Pins & Bubbles

I've lived a relatively sheltered life. 

I got a little taste of the pampered, "daddy's money" life in my upbringing. By no means was it anywhere near "big mansion with enormous yards and swimming pools" luxurious, but we had more than enough for ourselves. As far as my memory serves me, that life was swell. My mom and I had a driver, chauffeur, whatever you wanna call it, to take us places to and fro. Not that she needed one, she was a capable and licensed driver herself, but why would she, if she could just... not? 

Dad had one for himself too, obviously. Driving oneself is no proper way of traveling for a president director of a private bank, now, is it? At one point, we even had three cars; one for dad's business matters and one for the family. The other one? Hah, well, if you could have a third car just because, why not? On top of that, I had a sitter and a housemaid, so mom never had to worry about both me and the house being taken care of.

For the first eight years of my life, I was living the good life. For eight years or so, I was blissfully unaware of how fast things could fall apart. 

One day after school, my mom had a talk with me on the ride back home. I had asked her where our driver was, she said he was sick, so she had to come pick me up herself. There was an underlying dread and somber behind her voice. She tried to hide it, through inflections of her voice. Thinking back, it wasn't the best act my mom had put up, but I was only eight.  Her poor acting slipped through my notice. The world was black and white, I had not the slightest idea of anything. The only thing that warranted my worry was whether or not I could beat the Elite Four on my fifth time trying. It was my third play through of Pokémon Emerald. I picked Mudkip, this time, since I picked Torchic and Treecko for my first and second runs, respectively. I felt a bond with Mudkip that I never felt before with the other two. I felt like we were the kings of the world. Just Mudkip and me. A boy and his blue axolotl.

Amidst my daydreaming, mom suddenly started talking again.

"Kak", she called, gently. The rasp in her voice was rather unusual, but nothing too out of the ordinary.

I averted my attention to her. She continued talking.

What she had told me was not for an eight year old boy to comprehend. I just knew it was bad, but what I didn't know was how much it would affect our lives. Before I knew it, both mom and dad had to drive themselves places. Dad sold our third car. He even sold his business-only car, which I adored so much for its sunroof and 6-slot CD player, and replaced it with a significantly less interesting, more modest car. We stopped buying things like we used to. The most prevalent change of all, however, was not the lessening of tangible items. In a blink, I, who was used to having someone else do my bidding, had to be independent. I, who was used to getting things my way, had to step out of the way for the better of others, namely my family.

Like a bubble, my reality was popped by the sharp pin that is truth. And just like that, the shape of my worldview changed.

Even still, I lived a relatively sheltered life.

My early teenage years were not much different from that of my childhood. I was certainly made aware of more things, both good and bad, but it was all still black and white to me. I was aware of some "grown up stuff", but I was too busy with training my Chimchar and going through 358 days as a "nobody". Instead of blossoming into a social butterfly, I grew into a reclusive hermit, putting walls so high lest no one could enter, unless I let them. Having transitioned from a private elementary school to a public middle school gave me a little bit of a superiority complex. I had no intention of fitting in. It was at this point my idealistic view of the world started developing. It was further solidified with me finding a passion in basketball, which led me into making a self-promise to never, ever smoke and consume alcohol. This made it easy for me to justify my ideals, thus putting myself in a position above others. If it's for the sake of my dreams, my passion, nothing wrong with that, right? 

Unfortunately, idealism mixed with superiority complex and a dash of self-righteousness only led to... prejudice. Afterwards, it was just like sorting toys into their respective baskets.

You smoke? Bad. You hate smoking? Good. You drink? Bad. Your favorite drink is water? Good. You're unnecessarily loud and outspoken? Haha, shut the fuck up! You're quiet and not trying too hard to get into other people's lane? You're okay in my book. You don't hang out with the "bad apples"? I like you! You're a part of the school gang and also taking part in inter-school territorial fights? Yeah, I'm definitely going out of my way to not talk to you. 

Anything and anyone that did not suit my ideals, I automatically deemed as "bad". I turned a blind eye to everything I didn't have much care for and only paid attention to those that suited my fancy. This time, I was aware of things, but voluntarily chose ignorance. 

