It's a Friday and I'm walking home with a frown on my face. It's a Friday. I'm unhappy on a Friday. It's unusual for people to frown, drag themselves down the pavements further and further away from the rooms of torture on the last schoolday of the week. Even for me, it's rare.
Why is it always up to the band to decide how happy I can be? My attendance is like the drops of comfort that fill up my happiness meter because all that I have, everyone around me, is a part of it. Just because I don't show up for practice, I get alienated, stabbed in the back and cast out. These friends of mine aren't really friends at all, are they? Right now, it feels as if the only relationship I share with those people is nothing more than just members of the same group that never care.
I always feel this away after not going for band practice. It's been a week since I last showed my face in band. The form fives are relieved from practice already so we can prepare for SPM, but that's just what's on the surface. Under the thin layer of excuse, it is clear that we still need to show up every single day on the dot, without fail. So why then, do they even relieve us? I have no fucking idea.
I wouldn't be this miserable if I wasn't appointed the role of section leader at the start of the year. The higher you are, the harder you fall after all. Obligations, responsibilities, appearances to keep up... I really did not sign up for this shit. I think I wouldn't even need to elaborate further to make you feel my frustration.
Again, I'm avoiding my so-called friends. I can't even look them in the eye, to be honest. Especially the band leader, my trombonist, the one who takes up my role to teach the younger trombonists because I'm useless as fuck. Again, I think no elaboration is necessary. My displeasure is obvious-- the disgust towards myself.
I can't write when I'm upset. I'm trying very hard to stop my hands from shaking. It's taking every fiber in my body to suppers the rage that's boiling at the back of my head, slowly making me dizzy.
All I can think of is how useless I am. I just want to give up, you know? I'm not good at anything and I have no talent. I can't even bring myself to sit down, open my textbook and study properly. I feel sorry for my parents actually. They've wasted their time, money and emotions on someone who is totally unworthy, a creature that should have never been born to begin with. What good am I? What good is my existence doing to the world? Aren't I just another being shuffling on the face of this earth, wasting space and resources? Nobody needs me and I benefit none. Sometimes, I really think that I should just let it all go, get buried and become a part of the nitrogen cycle-- at least by dying, I'd do the world a favour.
It brings me back to the suicide note of a distant relative.
Tell you the truth, it worries me how close my thoughts are to that of a person who took her own life. I wouldn't deny to the fact that I hate this life, but I'm not brave enough to cut myself free from its bond.
Right now, there is someone who needs me.
Adapted from Happy Life no.2