Humane

Chapter 18.4

And so, days passed, then months, then a year, and now... School is out. I got an invite to my first farewell party during graduation, and it sparks excitement in me like no other.

But, within an hour, my energy gets drained. With all the partying and singing and yelling and laughing, I feel dizzy. Social interaction is not my strong suit. I step back from the crowd and happen to notice a slightly dejected boy.

"Why the long face?" I enquire, recognizing him.

"I... didn't really get my first-choice university. It's kinda sad, you know."

I don't relate, because my self-doubt never lets me have a choice, constantly nagging me with the You can't choose because you suck mentality. I never had a first choice.

"Is the one you got not matching with your passions?" I ask. "Will you skip a year and try for it again?"

"No, I don't think I have the mental strength to bear all this pressure for any longer. Feels like I'll burst. And my university is... mediocre, I guess. Decent, actually."

"So, the reason you're upset is...? Did your parents perhaps scold you?"

He scoffs. "They don't care. My elder sister is the apple of their eye; she's all they see. She completes her degree next year, and even though I'm glad, I can't help but to feel inferior. She'll be well off and that's all that matters to my parents.

"See, the thing is, my first choice place had a pretty good infrastructure for digital art - which I kind of do in my spare time, you know? - so my line of thinking was that my degree would be my main focus, and my passion would be... Let's just call it a backup. I was too afraid to take up art professionally. I guess I'm a bit of a coward not wanting to take a risk. But what if I began to dislike drawing after getting formal education for it? What if education is just not my thing? Going by this reasoning, I tried my best to get into that university but..." He sighed sadly. "I didn't. And now I have this lingering regret that I didn't go for art."

"That's awful, but still not strong enough of a reason. Courses exist, you know. In fact, I had a university like that and didn't get in, either. I get where you're coming from. But I'm not as depressed about it because even though I don't do well in exams, I believe in my passion."

He goes quiet. I sense his discomfort and try to loosen the atmosphere a bit by sitting beside him and raising my glass of litchi juice. "Ah, did I talk too big? Maybe we should wallow in our griefs this fine night instead."

"What else can we do? Nothing left to be cheerful about, anymore."

"How pessimistic! That's rich coming from me, but anyway... If you can give up on drawing so easily, it is not your passion but a desperate attempt to prove your self-worth to the people around you! And we don't want that!"

"Well, I mean..." His voice trails off and he looks sadder than ever. He is unsure of the direction he wishes to go.

I see myself within him.

"Get used to being cool." I said, unperturbed. "I respect artists very much. If you can't trust in yourself, then I'll trust in you instead. All you need to do is draw! You're already strong, to be able to keep up with so much!"

He laughs kindly, but his mind still isn't off things. He's confused and overwhelmed.

And so am I, actually. I'm a hypocrite. I considered my future with extreme criticism myself. I did not do as well as I expected, either, but... It's not the end of the road. Say, even if it is, the human world is materialistic and the only truth lies in death - just as a person is born alone, they will die alone. Fame and wealth and prestige is getting no one anywhere!

Basically, I don't want to reflect on it. It's not a pleasant worry. Even though Dad says I outdid myself, I keep having this nagging pain in my chest that my bar was low to begin with, so what he considered a "big thing" might just be average...

I instead try to change the subject. It takes me a few moments, but I finally speak. "You draw?"

"Yeah."

"I write."

"I could never."

"But I suck at descriptions."

"Oh."

I tap on my cup nervously. I don't like talking about myself. It's due to the unpredictability the other person in the conversation offers. I only wish I could read minds and predict the upcoming reply. "I challenge you to draw one of my characters the way I envision them in my mind's eye, using only my descriptions. And I'll reward you with some egg omelet, I guess? That's, like, the only thing I can cook. Mom says food is the best icebreaker, so here we are."

I couldn't tell exactly, but he seems to be fired up a little. "Deal."

I think I might have forced him a little, but the curiosity to see his art was overwhelming enough to stop me from taking back my words.

~~

A/N: I'm overwhelmed myself, and while I should probably take the tips I myself wrote, I think I will ignore it and wallow in my griefs this fine morning instead.

I hope I did fine here too. Thank you for reading! And if you notice any tense issues, please let me know. Present tense is so foreign to me.