"Ohhh... the sun is already out... I wonder if I have any new messages.... Nope... of course not... Okay, I have to get up and take a quick shower before heading to the gym."
That was Brian, just a simple next-door type of man in his mid-thirties, who happened to be living another day of his systematic life. Nothing was accidental, nothing was by chance, nothing was surprising. Everything was insanely and uninterestingly routine without falling into the pit of perfectionism. In fact, he was far from that notion. He was more systematic than anything else. He would do his job as usual, eat the same food mostly, and go to the same places repeatedly, even though he would at times say to himself, "Hmm, this weekend there will be nice weather... I should go somewhere nice and new." But you and I know he would not do so.
As he ate a banana right after his shower, he glanced through the window to check if the gym in front, where he went, was already open.
"Alright, I better get ready... I don't want to spend more than an hour working out, and besides, later there will be more people, and I don't want to deal with that."
After finishing his coffee, he proceeded to put on his sports clothes and head off to the gym—a place where he could unwind and forget about the "outside world," as he sadly put it. The premises of this exercise place were just as ordinary as any other, with a considerable number of machines and workout spaces to keep their clients satisfied and attract new ones. Brian made his way to the changing room, casually thinking about his exercise routine for that morning. And guess what? It was the same routine again, just systematic.
Sometimes I wonder if he would be able to cope with small changes in his routine life. However, I must say I still cannot fathom him realizing such a condition, just as I am not entirely sure whether I personally would be able to cope with being routine for most daily activities, no matter how big or small they may be.
Brian, however, would often make a big effort in the performance of his activities. Even something as simple as pouring a warm and nice cup of coffee in the morning or during his gym workout, he did so enthusiastically and energetically.
And there it was, standing triumphantly with a smirk, almost twisted at the corner of the mouth. His black hair neatly pushed to the sides, with a strand hanging over his forehead. His dark clothes beautifully highlighted his pale white skin and well-formed crimson lips. Despite being in good shape, the figure had a hint of being nauseating with piercing blackened eyes fixed on Brian's apprehensive gaze. He felt as if a kind of electricity ran throughout his body, while his heartbeat frantically accelerated. He could sense there was something extraordinarily unusual about the figure standing in front of him, and yet it was relieving. You could almost hear Brian whispering, "You're finally here."
"I think it would be better if you pull down outwards and squeeze your grip at the end of the movement," the figure said in a casual tone. His voice was calm, almost soothing. The figure approached him and laid his hands on Brian's to show him how the movement was to be performed. In that moment, Brian almost flinched a little at the cold touch of the man's hands. However, he just gave in calmly. The experience felt familiar, deep inside he knew who the man was. He could sense that very well-known feeling of sadness emanating from the core of his heart, the pain flourishing inside just from existing right there and then.
"Thanks for the advice," said Brian, while holding his gaze at the pair of darkened eyes, almost hollow. He felt his blood rushing, he felt it, he knew, and yet he asked, "Who are you?" "I am an old friend. You know who I actually am, for we have known each other for a long time... ever since you let me in... It was in that moment I was born, and so, here I am," the man said frankly and straightforwardly, in an almost tender and sweet tone. "You need not fear, for I am with you. I am a part of you, and also, because I deeply care about you. I sense what you are feeling, the beating of your heart, and even the warmth of your tears when you cry. My beloved, believe me when I say that I know what it feels like. I know for certain your sentiments and desperation, your happiness and sadness, for I am the one who collects, the one who stands and lives here and here," said the man, pointing at Brian's head and chest. Brian was taken aback by the man's words since they sharply represented what Brian had in his heart and concealed with hopefulness. He knew these words perfectly well. After a few seconds, Brian became aware of people looking at him awkwardly, as if there was something wrong with him. He realized that these other people could not see the man who was conversing with him. They just saw a man talking quietly to himself. He picked up his bottle and towel and quickly walked down the stairs to the changing room. He pushed the door open and looked at himself in the mirror. Tears filled his eyes, his beautiful green eyes crying at the uncertainty and confusion of what had just occurred. He felt as if his heart was being ripped open and torn into pieces of grief and pain. "Do not weep, my beloved, for I am not here to hurt you. My love for you is great. You are just overwhelmed by this event," said the man, while removing Brian's tears gently and tenderly. Brian was certainly out of words. How could he comprehend the understanding of what was happening in that moment? However, he managed to collect himself and said, "I can't talk right now... I..." He hesitated and added, "I have to dash off home and..." He quickly gathered his belongings and rushed out, almost running. A few moments later, he opened the door of his apartment. He collapsed on his bed, with torrents of tears gushing out of his eyes, while muffling a scream of pure pain and desperation with a pillow. He could no longer suppress these feelings. "Did that just happen? I know who he is... I'm sick of this," Brian said to himself. Everything he had kept within his heart flowed out. Everything he had wanted surfaced once again, even more powerfully this time. It was only after a while that he slightly recovered, barely able to move from his bed, staring blankly at the picture frame on the wall. A sense of void enveloped him in a blanket of tranquility. It was as if everything around him briefly stopped, bringing along a much-desired calmness. This mixture of feelings, this encountering of rapture in sadness, the paradox of it all... it was so familiar, so well-known.
