Tick. Wake up.
Tock. Get ready.
Tick. You have to turn the coffee pot on.
Tock. This will be perfect temp by the time you leave.
Tick. Come on wake up.
Tock. You won't have time to take a shower.
Tick. WAKE UP.
Tock. Shower, fast, now.
Tick. I have to work today, too.
Tock. I hate this. Why can't it be easier.
Tick. My hair is so tangled and dry.
Tock. What do I wear today?
Tick. Shit, I have to leave now.
Tock. I'm going to be late.
Tick. DO PEOPLE KNOW HOW TO DRIVE.
Tock. It's not my fault I'm late.
Tick. They need to give licenses based off of how good one's reaction time is.
Tock. This coffee is burning my tongue.
Tick. I'm going to fall asleep in this class.
Tock. Omg it's taking forever.
Tick. Coffee sucks, it doesn't do anything
Tock. I have so much work to do tonight.
Tick. Library time.
Tock. I just accomplished so much.
Tick. I still have so much to do.
Tock. I need sleep.
Tick. I'll go to bed early tonight.
Tock. I graduate in a year.
Tick. Where will I be?
Tock. I need an internship.
Tick. What if I go nowhere?
Tock. It's 2am.
Tick. Ok. I'll get ready for bed
Tick. This can't be happening again.
Tock. It's so early.
Tick. I could sleep for another five minutes.
Tick. I overslept.
Tock. Where does the time go?
Tick. There's never enough
Tock. Never enough.
Junior year of high school I thought that a way to numb the pain of being alive was to try to not feel. And so I lived as if I didn't feel a thing. I lived as if I had friends but that they'd get away from me eventually. I talked to people as if the conversation was to pass the time. My words had no marks, my thoughts were meaningless. I tried to think much at all. I thought about my studies, but on the weekends I was a different person. I associated myself with people I knew didn't do anything for me. I pretended to be careless. I lived as if I was free from any hurt and I was free of ever loving anything, or anyone.
It was New Year's Eve, and I was going to a party. I wore a stupid outfit. That's all I'm going to say about that. There was dancing, there was alcohol, there were people. I feel it useless to explain a high school party, but that's what it was. I had a decent evening. The days passed by and the pictures from the party were posted on social media. I quickly browsed them and untagged any disturbing pictures exploiting my insecurities. There was a picture of me and a few others at the party, and one of the people had commented on it. I forgot that this particular person had a Facebook, so I decided to look at his profile for a moment.
I didn't know he knew me, I didn't know he hated me, but that's what his Facebook status had implied. You see, the night of New Year's Eve, I had been talking and dancing with his friend. Harmless. The aforementioned particular person seemed to have been eyeing us all night, apparently, because his status said something like "Why were you dancing with Chewbacca" and proceeded to tag his friend. I must tell you that half of the words in the status were spelled incorrectly, so I wasn't exactly offended at first.
I was offended a few days later, probably on an anxiety kick. I never felt too much sadness from that particular status, or the comments that bullied me with "Fat" remarks and the like.
I felt misunderstood. What did I do to this guy that he felt the need to call me names? Had I insulted him the previous evening? Had I been rude to his friend? Did I really insult him with my curvy and thicker figure?
I'm not sad nor do I add this situation to my insecurities. I just feel misunderstood. But I suppose it's easy to feel misunderstood by the idiots of the world.
I often think that caring for another means will be returned to me. I have my specific notions about how to care for another person, and I look for the qualities in others. So if they had to care for me, to care about me, they would do those same things I would do for them.
Looking for the qualities you possess in another person sets you up for disappointment. I can no longer look at others and say "Well, I would do this for them, so they should be willing to do the same for me."
I learned the idea of "caring" for another from my parents. They presented to me a kind of love that is unfathomable. They have showed me what it is to put someone else before you, but not just once, but over, and over, and over, and over again.
I remember I went into my parents' bedroom in sixth grade, and I showed them this weird bubble on the back of my knee. My mom took a look at it, and she proceeded to ask me questions about it. She called my dad and told him about it, and he decided I would a get a consultation about it. One thing led to another and soon enough I was in the operation room to get a cyst removed. I remember it was around Christmas time, and seeing my parents right before I fell asleep. I saw my mom's eyes tearing up from the quick effects of anesthesia, and my dad's smirk that was a way of saying "I'm so jealous you get to fall asleep so fast right now."
They waited in the operating room until my eyes were half awake and I was alert enough to go home. The care that I received the next few days, and the days to follow.
Still more, my freshman year of high school, I finally got my lazy eye operated on. It was a painful operation. I was a little bit older now, and seeing the tears in my mom's eyes when the anesthesia hit me. The anesthesiologist took forever and a half to get to my room. When the needle went into my arm, I felt this cold stream flow through my body. It was as if I was providing a place for Winter in my very own soul. I looked into my parents' eyes before my eyes could no longer defend themselves from the light, and I suddenly felt warm.
They were always there. They are always there. I suppose using two operations I've had in my life is a bit of a stretch for examples of caring, but others are too difficult to explain. It's all in their eyes, in their touch, in their words. They always care, they have infused me with those same qualities. It would be foolish to assume that anyone would ever care for me as my parents have. It would be downright foolish.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.