So Easily Replaced

When I was growing up, second chances didn’t pop up very often.

That day, when I was four, I managed to convince my father that I could fly the kite by myself, but let go of it. The kite flew higher and higher up until it was just a blue dot in the sky, like an accidental splodge on a painting. Well, that kite’s not coming back, and daddy’s not buying another one. In fact, he was probably pretty relieved that he doesn’t have to fly kites with his dumb daughter anymore.

 That day, when I was six and at the beach, where my mother bought me an ice cream but I dropped it. Well, tough, because mummy’s not going to buy another one. If I didn’t cherish that first cone, I probably would have dropped the second cone too.

 That day, when I was much older, I watched a friend cry in front of me, but didn’t know what to do, and instead just patted her back, holding back my own tears. Throughout that night, and many other similar nights, I lay in my bed and pictured countless scenarios that I could have carried out instead of just standing there, trying not to cry.

I was kind of silly as a preteen, and perhaps I still act like a twelve-year-old from time to time. Due to something that happened a while ago, I used to think what it would be like if I died. They weren’t suicidal thoughts; I was just merely curious as to how the world would continue without me. When you’re small, the world revolved around you, so obviously, if you died, that world would stop. I imagined my mother and father crying, lamenting that they should have never divorced. I imagined my teachers crying, saying they’ll never meet such a student like me ever again. I imagined my friends crying, reading out nice eulogies they wrote for me at my funeral. I imagined myself seeing all this, as a ghost just floating above everyone’s heads. Strangely enough, I felt chuffed. I really should have felt loved, but as an egotistical child, I didn’t really appreciate that. I just felt that weird sense of pride that I had power over such a number of individuals.  

As I got older, I laughed at my own younger self’s thoughts. So naïve and innocent back then, when the world still orbited around me. I re-evaluated my heroic death scenario that left scores grieving, and came up with something that I didn’t expect at all.

No one’s going to give a fuck.

I was watching a psychology lecture online, and the professor described an experiment on happiness. He said that some scientists conducted a survey, asking the subjects how happy they are currently in life. Then, after significant events such as accidents leading to paraplegia/quadriplegia, or winning the lottery, they conducted the survey again. In a span of roughly three or four years, or even less, the subjects’ happiness level returns to what it was before the event. I was pretty doubtful, because happiness is not a very quantifiable matter, and it is purely subjective, but the results are still astounding. A positive experience, such as winning the lottery might make you happier for some time, but that happiness doesn’t last. A negative experience, such as a crippling accident might make you depressed, but that depression doesn’t last either. We humans are just that adaptable and accepting of our fates.

So let’s go back to dying that imaginary tragic death. There is an initial impact that will hit like an earthquake, shattering those who are close to me. Everyone deals with being hurt differently, but I would expect some tears and sobs for possibly a few days. As the minutes, days, weeks go by, that pain will ebb, as those who are grieving accepts that I’m simply not there anymore, and nothing will change that. Speaking of dying, I’ve always wanted to die while saving someone. Too many movies on my part, but it’s better than Bryce’s preference of dying by running into a giant, spinning fan. Anyway.

In less than a year, life will resume as normal for everyone who knew me, because the world revolves around everyone. And like a fond memory, I might fleet across your minds one day, out of the blue. But just like that, I’m gone again as quickly as I came into your mind.

So I guess it’s not entirely true that no one would give a fuck. It’d be very upsetting if that was the case, which would only happened if I was an orphan and everyone hated me. Sure, people would throw out a few fucks, and depending on how close our relationships were, some would throw more than others. However, everything comes to an end, and the memory of me would be replaced by more pressing issues going on in other people’s lives.

Wow, I’m tired, and I forgot why I was writing and what I was trying to get across. If you read this far, kudos to you because there is no conclusion. I can say something generic such as “Cherish every moment.” “Love people.” “Live life to the fullest.” Blah blah blah, but seriously, I’m empty.