I don’t know why I feel so compelled to write this post. I just finished Flowers for Algernon and I started thinking about all these things–my mind just started wandering. And I thought to myself, this will make for an interesting blog tomorrow. “Even though it will probably be filtered, I hope to recapture what exactly went through my head tonight.” But for some reason, I just feel like I can’t sleep until I get this done. Tonight.
At first, I felt a sense of loneliness. I looked upon Charlie’s life (another Charlie here, interesting) and realized how alone he was. I mean, between the beginning and end of the book, he touched so many lives, but in the end, he was right where he started off… alone. Somehow, for some reason, I projected this loneliness onto my own life. Which to me, is weird, especially at this point in my life. I’ve never felt so un-alone.
And then my thoughts jumped to her. I guess my thoughts of loneliness turned to thoughts of companionship (or lack thereof). I had thought I was over her (for the most part). I mean, that was the plan, forget about her for a couple of years and see what happens. And for once, everything was going according to plan. I was dramaless for what seemed to be the first time in my life. But when I saw her recently, it came back–not as strong and obvious as before. It was subtle, but something was there. It felt… too right.
As I tried to clear my head, my thoughts drifted back to Charlie and I imagined a mentally challenged 32 year old walking through life. I thought about how “normal” (and probably handsome) he looked, and I began to wonder how a “normal-looking retard” would look. Wow, I am fucked up. And then I remembered P. We all grew up with P and learned how to deal with his condition. I can’t believe I had almost forgotten about him. I contemplated on how his brothers would react to reading Flowers for Algernon. I felt so bad for them. I was never cruel to P, and I hope I was always nice to him. He would often remark on how “white” my teeth were and ask why they were that way. I think P is in a group home or an institution or something. He visits sometimes though. I hope to see him soon. As I thought about P and how we acted towards him, I remembered how N would act with him. She was very motherly and caring towards him. And I remembered why I found N so endearing. I guess I’ll always have a soft spot for her.
I’ve decided not to “publicize” my blog in my AIM profile anymore. As I was writing this, I was subconciously editing it because of who might read it. I don’t want to do that. This is for me, not anybody else. If I’ve told you about this blog, or you’ve seen it already and care enough to check back on your own, then I’m glad you’re reading. Because that either means I trust you enough with my thoughts, or you deserve my trust anyway.
I don’t know why everytime I finish a book I feel compelled to write. Perhaps it’s just because they’re great books. Regardless of the reason, I hope that it doesn’t stop. I kind of like this compulsion to pour my heart out. It fits me.
