I’m not emo or something. Though I’ve already come close to slashing my wrist or jumping off from my room in the eleventh floor, and it was not even because of love. My love life, for lack of a better word, is as perfect as perfect can be. Had it been because of love, it could’ve been more reasonable, it could’ve made a lot more sense. But it wasn’t. It’s boredom and the meaninglessness of life.
The sound of a big jack hammer across EDSA seems to mock me even more. And the contractor of the road repair is too thoughtful to schedule the repair at this hour. 1:04 in the morning. The faster the jack bores the concrete sidewalk the faster my heart beats as if wanting to be regurgitated. The Coke I am drinking doesn’t help. Neither does the empty screen in front of me.
I’ve been complaining about chronic headaches these past weeks, it’s just that I have no one to complain to. I see people everyday in the streets, inside the trains and jeepneys, at work, but all of them are blank entities indistinguishable from the gray expressways and skyways. I read them in the paper, I watched them in the news on television and the last time I’ve watched something on TV was three months ago; regardless, all I see is a mass of monotonous humanity that lacks spirit. Soulless.
I try to drown myself with reading. At least with my books, I can be in a totally different dimension that allows me to escape from the crowd. Still I am confronted with emptiness right after I close the last page. I earn money to survive, but the workplace environment alienates me to a point that I feel stripped of my humanity and identity.
I saw a reflection of myself once in the train’s glass window. It didn’t take long to make me realize that I’ve already fallen in with the crowd that I loathe. I became one of those faceless faces in the crowd. I am nothing different. Nothing sets me apart. Indistinguishable.