The pins were as sharp as ever, but the soap with which I made my bubble was of high quality. My bubble was strong, impenetrable almost. My bubble was flexible. My bubble was pretty. My bubble was comfy.

I managed to carry my promise and ideals into high school. Hell, those two were the main driving force that got me into the high school I attended. During this time, though, the outside world seemed more lively, more enticing, more exciting than my bubble. My complex quickly turned from superiority into inferiority. I was overwhelmed by my surroundings. I felt so small and so out of place. Unlike in middle school, I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be doing the things that my peers were doing. I was about ready to pop it on my own accord, until I bumped into someone else's bubble and our bubbles merged into one. There were two of us in that bubble now. She stayed in the bubble with me. Told me just how beautiful my bubble was. Told me that being in that bubble of ours was going to be alright, that we can have fun without having to step out of it. That it was us against the world. And thus, in the bubble I remained, holding ever so tightly to my ideals. It reached a point where it became my defining point, my identity. And I was proud of it.

She didn't stay for too long. Well, okay, I kinda pushed her out of the bubble. Fine, not kinda, I did push her out of the bubble. My pride grew at an exponential rate, before I realized, my head was too big for the bubble to fit both of us. It was me over my companion, my ideals over her, my beliefs against hers. I was egomaniacal. I chose my pride over my feelings for her. After pushing her out, I convinced myself that this bubble was where I belonged. I had everything I needed in my bubble. Little did I know, my bubble was growing ever so thin. My bubble lulled me into a false sense of security, and as soon as high school ended, it bursted on its own, sending its inhabitant into an endless free fall.

I was trying so hard to latch onto anything, anyone I could,  even people from my past, but my hands seemed to always slip. I was losing my grip on reality, on my sense of self, I was waiting for the floor to finally appear and put an end to this fall. And, perhaps, myself.

I was lucky I had good friends to confide in. They slowed down my fall, and when the floor finally appeared, it made the land much softer. From them, I also got a new perspective of things. I had always blamed my former companion for all my misfortunes, only to realize that I was in the wrong all along. My only defense was that the decision I took to push her off was one made "in the heat of the moment", which is no justification for my actions. 

For the first time out of the bubble, I could see things clearly. I could see myself for who I was. 

Unreasonable. Rash. Emotional. Egotistical. Selfish. Narcissistic. Flawed.

Spending a brief period outside of the bubble, I self-reflected, and from then, I was finally able to live with myself, but I could not let go of my ideals. It had been carved too deep in my system. Met new people, even one with similar point of views and ideals, which we both took great joy in, to a point where we almost decided to create a bubble together. Some fed me new ideas and perspectives, with which I refined those of mine. Slowly but surely, a new bubble formed around me. I was sure that this time, my bubble would be indestructible. My bubble would be perfect, and nothing, no one would be able to change that fact.

That said, up to this point, I've lived a relatively sheltered life.

Everything had gone relatively well, all things considered. I lived life as I would in this bubble of mine. At times, I'd come across people with similar bubbles, so I don't get too lonely. It was great, I'm all comfortable in there and nothing on the outside world was attractive enough to make me wanna go out.

That is, until I met... 

Her.

It was springtime. I met her online, as you do. At this point of my life, meeting people online was more normal than meeting people offline. Our friendship started out in an unusual fashion, but we somehow became close friends. Not wanting to create misunderstandings, I asked her early on, in regards to where she wanted to take our dynamic towards. She said "only friends", thus we agreed on a "strictly platonic" basis.

As time went on, I felt more and more uneasy whenever her name popped up on my phone. She had a lot of quality that I despise, the antithesis to my ideals. I kept her at an arm's length, at times even pushing her away, using things I dislike about her to justify my cold behavior. But her name always reappeared, even after some time not talking. I began to suspect things, but I never confronted her about it, nor did I take any actions. All I knew is that my mind was filled with thoughts of her. And I had to actively seek ways to keep myself at bay, to remind myself that she is the exact opposite of what I believe in. To remind myself that she is the personification of what I loathe about the world, of why I have my bubble on the first place.

