The Second Wave

Readers beware: This is yet another of the jeremiads of my never-ending grief thanks to Woe the Sadist.

On 26th of December 2004, just moments before the devastating tsunami hit the shores, the waves were observed to recede unusually low. Yet, many failed to realised that wrathful nature was brewing an impending disaster; no one reckoned the sign as a harbinger of doom which was set to bring grief to a lot of people.

It has been a month since 11th March – a hurtful day – as I called it in my previous blog. Time the Healer has done a clean job washing away my grief; the wave of sorrow has receded. But, alas! I have just committed the same mistake as the picnickers who fell victims to the killer waves. Just as I thought all was going well, the second wave struck but a stronger force this time, sweeping me into the sea of woe. Judging from my current situation, I would say it did a rather good job in trying to drown me.

This is as yet the most traumatic experience I have ever had. Nothing has been more disappointing and humiliating than being accused as a liar, especially by her – the girl that I revere! However, she told me yesterday she has the uncomfortable feeling that I have been playing around with her feelings. What was it that led her to this conclusion, I did not quite understand, considering that I have been constantly reminding myself to act naturally in front of her ever since that day. In fact, I have never felt more like myself in these past few weeks.

The truth is, I am having a stressful time posing as two persons: the one that the world greets and my actual grieving self. The image others perceive is that of a jovial person; someone who seems to be free of worries; the real image under the deceitful mask is that of a battered soul.

I tried to treat her as a normal friend, be wary of not showing too much concern so as not to pressure her. But sigh. She mistook it as sign that I was treating her badly, as I later learned. And I was quoted with several occasions which caused her to jump to the hurtful conclusion. Never had I the notion that girls are so sensitive to the extent that even a small action that boys hardly notice can be misconstrued and misinterpreted in a totally different manner.

I am feeling as if I am at the centre of a vacuum void that sucks all the plagues of sorrow into my psyche. How much of this I can withhold before the point of breaking down, I do not know. I just can’t help believing that I have been singled out by a very sick sadist to be the gambit of this callous game that consumes me as a whole.

When she rejected me exactly a month ago, I accepted it with such grace and magnanimity that I never knew I had – though it crushed the heart painfully with the equal magnitude – as things turned out quite within my expectations. However hurtful it was, it is nothing relative to this very woe that I suffer. For the first time after a period longer than I can remember, I wept. With no one to turn to but my ever-faithful friend, Solitude, all I could do was to wipe off the welled-up tears and turn my thoughts to other things. Unfortunately, it was harder than I thought for the longer I wallowed over the matter, the worse I felt.

I promised to forgive her. As I later turned the matter over in the mind, I realised that all these sorrows came from me in the first place. If only I had not divulged my feelings towards her, things would be a lot more better this day; if only I had not done the selfish things that only comforts me, she would be spared from all this grief; if only…

When I was posed with the question a few days back whether I was still in love with her, I could not come up with a sure reply. I have done quite well in trying to relieve her from my thoughts but does that imply that she no longer means that much to me? However, yesterday’s turn of events provided me with the sought-after answer…

Right now, I am strolling down via dolorosa, the path of sorrow. Where will it ultimately lead me to? I wonder.