Intersecting Lines

Optimistic to a fault.

I hung the chain handle of my Chanel look-alike bag on my right shoulder and steered past the crowd of people at Starbucks.

The journey back home was a private time for me and my music.

I'd get lost in the lyrics as I stare out of the bus window dramatically.

Now, I know there are various ways people listen to music.

Let us examine the cases.

Type A; The Dreamer.

She'd think of her starring in the music video for that particular song and this is the most common really.

Type B; The Dancer.

That artsy one who thinks of matching dance moves to the beat of the song. Quite rare.

Type C; The reflector.

The one who thinks and relates lyrics and the tone of music to his/her current and past experiences. Words mean the most.

I am obviously Type C. Not a difficult guess, I tend to overthink a lot. 

Eventually, I reached home and switched on my laptop to just about procrastinate my night away.

My twitterfeed was filled with such sadness of unrequited love and I couldn't help but swim in the sorrow as well. Mostly, they were coming off from Wheels.

It seemed like the usual negativity from her but this time it was more frequent.

I went on Facebook and found her online there as well.

I had to put an end to this. She was after all my friend and I couldn't bear to leave her be in such pity.

Me: Hey. Whats with the emo tweets?

Denial of her sadness was abundant.

I was more than fine with her not wanting to express her thoughts but all I could do was be there.

After several rounds around the conversation, I found out that it was a matter of sexuality.

Before I could ask who...

My mom was knocking the front door quite impatiently. Rushing out and tripping over the chair, I managed to open it quite quickly despite the pain. She forced me to unload the groceries and arrange them as proper in their specific places.

Pssh. Moms.

By the time I got back onto my laptop, I realised several messages that weren't read as yet by me.

The last thing I saw was: It's okay. I'm weird. It's alright if you don't talk to me.

I scrolled back up and stared at the screen hard for traces of information that could lead me to have a better understanding of what just happened.

Her: If I came out now, it'd be me confessing as well.

HOLYSHIT.

I never saw that coming, Really. It must have been my low self-esteem but obviously Claire was the more gorgeous one amongst us and I could not in God's name understand why Wheels would have picked me over her.

I was flattered but more shocked.

It was a whole Slurpee of emotions.

I felt pity for her because I wasn't good enough. I don't think I ever am for anyone, or so I led myself to believe that after the whole Zop incident.

Yet, I felt afraid. Afraid of any awkwardness that would come forth due to this and potentially slaughter our cement friendship.

This was a game changer.

I explained to her of my reaction but never really did say "No".

I couldn't bring myself to that.

Somehow I beat around the bush of the matter and got through it right, assuring her that nothing's going to change from here.

In fact, we became even more closer throughout the course of "getting over the awkwardness".

Sometimes we accept rejection so readily that we lose sight of the possibilities of acceptance.

We think of the worst scenario possible to persuade ourselves that well, this is the worst that could be.

In all fairness, that is a good way of regaining optimism but people tend to brood too much on one perspective. They become so ready for the worst that they do not expect for anything better at all. In such ignorance of positive consequences, it's not a surprise that the world is a pessimist's paradise.