Chapter Three

It had seemed like a century but it had still been eighteen years since I moved with Uncle Tim. And in that span of time all I had been thinking was about the lives that I might have had if that nightmare didn’t happen. I had become a slave of my imagination and that made me at least smile until my mind realizes that it is defying the truth, and I was back to being miserable again. The number of breaths I took, steps I made and obstacles I broke were decreasing, gradually decreasing.

When Uncle Tim’s wife was still working at a night club, her so-called friend would often come over.

“Do you know how lucky you were when you were rescued from that fire?” She would say.

I never said a word to her, not even once. I find it ridiculous to talk to people who pretend to know how I feel. Only the people who have lost everything have the right to say that. I didn’t like how she looked at me with sympathy I didn’t need. I didn’t like how she filled me with words of hope when she herself wasn’t living life one should. I didn’t like everyone who had the choice to be successful but chose to be miserable. Uncle Tim, my aunt and her friend and Jean; they were all capable of ruling the world but they chose not to.

“You are alive. Many people who have died in that earthquake would love to trade places with you.” She would add despite me ignoring her.

But it didn’t happen once or twice. Wherever I go, it happened all the time. Like when I was forced to go to high school. I had sworn not to have an interaction with other people ever again, not because I was mentally or emotionally incapable of interacting, but because of the opposite. They, my elementary classmates and schoolmates, though not all, weren’t capable of doing such and I expect high school to be worse than that. I was not scared. The part I didn’t like was when the countable kind people try too hard to keep me from drifting apart from the norm.

“We’re having a pajama party tomorrow night. If you can come, please do!” Aya said.

Aya, who was my classmate in elementary, was probably the kindest person I knew in school. She was the top student in our class and she had invited me to all her parties that her parents had thrown for her as a reward. She had offered to have her dad drive me to and from our house. But I have not been to any of her parties. Oftentimes though, she seemed to forget that I had declined her fifty previous invitations and just kept on inviting me. She wasn’t the only one. There was Kenji, who had invited me several times to see movies with his sisters. There were five more. And the rest just either stare at me probably wondering why I don’t have legs or dodge the pathetic, unattractive sight. The teachers though were all kind to me. But the problem with them, kind people, is that they just don’t know when to leave a person alone.

“You know what, you’re still lucky to have survived. Go out and play.” My English teacher once said.

Here we go again. I would say to myself. I could say I was so used to people saying I’m lucky I survived. I get them probably six times a week and I should have gotten better in dealing with them. But I didn’t. In fact, I personally think I got more senseless than I already was. Maybe because, it had never occurred to me that I am lucky. We all know I am not lucky. If they really meant what they said, they should have stopped comparing my life to the dead. I mean, why would they compare me to nothingness? If I was really lucky, they should have compared me to Aya. But no one did. That is because they all knew that I was the lowest form of being in that room, in that school, in the whole mankind. But that didn’t matter to me. All I wanted was for them to stop giving me special attention I never asked. I wanted to be normal or at least be treated normal but I myself didn’t know what being normal was. I guess living a normal life and being happy sometimes and being sad sometimes is normal. If having your own house, marrying the man of your dreams, going to work you really love is normal then I am light years away from it. Sometimes, late at night, I blame my disabilities. But sometimes, late at night, it just strikes me; if having four limbs doesn’t lead everyone to success, then what does? Sometimes I come up with silly answers like love, hope, trust, or faith but I contradict all of them if not always, most often, thus, leaving my questions create more sub-questions.

<3 Manganese