August 03, 2004

Unveiling the Shroud of Hypocrisy

After receiving several comments (posted and over AIM) regarding my previous post congratulating me on achieving a new level of cynicism or accosting me for being an emotionless zombie, I began to feel guilty and hypocritical. I mean, the whole time I was writing that post, I should have been writing a post that went contrary to all that I ruthlessly bashed. Well, I will no longer be privy to the hypocrisy that has become a cornerstone of my life. Below you will find the post that should have been written, had I not been so adept at suppressing my emotions.

I know you have never really liked my posts, so you probably won't read what I'm writing you now, even if I were to send you the link. Frankly, I don't care. This is as much for my benefit as it is for your information.

To tell you the truth, when we first met almost two years ago to the day, I didn't even like you very much. Had anyone asked me to describe you then, my immediate response would have been: One hell of a self-absorbed and superficial girl. Yet, despite my first impression, and perhaps my better judgment, we continued to hang out and get to know one another better. As the months slipped by, I found myself appreciating your warm and emotional outlook on life as worthy complement to my own cold and rational one. Towards the end of the year, I found myself growing more and more attached, but unable to express this fact in any perceivable way. I've always been good at controlling my emotions (and really bad at expressing them), even willing them away as necessary; this was really the first time in my life I regret doing so.

Perhaps, had I been more explicit, or more expressive, or even less logical back then, things might have been different today. Of course, they might have been worse, but even then, it would have been better than the veil of hypocrisy under which everything lies shrouded today. I must say, when you left for your year abroad, I did my best to forget about you. Can you blame me? I went immediately from eight intense weeks of CalSO to the all-consuming life of a being on hall staff. And yet, as summer approached and the spring semester withered away this year, I couldn't help think about our next encounter, after more than a year. What would it be like? Would things be different? Would they be the same?

Honestly, I was completely tongue-tied when we ran into each other on the street the other day. I simply didn't know what to say, for the first time in a long time. I realize now, after speaking to you, that what once may have been, will probably never be, if for no other reason, than my inability to express what I feel except in the nebulous solitude of my blog. And while a part of me laments this tragedy wholeheartedly, the more dominant and logical part understands that times change and we must change with them.

So what's the point of this rambling, you might ask, if I've already decided to move on and given up all hope? Well, changing with the times is easier said than done, even for someone like me. Why do you think I spend every waking hour working or at class? Money? Well, all right, yes. But more importantly, while I'm working or at class, I don't have free time to think. I don't want free time to think! Every thought invariably comes back to you, or us, and what was there, or what could have been there! And you know what the funny thing about hope is, don't you? No matter how hard you try to crush it, it just won't die, remaining the pinhole of light in the dark abyss of day-to-day life. That's where my hopes lie: in the unknown, unpredictable, uncharted future, where we may yet have another scene to play in this all-encompassing drama that has become our life.