Life's Great Mystery

Yesterday I went to the optometrist to get a prescription for contact lenses. There, I ran into an old friend -- a friend from high school. She was a year younger and graduated a year after I did, and I haven't really talked to her since I graduated. I saw her a while ago, maybe about two three years ago, but didn't make much more than small talk.

We had orchestra together -- we shared a music stand. She is a great violinist -- she started playing when she was 6 or something. She eventually went onto UCLA and majored in music, and now plays in an orchestra and teaches students. She looked great -- very pretty and stylish, and although she was just a year younger than I am, she had the youthful jubilance in her smile, which held a collective aura of both naivete and sophistication, but she seemed genuine and genuinely happy. Which seems to be more than I can say for myself.

I am aware that I can't judge the extent of her happiness or expect to uderstand her whole life by chatting with her for a few minutes; but the slice of time I spent facing her should be somewhat reflective of the life she leads, no? If someone I hadn't seen in years would see me and talk to me for a few minutes, would they see that I exude such confidence and stability and bona fide joy for life? No, they probably wouldn't. Even through my very own, contact lenses adorned eyes, I see myself to be far more gloomier. Besides the fact that I weigh 20 lbs more than I did a few years ago, my face has aged with stress. Not in the form of wrinkles or dark under-eye circles, but the fact that I just look tired. I don't look excited by life. The corners of my lips shoot downward and my pupils are lackluster.

That is what life has done to me. This was caused by sitting at my desk, elbows digging into the wood, palms supporting my heavy head, while I worry as the night deepens, for the nursing program; the nights I lie wide awake in bed with sleepy and tired, but sleep-deprived eyes, playing the waiting game with Homeland Security while they approve my visa petition; the hours spent infront of the television, creating a personalized groove on the couch, imprinting my body on it, while mindlessly snacking away -- subconsciously feeling that the more I eat the less I worry; it is wishing that I don't wake up in the morning, just so I don't have to report to work, or at the very least have some kind of serious illness that prohibits me from going to work, and waking up each morning with that nasty feeling.

That is what drained the joie de vivre from my life. It has sucked the life out of me. And until now, I hardly recognized the slow progression into the labyrinths of unhappiness. When I saw my classmate's face, her smile, her poise, her laughs, the sparkle in her eyes, and her girlish giggle -- I saw, in harsh contrast, all that I am not. I am not even half the ambitious, excited, eager, bright, and smiling person I had been. I feel like a shriveled up hag who lives day to day not expecting too much from life, lest it expects too much from her.

It is the truth; that has been the way life has treated me, and most of it, I couldn't do anything to fight. But instead of trying to control life, I should have controlled myself. Look introspectively and figure out what makes me happy, what makes me calm and at ease, and what helps me deal. I should have exercised and eaten balanced, nutrious-wise meals. Instead of just shopping for a lipstick as a therapeutic measure, I should have gotten up 10 minutes earlier in the morning to apply it to my lips. I should have invested more money and more time in my hair and get it cut/colored more than once every two years. I should have invested in shoes that not only look good, but feel good, instead of opting for flip-flops just because it's cheap and I can get away with it nearly year-round in SoCal. I should have had more chocolate, instead of denying myself the pleasure of it, only to munch on potato chips and sip sugary fruit juices. I should have drank less coffee, or at least, less black.

I could have done so many things that would have made me happier -- not happy, but at least happier -- and would have made me at least have half the smile my classmate was able to show. I am miserable, but it is my own fault. All this time, I had only contributed to my downward spiral into gloom. I already know what my new year's resolution is now. It is to be good to myself, to my body, to my mind, to my soul. So that I can smile with confidence and not pull a facade of forced lips, pursed tightly but slightly upward, in hopes of deceiving the viewer into thinking that I am happy.