will ever come.