I go for a walk to a nearby park every morning. My entire family goes, but not all of us together. I meet many people there. Most of them are my parents’ acquaintances. Both of them are quite outgoing. Naturally, I tend to interact with those people. Be it a good morning, a smile or an actual conversation, I talk to a number of people everyday. That is how my day begins.
Often, I’ve been complimented by these people I meet for my ever-smiling face. They say it is a pleasure to see a smiling me every morning. It kind-of brightens up their morning. In response, I chuckle or give a wider grin. I don’t know how to respond to them. For some, I feel sorry, because they do not have daughters. One big reason people tend to like me is that they don’t have daughters. I’m a sweet talker, so most ELDERS click with me easily. Yes, I had to capitalize elders, because when you consider people my age, I’m friendless.
What if the people I smile to (and apparently the ones who adore me for my cheerfulness) come to know how empty I feel on the inside? What if they know how lonely, isolated, depressed and weak I feel? What if they know how badly I want to talk to someone my age and share with them every stupid and sad, good and bad phenomena in the world? What if they know how badly I need to release my frustration? What if they know I’m so worn out I feel I’d explode? What if they know of the void, nothingness and worthlessness I feel inside me? What if they know I’ve reduced to nothing more than a parasite not fed by the host anymore? What if they know how sad and depressed I actually am? What if they know I was a loner and had nobody to listen to me? What if they know I’d lost all hope? What if they know I am nothing like the one they thought I am? What if they know I was not the ideal one?
It is not that I put up fake smiles like makeup every morning. The smiles are genuine. They come because each morning when I wake up I resolve to start fighting all over again; to become stronger; to get rid of the depression. I start reveling in fiction, I try to put back my scattered pieces. But as the day unfolds, I realize that nothing worked. I sleep a horrible night to wake up to another ‘push yourself again’ morning. The cycle continues each day.
Well, nothing if the what ifs came true. They would not like me. They would not like me AT ALL.