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I wasn’t actually planning on posting a blog tonight. I guess, in my own narcissism, I was secretly impressing upon myself that if I dont blog too often, my insights will have a bigger impact. This very thought, and typing them up thus making them tangible, makes me so sick. Why does eveything I think of has to be about me? I honestly think, and I’m only divulging this incriminating fact because Im very heartbroken right now, that I should be realising more that this is a big world that I am in and there are people — people who are coming and going and there are things that are happening and unhappening. There are books, and there are roads and there are cars and there are words and there is the earth and the sky and the table lamp in my bedside and there are my family and my friends. And then there is myself. But we are all in the same world, occupying space, existing.

Yesterday, my cousin died in a motorcycle accident. I dont need condolences, we were not close. I dont even know the boy. Im not really feeling the loss that comes with these things – I guess that makes me a very unimportant person in his life and him to mine. What Im honestly feeling is that this boy, who was barely out of his teens, could have been someone great. I know, I know that’s a horrible thing to say at this time. You might say to me — well, you dont know that, i bet his father, his mother, his brother thought he was the greatest windshield repairman in the world. I actually wanna kill myself for even writing this about him — but this is all i can think of since i heard of this tragedy. He could have been great.

I wish I knew him more to be able to not think and just weep in pure agony. Yes, Im crying now, but fuck if I knew if these are tears of grief or of necessity. Nobody can see me now, but not crying seems so wrong. They say people are rewarded for their honesty. There’s honesty for you. I hope I do not feel this obligation to be honest.

Or, this could be how Im coping. This could be one of those times that I see myself as an actor on some movie. I am anticipating every emotion, deconstructing every scene, until everything becomes explainable and digestible for me.

I am overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time. Somebody dies and I make it my personal issue. It makes me all the more sick that I cant see him in his coffin and tell to his face to fucking wake up so I wont have to deal with this kind of shit that I cook up. I am despicable beyond comprehension, but I sit and stand and act and smile like the healthiest person in the world.

Jayjay, I think you were pretty healthy when you were alive, and for that I envy you. Rest now. I’ll try and check up on your folks once in a while. I regret not being able to know you enough that I even have to write this horrible blog on this godforsaken night.

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