This is the first time I'll blog about the group I thought existed. If you've read my blog entry on one of my blogsites, at eriebear.blogspot.com to be exact, you'll figure out what I am talking about.
I am first scared of what outcome my letter would bring if I read it aloud to them. Though I'm half heartedly unprepared of whats going to happen, I did it. For my self's sake, only.
I've loved them whole heartedly, though there are still this this thing called "hatred" among each other's action because of someone's reaction, I've loved the group as a whole, giving no exemption on the repeated mistakes of each of us. We are all humans, for crying out loud. We make mistakes that made us stronger after we've learned from it.But that doesn't mean we will always have to just sit there, put both our sweaty palms on our laps and continue showing nods and smiles. I am indeed, talking about myself.
Know why I hate telling stories bout myself? Because if there is a story, it is probably sad or boring. Boring because honestly, I'm in my mid-life boringness state wherein all I do are just.. go to school, attend school gatherings, hang out with my friends, go malling and go-house(this is grammatically correct to me. "Home" is either inappropriate or incredulous). Sadness because questions makes me sad. Through questions,I repeatedly think, repeatedly feel.
Inside a hollow ball. Perfect description of where I am.
So there. Infro of my friends, I am a hollow ball. Story teller but couldn't tell the story of myself. A puppet designed and programmed to act like human. No past stories to tell. No emotion to burst nor boast.
So there, I read the letter to them. Told them how I grew tired of keeping everything about our group's un-finished arguments, backstabbing and hatred. How some of them tends "always" put our pieces back, reclaiming herself to be the group's saviour. and I hate that. I told them that. I told them of how angry I am. How, on the first time I showed someone, how angry and sad I am. The hollowball. That's where I temporarily stepped out while reading that letter.
For the first time, I cried infront of my friends, ex-group friends. Not because I'm sad nor angry.Because I was happy. Happy not because we broke up before that stupid name I created but because I am finally free.
No responsibility for others. No hatred and guilt. Not another hollowball.
Maybe it was really my mistake.
Maybe I just missed my ex-friends called "POSH"
Maybe, just maybe, I am really just capable of creating and breaking.
Maybe I'm not suitable for everlasting.
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