An Awkward End
Tonight, I let my back dry off under the air con. The countless push-ups, minute long planks and sit-ups just can't stop me from mellowing down and going into this whirl of quietness. Yes, I'm playing Bon Iver if you're asking. This opening paragraph has nothing to do with what's to come. My apologies, I just had to let you know what my state of being is like.
As I wrote on my twitter, emotions aren't universal, as some might suggest. Everyone has a range of them, but not all has the same rainbow of colors. Our colors are picked off from the experiences we've been through, the good and the bad. None can say that their rainbow is better looking than the other, because who can undermine what another has experienced. One can only relish in what they've learnt and hopefully create something unique out of that set of Crayola.
The sad part is, not a lot of people know the treasure behind our unique colors, our experiences. The stories they will inspire, or the depth they'll bring to a number of pillow talks. This is the reason why I love listening to stories. Why I let some rattle off to a distant memory somewhere, and just nod away, letting them know that I'm all ears. Stories are interesting to hear and picture.
Last night, I spent 5 hours listening to a friend. After the first hour, she had to stop and ask me what's new with my life. I... I had a hard time with these sorts of questions. I just don't know what to say. So, at random, I just picked one new thing and told her about it. Of course, that bit will be done in 5 minutes or less. Just because, that's the kind of story teller I am. I don't like to tell long stories. My bit have a definite beginning and a definite ending. My stories usually ends with a, "yup" then followed by a series of nods. Anti-climatic, my mom likes to say.
Why can't endings be like that? Why does it have to come to a direct conclusion, like an much needed clap de fin? I mean, look at life. Most of the time people die without knowing what their life has summed up to. Some doesn't even know they're dying until the very last second. Death don't leave us room to write an epilogue. Death doesn't asks us "any last words?" The end of a rainbow looks more like a slow fade to nothingness, than a Leprechaun lusted pot of gold.
That being said, why bother writing the perfect ending? The Judge, Gran Torino, and another long list of father figure death movies, has shown that growing old sucks and dying old is very rarely glorious. But the end of the rainbow isn't what we aim for. It's the colors it produce. The beauty is in the living.