Hiraeth
Human nature is showcasing; that they are superior in every single thing that intrigues them from other personalities. Sadness is a thing nowadays that intrigues humans, every single kind of person. Every single person wants their life to be mysterious enough and a maze enough for others to get intimidated by them, for other people to get intrigued by them. Every single person carries the personality to learn and make false images of them to make their teachers feel inferior. It became a fashion for these people to enter into a territory called sad souls or depressing souls, otherwise, people would shame themselves thinking oh they are so happy, how? Even though I want to be. Just like that. People don't want to share that they are happy, rather they want to enter into a social cover-up that has many others acting as if they are sad as if they are suffering. Every single soul wants their achievements to be seen as better and and huge than others. May it be sadness or may it be depression. Suppose someone learns that someone is sad and very much depressed. First of all, depressed people don't say they are depressed at least till a generation they didn't, nowadays people learn the symptoms and match them with their own. There is a certain kind of community that wants to make the others show that they are sadder than the other, that they are more depressed than them. It's cruel human nature to compare those stories, those wounds of others with their simple cuts by cutting themselves more.
Suppose you heard someone saying they have a cruel past, they have experienced miserable things in life. Then this kind of certain community says right after that they suffered too. It's their nature to talk back using a simple story compared to the one they listened to just to drag the attention which is the sadness to herself. Nowadays sadness is a fancy item we wear. Maybe they did suffer. But sometimes their little to no sad story outshines someone's actual brutal battles. They shouldn't compare, they shouldn't try to win the depth of someone's story by telling their own story. No, let them be the center of attention when they express their stories.
Not everyone is depressed. But everyone acts as if they are. And depression doesn't always come after experiencing something terrible. Depression comes without much happening in life. like some buzzing. Like a vibration in the mind instead of a mobile phone. Depression isn't caused by others. Sometimes we create anxiousness. Depression isn't any kind of sickness that people will pity you hearing it. Depression is not an achievement that people will be intrigued by your mysteriousness and you shouldn't be either.
Depression isn't caused by trauma. Trauma and depression are so much different. But sometimes traumatic lines, flashbacks of some scenes, and snippets might create depression. Suppose you had a fight with your friend and you will come to social media roaring about how much of a bad tone she used. This is not the sadness most people are experiencing, let me tell you some actual traumas people are suffering from, such as massive heartbreak by parents, not the ones where parents are lecturing their children to achieve something or rebuking for something they didn't like. Actual traumas are where parents are living separated and you guys' moms or dads shedding tears because of loneliness or betrayal. Seeing you guys' parents helplessly ripping apart from each other and the wounds so fresh you want to gag, a profound urge to protect them but can't anyway. That is trauma. Trauma is someone touching you without your permission to some parts so much private to you, trauma is feeling their ugly bare hands touching you everywhere, and everywhere you go. Even though they are not here or anywhere near you. That is trauma my dears. Trauma is not seeing your best friend suddenly becoming happier with someone other than you, trauma is getting backstabbed by that same best friend and you know it by some third person. Trauma is getting your heart broken by your first love; trauma is seeing betrayal so many times by your group of friends, seeing someone lying to you among them, and eventually all of them that you fear to trust. These are traumas. But traumas never create depression.
Traumas make us sad, not depressed. We often use it as the same word. Traumas make us miserable and weak and we cry, depression makes us numb to feeling because we force the brain to stop thinking, stop thinking, and stop thinking. Depression is a force taking us straight to blankness and we certainly see everything fading. We see everything but in a blur, we try to talk but we can't, we try to write but we choke out words, we try to look and see nothing, we try to type, our fingers give up.
Traumas make us shed tears more than necessary, but that doesn't leave any scars, no they don't. Traumas never leave scars; the scars are of certain lines, and certain words used in those traumatic situations, which cause us depression.
Depression happens when something buzzes in your head constantly. As if a thought that ignited inside your heart and spread its wings to everywhere in your body and claws your every organ. These traumas don't always cause depression in people. Some people can never forget those and those memories make them sad, maybe haunt them but never make them depressed. Sometimes hurt doesn't make people depressed. Hurt is an alternative word for upset. Depression comes from something so small that you don't consider them as the reason for your anxiety. Anxiety and depression are soulmates. Anxiety comes not only in sadness but also in happiness. When we become so much happier, our body reacts. Our bodies tremble and we sweat a ton in giddiness and excitement. But depression makes a man sad, not sadness which makes a man depressed. Ironic.