It wasn't until the dawn of the new year, when she confessed her true feelings for me. Or at least, the feelings she had, because at that time, she had herself a potential significant other. Aware of that fact, I gracefully accepted her heartfelt speech about her feelings, and acted like it was nothing, like I saw this confession from a mile away. We agreed on a platonic relationship, and for some reason, I was real insistent on keeping things that way. Perhaps because, above all else, I knew how much I was itching to say the same things and jump over that line? That I wanted her to know, despite all our differences, I wanted to be more? And I was rockheaded on staying platonic because I was... 

Afraid?

Not long after, she got herself a significant other. When she broke the news to me, I didn't feel happy. I felt confused. Conflicted. And above all, jealous. Every time they argued,  which was too frequent to even count, she'd come to me for advice, or simply to pour her heart out, and at every single one of those instances, I felt equally happy as I was exasperated. No, the latter might have been stronger.

I kept asking myself, 'why do I feel this way?'

The answer was well obvious, but one that I was denying with all my power. I had caught feelings for someone who did not suit my ideals in any way, shape, or form.

She doesn't mind both alcohol and nicotine, though she usually drinks and smokes only on social gatherings. At one point, she even boasted about consuming them to me. She used the L-word just like everyone else does, nothing but another word in the dictionary. Her taste in music, her view of the world, nothing aligned with that of mine. And yet, there I was. Jealousy overflowing my system. There I was, still listening to all her woes. Giving her a shoulder to lean on. I hated everything about this, but I wanted to stay by her side all the same. Even just as a friend. Even if I was merely an afterthought. Even if she only came around when she needed a little comforting.

Her relationship was short lived, hardly surprising when she came to me to vent at least once a week. When the break up happened, she called and spilled all her emotions. It was tough to listen to her cry. I didn't know how to feel. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I felt both anger and relief, but I couldn't let either of those show. I just needed to be there for her as I usually do. Sit tight and listen.

By this time, I couldn't bear to hide my feelings any longer. I wanted to cross the line so badly. I'd grown fond of her. I cared about her too much, I could no longer play it cool. But the more I discovered things about her, the more I resented myself and the idea of liking her. For the first time, I hated being in my bubble. My bubble  was murky. My bubble was hideous. My bubble was hell.

Even as I was going through this internal conflict, I asked things about her that I wanted to know. That was when it finally came. The sharpest pin yet. I asked her a highly personal question, and she delivered an answer.

You reap what you sow, they say.

The pin swiftly went through my bubble and I fell face first into the ground.

My reality was turned inside out. I could feel my gut falling, my vision blurring. The internal conflict between my two halves was ever so fierce. I wanted nothing but death to come. Why must I be so inquisitive? Was there really any virtue in knowing? Didn't you tell yourself, ignorance is bliss?

I was back in square one. I was once again questioning my feelings, my ideals, my self-worth, my being. I resented everything. I resented everyone. I resented the world. But deep down, I knew, I resented myself most.

This was some time ago. I realized, y'know, maybe... just maybe... the sheltered life wasn't so bad after all?

I wished I could forget. I wished I didn't know. I wished I didn't feel. I wished I could stay in my bubble forever. I wished I lived my life in ignorance, blind to the truth and only see things from my idealistic point of view.

But it was inevitable. The world isn't as black and white as I thought it was. Truth and ideals are never separate. No matter how thick my bubble of ideals is, the sharp pin of truth will pierce through all the same.

I was at a crossroads. I could return to my old ways, turn a blind eye to the truth and go back to my ideals, or I could change.

And for the first time in my life, I chose the latter.

I was stubborn about my ideals, but my heart's even more stubborn for her. For the first time, I'm willing to set aside my ideals, my pride, just for her. I want to change. For the better. I don't want to live in a bubble any longer. I wanna see the world as it is. And she's the driving force for that change. And I, hers. We became each other's reasons to change. To be better. 

It was weird and awkward at first, accepting the fact that truth and ideals are not two separate things, it hasn't been easy, constantly adapting and changing to a different mindset, a different world view, but it's much more... liberating. Being able to see past my own self, past the distortion of the bubble. 

I've lived a relatively sheltered life. But that won't blind me from the truth any longer.

And it's all thanks to one person. A person I care about. A person I adore. A person that stuck around, even as I pushed her away. For her, I am eternally grateful.