The next day, he woke up as usual. A cup of coffee and some breakfast, and then off to work. His day at the office was uneventful, but in the corner of his mind, he could still hear the voice saying, "...You know who I actually am, for we have known each other for a long time... ever since you let me in..." A sense of tranquility, sadness, and fear invaded him, piercing his soul here and there, making him alert. He knew he would see him again.
After what seemed like a long day at work, he walked to the bus stop where he would catch the same bus and sit in the same spot, which was almost always unoccupied. He got off, dragging his steps slowly. He reached the front door of his building and took the elevator to his floor. As soon as he got home, he took a shower. The warm water running over his naked thin body, and in that moment, he sensed warm tears flowing, while saying, "God, save me!" Shortly after, he put on a pair of black sweatpants and a black flannel t-shirt. He put on some music, the kind that he used to listen to long before—slow, melancholic, and heavy—the kind of music that would bring anyone down, even those of great spirits. He lit a white candle he had around since he was not in the mood to turn on the lights. The candlelight provided enough illumination, he thought. Afterward, he opened a bottle of good red wine he had been given about three years ago. He kept them all in the cabinet since he did not drink. He simply thought they might be useful in case he had friends over, although that never happened. He only had acquaintances, none of whom could truly be called "a friend." As the heavy tunes started, he could feel his soul being dragged around while his body was weighed down. The pain, sadness, and melancholy of the music once again overwhelmed him, enveloping every corner of his being, embracing him coldly. He could see how his vision blurred due to the tears that tried to escape his eyes. In a spur of the moment, he took a gulp of dry red wine, feeling it slide down his throat as his body trembled slightly from the effect. He lit a thin menthol cigarette and took a puff. The smoke burst out of his mouth, leaving a cloud of memories that rushed to his mind and heart. His sadness was deep, cold, and piercing. It all came back again—an existence with no purpose, torrents of tears flowing, and the pain of being alive. "May I sit with you?" he heard a sweet voice say to his right. He did not dare to turn around, as he knew perfectly well who it was. "Be my guest," Brian said indifferently, taking another puff of his cigarette and another gulp of wine. "I know why you are here... it is because I somehow have called you several times, and yet I got nothing... until now... you're here," Brian whispered the last words and sighed.
Having another sip of red wine, Brian couldn't help but remember those sweet memories of his childhood, where everything was so simple, yet deep within his heart, the shadow of his suffering had already taken residence. That innate suffering and pain had already been present within him, whispering unheard words of sadness, and despite his young mind and heart, he could sense what it was about. At such a young age, there it was, slowly growing, slowly blooming, just waiting for the right time to finally spread its wings and pervade his heart and soul without a second thought.
"Do you not remember that time, long ago when the sun was shining high in a blue sky, and there you were, dressed in your small school uniform, as if preparing for battle? That day when you experienced abandonment, solitude that brought tears to your eyes, realizing you were alone... by yourself? You were apprehensive about the unknown, and you wished for me, for you had already felt me flourishing within you... and I whispered: I am here. Although you were unable to hear me," the man said.
