Imagine looking through a window at any environment that is particularly significant to you. Reflect on the scene, paying close attention to the relation between what you are seeing and why it is meaningful to you.
Beyond the thin
layer of glass, I take a glance at the people. Students and teachers alike let
out ever deep sighs. I can almost visualize the thick clouds of breaths,
sinking deeper and deeper into the ground like a lost treasure chest drowning
into the sea, or perhaps like a falling feather spiraling downwards.
My grandmother
used to tell me that by observing people’s breaths, you can tell the kind of
lives they are currently living. The words of wisdom, once so abstract, have solidified.
I see people pumping out breathless breaths, the signs of scar and struggle.
My friend Sarah,
whose parents are about to divorce, often talks to me about how she wishes she
had a normal loving family. As she IMs me to complain about the frequent fights
between her parents, I could feel her sighs replacing her fingers to press down
the keys on the keyboard. Mr. Johnson, my newspaper advisor, recently stopped
talking about his wife Martha, whom he usually loves to talk about, and told us
not to get on his nerves because he is undergoing “personal problems.”
And yes, a single
layer separates me from these people. The transparent window of society allows
me to perceive what is out there, but is limiting just enough to prevent me
from touching or helping them. This is the real world. Communication and
understanding are difficult, unfamiliar, and perhaps even extravagant tasks in
today’s world. And this is why I choose to be an idealist – I wish to do more
than looking outside the window. Call it a daydream, but I dream to cast away
people’s sinking breaths. Whether as a rapper sympathizing with the stressed-out
students through invigorating rhymes, or maybe as a psychologist genuinely
burning within to help the wounded, I wish to challenge the status quo, the
dead cold window of society. Sorry, but I may have to invalidate the prompt – I
must shatter this window.
=========================================
In retrospect, a lackluster, schmaltzy prose. But shit, props to my high school senior self. I cant put into words how much respect I have for the soul that drove the composition of the prose. This part of me fucking died. Now I am just a soulless dolt, chasing some transient mirage of prestige that I confuse with happiness. Actually, this is wrong. I am just in a strenuous effort to prove my worth, and prestige simply seems serviceable in such regard. And hence the entering of the adjective "prestigious" in my everyday phrasing. But why is it that my self-respect constantly slips away? Fuck... I just don't know anymore...
P.S. Shout out to Williams for tossing this soulful piece of shit into the recycle bin.
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