A thousand thoughts ran through my head. What if? What if I couldn't crack my exams? What if I couldn't see my name in the tabloids, the newspapers, the magazines the way I wanted to? What if I couldn't make it to Harvard, what if I couldn't deliver my Oscar speech? I had rehearsed it almost half my life now, and it still seemed a distant dream. I was clutching at my Louis Vuitton bag hopelessly, remembering how happy the day I was when I first bought it. Somebody had once advised me to recollect the happiest moments of my life during lows, for that would help alleviate the melancholy of the situation. I must've been trying to do just that...but somehow, it didn't work. Every time I recounted a good memory, it would be overshadowed by a grim one. Every time I tried to forget the past, it crawled its way back into the present. Memories have a way of resurfacing. And it pained to know that I had more bad memories than good ones. And it pained even more because all those things I had been thinking about mattered. They mattered, in every sense of the term. Yes, it mattered to be on the top of my game, it mattered to be the master of my trade, it mattered to be excellent, always, it mattered to outshine everyone, it mattered to be famous, it mattered to be remembered, it mattered to be everyone's dinner table conversation and it mattered to be in the magazines. It irked, pained and then faded away, only to be replaced by a feeling of guilt and repentance. It felt nauseating. Like letting someone else succeed in your only forte. Like letting someone else claim to be the parent of your child. Like losing everything that you have. Like feeling completely denuded of everyone that you have ever had. And even though my failures were not concrete or huge enough, I felt small. I felt so small I could shrink. I was dwindling, every minute, every second. The more I contemplated my failures, the more it hurt and like someone said it hurt because it mattered. I was dejected, depressed, and envious, yes. Envious of every person in the world who had fulfilled their dreams, at that moment. Envious of every thing that had the privilege to be remembered. I was suddenly envious of all those who I had drawn upon and loved because I wanted to be them. I felt tiny sitting in a corner, clutching at a Louis Vuitton bag even though I had so much to be thankful for. I felt like a nasty teenager who cries and throws tantrums about the monotony of life. I felt like a certain Marie or Sophia or Julie, a 1 5 year old who fretted about the fact that she had scored a mark less than her best friend in her favourite subject. I felt like a 10 year old John who fought with his mother just because there was more cheese on his brother's pizza than his. I felt like a 28 year old Emily who felt bad because her rival fared better than her in her forte. I felt like an old man sitting in one corner of the street feeling jealous of a philanthropist who had gained more approval than he had in his entire lifetime. I felt like child who'd ceased to be the apple of his parent's eye because of his younger brother.
I wasn't happy. And I wasn't content either. I went on people's timelines and wrote good things about them and made them feel nice about themselves. And I did this to satisfy myself in a certain subliminal way, but it only made me feel worse. Nobody replied to my comments. Nobody responded to my snark...except one girl.
She was someone I adored. She was probably the most famous person on this social networking website, and she'd always been very inspirational. So I saw some hate on her timeline and worded a strong rebuttal in her defence against the people who had sent all the criticism because I truly thought she didn't deserve it. She called it "the most elegantly worded rebuttal" and even wrote "You made my day" on my timeline. I suddenly felt good. Even better. I felt like I had the power to at least influence one person. I felt a little worthy. She may have been lying, she may have been faking praise, but at that moment, it mattered. It mattered not only because I liked her or I was depressed, it mattered because I needed validation. I always thought nobody had the power to mould my moods and my thoughts but I was wrong. At times, the most majestic of things don't move you and the smallest things do. It may have been a very small thing, but at that moment, it mattered, and it mattered because it really, did matter. She'd never know this. But the only person to have a great influence on me was someone who didn't know me, someone I didn't know. But life always works that way, doesn't it?