The Twinkle in My Eyes

Paying my last respects to the sparkles, the gleams, the twinkles.

This is a full circle moment for me; I lost the twinkle in my eyes. Now, I am forced to accept this new shift in my identity. A new me. Or maybe this has been me all along, and I am only just realising it.

I had found out that the twinkle in my eyes was permanently gone sometime last week, and I spent the whole time mourning its loss before my decision to write to you today. Oh — lest I forget, how are you today? Did you wake up with a fervour, a dream to conquer the world? Did you bask in the beauty of the morning sunrise? Did you say your prayers for a good day… a good time, a happy life? Does the twinkle in your eyes remain intact? I hope you still find it lodged at the epicentre of your iris, and I hope it never leaves you, like it left me. Yup, I have lost mine. And it may never come back.

I still remember the moment it left me to the aether. It was a cold, rainy Wednesday. I had visited the local library, because I needed to get some work done on my laptop, and needed somewhere quiet and filled with books. I had also found a really nice comfortable spot at the corner of the library— away from people — with a great view, and appropriately dim lighting. I donned my dark-grey t-shirt, black pair of trousers, and black bag. I also made sure to carry along my black sweater in my bag, and black umbrella in my hand. At the time of leaving my house, the weather didn’t give any hint of it raining that day. However, I didn’t trust the weather, nor my frequently disappointing weather forecasting app. Thinking about it now, that may have been the beginning of the tragic decision of the twinkle in my eyes to abandon me — I trust nothing, and no one. I don’t wake up with the hope of the stars aligning for my sake. As long as I can’t grab the damned stars myself to set them straight, I make sure to prepare for undocumented constellations. My loyalty to Murphy’s Law has never failed me, and probably never will. But in reality, I knew that the twinkle in my eyes had begun packing its bags, or had even already left, after I read Dostoevsky’s “Notes from Underground” and saw too much of myself in the protagonist — his soliloquy were mine, and the parts of himself he loathed, were the parts of myself I mildly disliked.

I got to my favourite spot in the library that day, only to find someone already there… on my exact spot… my favourite spot… dim lighting… great view… away from people. You can imagine how I felt. That’s right — I felt indifferent. I simply found a different spot and told myself to come earlier next time. It was well within my expectations, of course. I found a different spot, took my seat, and began working. While on my laptop, I decided to wonder off to social media for a while, and I somehow found myself on a forum for suicidal people. It’s a long story. But I found myself there, perchance, I promise. This was a novel experience for me. I have — all my life — been constantly surrounded by the sort of people who post bible scriptures, and motivational quotes in the morning — people who easily and naturally rebel against the absurdity and meaninglessness of life. It was simply their nature/all they know to do. But here I was on a Wednesday, in a forum of comfortably hopeless, dejected, and nihilistic individuals. These people had given up. They had accepted life to be whatever it was to them at that moment, and were meticulously planning their escape, like it was the most natural thing. I had encountered and interacted with a handful of suicidal people before, but never had I seen a whole community of them, being suicidal together, almost like a family — an obviously unhappy one. My curiosity about the forum led me there, but I left that online forum that day with a curiosity about myself. Why didn’t I dislike it like everyone else did? I had read articles and social media posts bashing the existence of such a forum. But why did I not share their disgust? Why did I understand them? Why didn’t I totally disagree with the activities in the forum? Once again, I remained indifferent to it, and maybe… slightly… understanding and agreeing with them.

All my life, I had believed that it was wrong to kill yourself. I believed that just like having knowledge of good and evil, God would punish me for even the ideation of suicide. Suicide is supposed be a bad thing, right?!

Right?!

Dear reader, my aim for writing to you today, isn’t to discuss my views on suicide. Maybe I will write to you another day, discussing it (that is, if a meteor doesn’t squash me on an unfortunate Wednesday). But my reaction to such novelty I experienced that day, is what brought the realisation that I had lost something. I had become someone… else. If I had encountered such forum maybe a few years ago, I would have probably begun a campaign to have it shut down, and would have fervently appealed to the my followers on social media to “talk to someone” about their feelings. But here I was, understanding their motives, agreeing with them (of course, only to some extent), and relating with some of their perspectives on life. I looked in the mirror when I got home that day, and I found no twinkle, no sparkle, no glimmer.

Now I am become gloom, destroyer of all that is hopeful. I cringe at baseless optimistic remarks, and devote my time snatching the twinkle in the eyes of others. The world would better off without fools who baselessly believe the stars would align, and the sun would shine, all in due time. I look at adorable babies, with their pure smiles, and laughs so beautiful, it stands a chance at bringing back the twinkle in my eyes. I look at them with almost certain expectation of the world taking away their own twinkle.

However, the world didn’t take my twinkle. I willingly let it go. I didn’t fight for it. We had no disagreements, and contrary to everything I previously implied, I and my twinkle shook hands and bade each other farewell.

That day, on that forum, I saw too much of myself in those people. I saw a version of myself that stayed in the dark for too long, and got overwhelmed by it. I am not suicidal. But at the pace and direction I am headed, I am left to wonder if it’s only a matter of time.

Will I get consumed by this?

Am I emotionally adapting myself to oblivion?

At the time of writing this, I am yet unsure of whether I want my twinkle back. Maybe if my twinkle would agree to my terms of engagement, I would consider rekindling our lost relationship. I only want the parts I consider beneficial to me. I want to be able to write love poems again, without cringing at the over-romanticised chemical reactions in my body. I want to look at the starry night sky, and not see just inflamed balls of gas, but shiny tiny dots in the sky containing a message of a future to look forward to. I want to believe that a happy ending for me, and you, and everyone I care about, is our birthright, and is the only kind of ending we will have. I want all of that, but without the naivety and — dare I say — stupidity, the twinkle brings and indeed brought.