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Thursday, May 28, 2015 @ 10:37 am
I set up the walls of defence and donned on Sunday's best. Sundays are the very best. Always. The crowd brimming with life and so full of zest; parents who finally have time spared some for their little ones brought them to the circus. I was told that I would never disappoint, and they were damn right about that. I was already so good at this.I stepped out of the tent, and the arena's lightings blazed and blinded me momentarily. Overexposed, for the first and the last time. Nobody could see me for one moment, until the white light bounced off the spectrum I was wearing in a disorderly array, discordantly harmonious. The applause thundered once everyone realised who I was, with the shrill shrieks of child-like voices ringing intermittently. My confidence grew with the noise and the smile I wore best, like a gesture programmed in response to the recognition, came on alive on my face caked in white. Sundays always made me feel the best, a cornucopia of pleasure. Not having to speak, my deft hands and face took over the job with the help of some props, sending the spectators roaring with laughter. An apt display of the multitude of histrionics was something that I prided myself on greatly, the little something that I could do best. Even on my very last day, my little act was still as popular. I've always centred my performance on the judgement of others, on the applause, on the approval. Those were my sources of fuel, guiding me through the most tiring days, the hardest times. I never wanted to fail and I never fail. I never wanted to disappoint and I never disappoint. Today will not be an exception. But on the last day, the walls of defence I've painstakingly built up tore down on stage. I left a moment for myself whilst trying to juggle with the pantomime, and all I felt were droplets trickling down my cheeks, smudging the paint on my eyes and face and at the same time, clouding my vision and soul. There was no point for pantomime if I didn't feel in place. When the applause ceased, I thought I failed. Unprofessionally. But I don't know if anybody could actually see me. If only you could see me. Sometimes I look back and wonder if the last act was a complete fiasco or a disguised success. When I left, everybody knew that the heart of the circus was gone, that one. Yet nobody knew who I actually was. All that was left remembered was a mere virtual identity capable of making the most superficial human touches. No intimacy, no character. But the last and supposedly the best left traces of my humanity with the people when I first let people see real emotions. I felt so stark naked, so exposed, so vulnerable. Once in a blue moon, I leave little pockets of moments like these for myself. When I'm done with service to myself, my service to others starts again, but this time on a different stage. Like a vagabond, I move from places to places, from hearts to hearts. But at the end of the day, I would still always be the one working to bring a big smile to your face. The approval, the bona fide happiness, these things I can live on. Even with the bleeding from the gash deep within, it wouldn't have mattered. Nothing else matters more. |