Will 2020 be the year of Ashley? Let’s see…
One of my old friends (this is different from the ex-friends category), once told me she hadn’t seen me cry. And it made me wonder what sort of friend would want to see another’s sadness (my choice of friends is obviously commendable). Actually what sort of human being would want to witness another’s tragedy? People inflicting harm on another and finding sheer pleasure from the atrocity they committed is another case. Crying was never my thing – I don’t think it’s anybody’s actually. But I’m a little biased towards people who can cry just like that *clicks her fingers* because somehow I don’t find their tears to be as genuine as mine. I know it’s wrong but I’m not a perfect human being, as is very evident here. The thing is, when I cry, it means something horrible has happened that I can’t forcibly thrust down my throat or blink away or swallow while my throat burns with the intensity of my silenced scream. It’s pitiful to be not able to express feelings, especially of sadness. That’s why I write. And now to hide this great revelation that shows my human side (the suffering side-the one I hate), let me drive your attention to the fact that I hate Mondays. You probably do too. But I read somewhere that Monday isn’t to blame, your pathetic life is. Worth thinking about, eh?
Check out Chapter 8 in the series!
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