tiffanygu Tue Apr 20, 2010 6:58 pmPhantom pain. There’s a certain phenomenon that happens often to the people who’ve had a limb amputated called phantom pain. At some time or another, you’ll feel a pang of pain in your lower left leg –innocent enough. Except that your leg isn’t there anymore. You’ll want to scratch your left arm, but it’s lying in a bucket of ice somewhere, decomposing. Somewhere else, not attached to you anymore. And such is the fate of those who are gone from our lives. The ones we’ll always miss.
The people you miss aren’t your friends. They’re not your family. They’re not the people you make any sort of effort to be with. They’re the ones who make up every other aspect of your life. The people you never really quite got to know too well; the people in your classes that you never talk to outside of the confines of those four walls, the people you always wave to in the hallways but never say more then hello, hey, maybe make some empty promises to hang out. And this missing comes up at the most random of times, the most inconvenient of times, the most innocuous of times. You’ve never noticed the eerie silence of your math class before because that guy’s always been there, taping his pen during every test, every moment. Remember that girl who always mispronounced “philanthropic” (philantropic, she always said—benefactors in the Caribbean.) You remember them all, the leaders in your extracurricular: the editors, the section leaders, the captains, the presidents. And in their stead there is you –younger, lost, missing them. Watching these people leave, missing them prove to be just another step in the process of growing up. All of a sudden, they’re gone, leaving with you only a myriad of cluttered and assorted memories and an oddly shaped hole in your heart. But the thing about this hole, what makes it special, is that you never expected it to form in the first place. It came out of nowhere.
I know it’s too early to get sentimental and weepy-eyed out of nostalgia. I still have a month before graduation, a month to enjoy the last dregs of my childhood, enjoy the company of the people who’ve helped me get this far and this place, however small, that I've spent my entire life. But now, the concept of “missing” somebody has become clearer than ever. I’ve said many a goodbye last June, thinking that that was that, a quick hug, flippant parting words, come visit soon, I’ll miss you. Phrases tossed out without really thinking about what they mean. I’ll miss you. But the thing about goodbyes is that you say them once, that’s it, you’re done. Missing somebody, on the other hand, lasts forever. It’s that pang of realization that there are people who are no longer in your life, people you may never see again, ever. The empty hole they leave never goes away. People whose lives used to be intertwined with your own, but have now degenerated into a completely different path. They’re gone, and so are all the opportunities to say what you never could say, and now, you never will. Gone are the memories you never made, the things you never did. It all comes flooding back to you again when you see the back of a head that looks exactly like this one guy and realize you never did tell him how annoying it was that he kept kicking the back of your chair and you never quite missed him until it dawns on you that every day in history, your chair has been completely and utterly still. The guy turns around as you realize that you are mistaken, that these thoughts of yours will never reach the ears of for whom they are intended.
Phantom pain strikes again.
The people you miss aren’t your friends. They’re not your family. They’re not the people you make any sort of effort to be with. They’re the ones who make up every other aspect of your life. The people you never really quite got to know too well; the people in your classes that you never talk to outside of the confines of those four walls, the people you always wave to in the hallways but never say more then hello, hey, maybe make some empty promises to hang out. And this missing comes up at the most random of times, the most inconvenient of times, the most innocuous of times. You’ve never noticed the eerie silence of your math class before because that guy’s always been there, taping his pen during every test, every moment. Remember that girl who always mispronounced “philanthropic” (philantropic, she always said—benefactors in the Caribbean.) You remember them all, the leaders in your extracurricular: the editors, the section leaders, the captains, the presidents. And in their stead there is you –younger, lost, missing them. Watching these people leave, missing them prove to be just another step in the process of growing up. All of a sudden, they’re gone, leaving with you only a myriad of cluttered and assorted memories and an oddly shaped hole in your heart. But the thing about this hole, what makes it special, is that you never expected it to form in the first place. It came out of nowhere.
I know it’s too early to get sentimental and weepy-eyed out of nostalgia. I still have a month before graduation, a month to enjoy the last dregs of my childhood, enjoy the company of the people who’ve helped me get this far and this place, however small, that I've spent my entire life. But now, the concept of “missing” somebody has become clearer than ever. I’ve said many a goodbye last June, thinking that that was that, a quick hug, flippant parting words, come visit soon, I’ll miss you. Phrases tossed out without really thinking about what they mean. I’ll miss you. But the thing about goodbyes is that you say them once, that’s it, you’re done. Missing somebody, on the other hand, lasts forever. It’s that pang of realization that there are people who are no longer in your life, people you may never see again, ever. The empty hole they leave never goes away. People whose lives used to be intertwined with your own, but have now degenerated into a completely different path. They’re gone, and so are all the opportunities to say what you never could say, and now, you never will. Gone are the memories you never made, the things you never did. It all comes flooding back to you again when you see the back of a head that looks exactly like this one guy and realize you never did tell him how annoying it was that he kept kicking the back of your chair and you never quite missed him until it dawns on you that every day in history, your chair has been completely and utterly still. The guy turns around as you realize that you are mistaken, that these thoughts of yours will never reach the ears of for whom they are intended.
Phantom pain strikes again.