Someone came on the bus today who had no limbs. None. And so I am sitting there, riding the 99 B-Line to school, my bike strapped onto the front, feeling sorry for myself because the guy I like doesn’t like me back, and because I’m in a financial hole, and because I’ve gained ten pounds, and this guy, seemingly content and at peace with his fate, wheels onto the bus. And he doesn’t have any fucking limbs. At one point he was probably faced with the uncertainty of death. He probably clung to every fiber of his being, hoping that whatever took his limbs didn’t take his life. He persevered. And now, that smile drawn across his face when it has so many reasons not to, that smile reflects a strength of spirit and a depth of character that I can only dream of. Because here I am feeling sorry for myself because someone made fun of my outfit. And instead of making me feel better, instead of thinking "life's not so bad, at least I have all my limbs", the light in his tender eyes just mocks me. His polite smile a reminder that, every time I fall it gets harder and harder to get back up.
The truth is, I can't look on the bright side right now. The truth is, it just makes me feel worse that strong people like him are faced with such incredible suffering and are able to stay positive- when I buckle under the slightest of criticisms or vow to stop moving because I haven't had a boyfriend since the last one cheated on me. The TRUTH is, my friends and my family, my tiny kitten, the food in my fridge, the roof over my head, my four limbs that can climb up mountains and pedal my $1000 bike, my limbs that can run and jump and DANCE, they're just a constant reminder that right now I am a sad fucking person. I am a sad person sitting alone in my sad fucking apartment, feeling sorry for myself. How fucked up is that?
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