The word depression has become a part of our daily social media. We write or share our problems where people don't give a fuck. If you are constantly feeling the reverting buzz, then seek help physically. There is no harm in asking someone to help you. You can't rebel against the world. The world didn't make you think that way. You did my darlings. If there are traumas, try to think of good things, good memories of those people who after that gave you traumas.
Trauma and depression both need healing, but trauma takes a few years, because after a few years, memories fade, hurt starts to heal, and wounds start to dry up, depression doesn't make you physically ill, it doesn't have any wounds to show, it doesn't have any cuts, it's in the memory of a human, the same memory where traumas made their places.
Let me be honest, whenever I went to talk to most of my friends, my friends tried to make me feel inferior saying oh these! I have experienced more bad. Then I felt pity for myself why I couldn't keep quiet. I never went to my friends expecting to hear their stories which hurt them more than mine did. I never wanted to win a competition this petty where my traumas would make me feel guilty for being neglected this much. I sole went to share and for them to grief about me, yes, them to grief, cause what friends are they even if they don't grief us, if I say today, then you don't say it, I don't want just for you to be my similar pained mate, I want a partner, a friend, who would not come up with her stories unless they are worth grieving. Yes, this is a bitter truth, some stories are not worthy to even be uttered. I have wanted to hear their stories too but eventually, they made me feel bad about myself for suffering this trauma. They made me question myself I have put myself in it, I fucking know it, but it's not for them to verbally say it to make me feel more helpless than I already am. I felt sad and traumatized more. I am sure I wasn't depressed. But at a certain point, the thoughts that buzzed against my skull were why my friends were comparing their pasts with mine where I just went to confront and seek solace. Yes, the buzzing keeps vibrating my entire head. I feel pathetic most of the time. I feel lonely most of the time. I feel guilty and I feel like hating people. My 3 am thoughts are full of questions, questions including why they didn't make enough effort for me to go back to them, why the efforts were one way, why suddenly they changed, and why they were seeking comfort from others, I was supposed to be their best friend right.
This generation wants people to rant about how depressed they are but not how depression is to them. People want people like them, they don't understand the description of depression because they haven't figured it out themselves. So they say I understand instead. No, most of you don't.
But you know Javi is different, Javi is a sad guy, but not depressed. Sadness weighs him after his father's death, but he is a different guy who prioritizes people's traumas and depression and doesn't compare to it.
"Javi, what are you doing?"
I asked, coming from the washroom after freshening up. I had a stupid book launch today, and I needed to be present there. I just got there in disguise and made my team and agent prepared for the upcoming event. I never liked people, I never liked interacting with people. but I had to do it only for the sake of it. When I returned home I went directly to shower and freshen up so that I could cuddle with Javi. When I came, I saw him watching TV leaning on the couch comfortably. He came up to me near the doorstep and kissed my forehead and cheeks and asked me to freshen up for eating after a little cuddling session.
When I came back, I saw him reading my diary. the diary filled with the inappropriate position of my love life. He isn't supposed to see it. it will hurt him.
He looked at me and how glossier a man's eyes can become to shatter someone's gut almighty. I knelt in front of him holding both his hands, and these hands were dryer. Tristan's hands were sweaty and cold. His hands are warm and swift. my pleading eyes said everything, but I wanted to verbally say it
"Javi, I am sorry, you had to read this. I promise I am trying. I promise I am trying not to write about him. I am sorry, love. I swear I am not in any contact with him. I am so sorry..."
before I could say anything before I could beg those doe eyes. My entire self collapsed when he embraced me. How this man isn't becoming my entire world yet. How this angel doesn't make me fall in love with him. How grateful I am to the creator for creating him.
"It's okay, Hiraeth. I understand. I just found it on your table. I know it's in the past. We can't help but remember our precious memories, and as a writer, I can understand that fingers have to pour the memories our mind remembers. there's nothing we can do."
the voice filled with agony and grief. Why can't I forget Tristan and live with Javi happily? Why do I have to hurt him every moment? I never deserved him
I let him embrace me and sat on his lap, burning my face on the crook of his neck inhaling the lavender searching for my very own vanilla.
"I am yours Javi, I was never his"
I said, and I believed it. I was never his. I just fell in love with the wrong person. The right person is in my arms, and I am trying my best to love him.
"Dinner is ready. Let's go,"
he said and carried me to the dining table
I want to do this for him, I have never done anything for him.
