Broken

As I sit on the broken plastic chair with my eyes focused on the television screen, sundry thoughts are playing inside my head. The windows of my soul seem to be fixated straightaway on my favorite TV show but my mind is sidetracked to something that has been pestering me for quite a long time already. Now, the mushy scenes of what I'm watching hardly convince me and the romantic ones don't make shiver with veneration and envy. It's indisputably marvelous why I don't react to the happenings in the TV series that has captured my heart and interest. There might be something more important to ponder on. But what could it be?
The chair I'm sitting on is broken and it makes me feel unnerving. The impending catastrophe causes me to be conscious and makes me wary of whatever it may cause me if I'll fall from it. As I am busy watching out for the probable pain I might have when I fall, I cannot help associating myself to the chair. It is broken, as I am. And whatever I do, I can't get back its original appearance and strength. It can be repaired though, but its previous capability of carrying someone, regardless of how heavy the person is, still wins over its capability now. Sad to say, now that it's slight, there are already indemnities as to who can sit on it. Like the chair, I too already have limitations as to who to be keen on and what challenges to triumph. I've been damaged and marred by my own fantasies and phantasms where I once dwelled in. I am already weak and whatever means of moving on I'll take, I cannot get back my old disposition. I don't care if I'm just a chair where people's asses are being laid on, but now that I'm already a weak and almost futile one, it does break my heart. How can I be strong again? How can I carry on with a lot of asses still wanting to sit on me? These questions are haunting me right now. And as soon as my peculiar answers creep in to my sensitivity, I cannot help getting solitary and humdrum.
Who broke the chair by the way? And who broke me? Mind-boggling it might seem, but the truth is there is only one person who broke two pathetic entities. It's not even thought-provoking talking about this individual considering that he was apathetic to what he did to our chair...and more painfully, to me. It wasn't his fault though because he showed me that he had no solicitude for me. But can I blame the core of my being if I now see myself despicable? If only I could be given the chance to alter my past, I wouldn't have hankered after meeting him in my life.
According to a favorite writer, pain is only beautiful when one can rise from its depressing power and yes, he's right.
Sometimes we do things we regret about in the end. We engage ourselves with acts we are not ready to face the consequences of. Needless to say, we become doltish to know what good or bad effects these would probably have on us. We become blinded by our dream to achieve happiness even just for a transient moment. But after being blissful, what comes next?
I have here things that contributed to my current feeling, things that I'm sure are also the problems of other people:
Pain and regrets. These two always come after doing things you did not painstakingly think about. It's perceptibly depressing how your heart gets badly broken and how you frenziedly wish to have power blocs so that you could bring back the time and undo whatever you did wrong. But you have to face the reality that you can't because ordinary persons are innately bound to nose-dive and suffice such failures thereafter. No matter how throbbing the situation is, you have to solve your problem to somehow lessen the pain and worries that are bothering you. However hard it will be for you to do this, you simply have to because dwelling in the past will only cause you more despondencies and will precipitously change you to a kind of person you never wanted to become.
Happiness and contentment. These are the things we have been wanting to have. These two, however, cannot be possessed with just a snap of our fingers. We have to go through a lot of nuisances after we become happy and contented. It is true that happiness is a choice, but it isn't as easy as that. The difficult and enduring part of it is selecting among the available choices we have. Making choices is tricky because sometimes when we see the most suited remedy to our dilemma, we just get flabbergasted when it suddenly turns out to be wrong. There are choices almost completely the same with each other, that's why we often have a difficulty picking one for a particular perplexity.
Stupidity and numbness. Sometimes it's hard to make a clean breast that we become heedless and numb at times. As ordinary creations, we are imperfect; thus, we commit mistakes and sometimes become truculent of what we do, not putting into our hearts and minds the plausible aftermaths of our actions. Stupidity and numbness are but two of the most acceptable reasons why we do wrong in things we want to do right, fail in dreams we ever want to fulfill. Many would not accept that they become stupid and numb at times as they are enveloped by their belief and conviction that they are good enough not to commit mistakes. But believe me, all people have become victims of stupidity and numbness.
Desperation and melancholy. Naturally, we become solitary no matter how determined we are not to. Solitude is an inexorable part of human entity. It adds spice to our life so as to help us commemorate great ecstasy after it visits us. Nevertheless, some people have frequently been victims of this unavoidable quandary. As a result, they become frantic and desperate to elude melancholy and become happy even inconstantly. In addition, they retire from their habits and try new things, which they think will feed their incessant need for happiness. Then surprisingly they get amazed with the saddening effects their new acts have conferred on them as they are not used to doing these things.
Yes, I have pain and regrets right now. Yes, I am in need of happiness and contentment. Yes, I admit I'm a loser against stupidity and numbness at times. Yes, I've been a victim of desperation and melancholy. And yes, I don't know what to do to escape from this heart-rending trouble.
With this dilemma that has induced the crying of my heart, I wish I can, in one way or another, make the chair look like the way it was before it fractured. It may not be as sturdy as it used to be, but I'm sure that with hard work and determination, I can have it useful and wanted again. I pray that I be given the sufficient and right ingredients to fix it...and my heart. There are scars drawn in my bosom already, but in time, these flaws will nurse and vanish. And the time will come that when I recall this poignant memory of mine and reread this article, I will just let go of a whiff as an emblem of letting go of someone who has been a part of my life and surpassing a problem that has almost made me cynical and desirous of succumbing.
Maybe I just have to remember that when someone leaves, I need not find myself because a part of me vanishes too. I have to persuade myself that such part is the person himself who decides to leave.

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