"Yes, I remember that day. And I remember feeling everything," said Brian, a fleeting smirk crossing his face, only to be replaced by a sad stare directed at the candle. "Why then are you making me remember all this? I don't get it," Brian added. "Because I need you to see and understand that I also weep for your suffering, that my eyes are as bloodshot as yours from your sorrow and solitude. For you have become a walking shell of what you once were... and ultimately, for you to eagerly desire my embrace. You are clad in sorrow and chained to your hopelessness, and my beloved, that is a heavy burden to bear on your shoulders, making even your tears flow bitterly like vinegar when you cry for salvation... and I am the one who has heard," the man declared.
"What if my sadness is all I have?! What if my brokenness is the most real thing I have in this dead life, as you have put it? If I let you embrace me, it will not be over, it will just continue, and I don't see the logic in that. What if this is all I have to live for, just to make myself feel alive? Even in the deepest of sorrows, I still want to believe in hope. I want to believe... but my weakness holds me so tightly I can barely move!" Brian said desperately, holding back his tears.
As systematic as Brian's life had been up to that moment, the reality was that everything in his heart, all his feelings, sentiments, and memories were gushing out like blood from a wound. He was simply overwhelmed by the current situation, occurring right there. Being overpowered by this wave of emotions drowned him without remorse.
"You know..." Brian said with a scoff, "I understand everything you've been saying, but I simply don't understand myself... it's like looking at myself in the mirror and not recognizing the person I see... many times I feel restless and mutter words from the coldness of my mind... funny thing, huh? And for some reason, I know you, I know your words... and..." Brian paused, reflecting for a moment. "...I love you," he said, almost embarrassingly. Though these last words were like a cold dagger being pushed into his chest, they were bittersweet words, pure and embalmed in honey, yet painful, icy, and hurtful deep inside. He meant them with full knowledge, longing for them to escape his chest and mouth. It was in that moment that he truly understood that feeling. "I know, my dear... I do know," said the man calmly, his eyes filled with tenderness and sadness.
Rushing thoughts flew through Brian's mind. He would never have thought that professing words of love would be so staggeringly painful, salt on an open wound. In that moment, feeling almost resolute, he made a decision that had already been hovering over his mind for quite a while, as you may have already discerned. After extinguishing his cigarette, he slowly leaned over, staring into the man's dark eyes, and kissed his forehead. Both of them wore expressions of relief, soothed by the act. It was permission granted, unspoken words in a language only they understood. Slowly, the man stood up and beckoned Brian to do the same, taking his hand. When Brian complied, he felt the man's cold touch, which was now soothing, like fresh water on a hot summer day. Brian obediently followed, almost in a trance. "Do not fear, my child, for you are with me," said the man, drawing closer to Brian. Brian could feel the man's cold, icy breath, like a winter breeze. The man's lips pressed against Brian's, sweet and passionate. The dark figure gently embraced him, careful not to break him, holding him tenderly. In that moment, Brian could feel his blood flowing in his veins, memories swirling within his mind—his childhood, the skating rink he used to visit with his brother, the sweet smell of porridge made by his mother, his first job. All these memories cascaded soundlessly, yet so vividly. Finally, a tear escaped his right eye as he closed them, not wanting to keep them open. "It will soon be over," he thought as he heard his heart beating slowly... so slowly. "Thank you," he whispered, squinting his eyes, while the words escaped his mouth. He noticed the man staring at him with a loving, sweet gaze. "Rest, for your suffering is no more," said the man.
Silence and emptiness filled the room as the candle slowly burned out. A subtle scent of cigarette smoke and roses hung in the air. It was done. A sad melody played, almost like a hymn of misery at Brian's departure. His lifeless body lay on the brown-tiled floor, his existence ceased, soon to be systematically forgotten.
What are we, really? Perhaps we are just walking around, trying to figure ourselves out, repeatedly having the same dreams and goals. Sleepwalking through an existence that sometimes turns out disgracefully empty, leading us to the worst resolutions. We gaze at the stars, we pray, we work, we walk, we think—all performed repeatedly. We seem to be caged and shackled in an earthly prison that kills our souls and burdens our hearts until they break, only for us to desperately try to put them back together, knowing they will crack and break again... repeatedly.
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