"Javi, let's watch a movie after the dinner,"
I see his eyes glittering, but the grief is weighing him down. I am sorry, Javi, for everything
he nodded, and his doe eyes shined. I sat on the table serving the fried rice on my plate, which he made, and the house was devouring the aroma like anything. This is home. A home where there is a loving lover and aroma of homely food that caresses the edge of everyone's kindness and care. This is home, a home of understanding and sincerity. I can see my home in Javi, and I will forget Tristan by that time. I promised myself. I can see the angst in his doe eyes by reading those letters. it is bound to make him happy. No lover can see those letters written for someone else other than him by their partners. I was so sorry for Javi. my fingers never stopped writing about Tristan. I wish I had met Javi earlier. I would have loved him more than anyone can ever love.
"How is work going?"
Javi looked at me, I never initiated conversations, but today, I want to do everything I can to make his mood better.
"Nicholas said that he will write a content idea that he wants to include in his new article for the Daily Muse Cult magazine. I am thinking of adding the Spanish sculptor culture. I think those unrecognized sculptors who don't get any credit or admiration for creating hidden gems should be the main heroes of content writing. I am thinking of visiting the sculptor Kwang Choi to learn more about his pieces and what they described. I am thinking of adding vulnerable and completely miserable expressing pieces, the sculptures that portray the cruelty of the society, and how betrayal left marks on their bodies."
he kept talking, and I was mesmerized by his thinking. How innovative he thinks and working with Nicholas, the head chief editor of the magazine Daily Muse Cult, can be considered a big break for his career. His articles would be recognized by the managing director of the magazine, and he could get his position in the company. He has been struggling for years to attend one interview with Nicholas himself. Javi has always admired that man. the man with dimples in it and shines with the colors of the sky. Javi calls him his whole sky. Javi adores the man more than anyone has ever adored anyone. I love him for that.
Nicholas, a man of intelligence, counted as a sky. His dragon eyes can intimidate people, but he is soft for his diligent colleagues. He is a man of extreme brilliance and extreme knowledge. He is a dictionary himself. His visions are always revolutionary, and working with him can make my Javi the visionary he has always dreamt of. My Javi wants to be a pioneer with the help of Nicholas. I admire that man so much.
Javi never stops ranting about his dearest. His favorite person in the world. Nicholas also considers Javi as his little brother and makes him learn about new things now and then. Finally, Nicholas thought Javi was worth a try for their magazine. I am so happy for him that I could cry.
"I told him, I could leave to visit the sculptor tomorrow but he said to come after the day. He also asked you to come, because he is showing his newest collections and we want to capture them for the magazine. We were also going to interview him, and he told me to write a rough lineup for the interview. I was so shocked at first, I told him I couldn't do it alone, I needed help, he said he would be there to help me from behind if I messed up everything which I am sure of. but I understand you won't come, You feel uncomfortable around people. I am just saying. You don't have to come...."
"I'll come,"
"That's what I said that you won't come...wait what?"
I giggled and kept looking at me in awe as if seeing me smiling for the first time. wait. Maybe I laughed with him for the first time.
"I said I will come, my darling." I looked at him, mustering the courage to give him the expression of really interested in going.
"Really?"
His words are so serene to hear. I nodded and finished the last bite of the delicious fried rice. He is a genius cook, not even kidding. I can hear his happiest voice all day. His voice lights up the whole world. I think by this I can fall in love with him too one day.
his doe eyes are now not expressing any grief. It's an unknown feeling that I can surely describe. I know these reactions. Reactions of realizing I am in love with her for this. I have seen Tristan loving me like this. I can't leave him now. I can't lose my home now.
His eyes are shining more than the sun but aren't burning me. and I am glad.
He came running to me and hugged me, carrying me. He always carries me. I guess his strength is so powerful, considering my petite body. He can't help but carry me. I laugh my heart out. There is something inside me thinking about Tristan and his smile. a particular boxy shape. a tear trickled down my cheek, but Javi never saw it or did but is grateful that I am at least trying. He is very much appreciative. I can love this man easily. But I didn't. I am sorry, Javi. I lay my head on his chest and let him know I was his.
Maybe I never belonged to that sun-eyed boy.
"Thank you, love," he said near my ear, and it echoed for so long.
I kissed his hair, ruffling those soft curls hanging loose.
He took me to the bedroom, and we lied, knowing he could never touch me as a lover and knowing I was trying my hardest so that he could. I curled against him, and he slept against me, laying his head on my neck, and exhaling his swift breaths, which I adore. I whispered slowly against him
"I am sorry, Javi." I hope you know. you have been the last dream of my soul. I want to fall in love with you"
I felt his sighing in extreme satisfaction on my arms, in my embrace, sleeping more comfortably.
"I am sorry, Tristan."