"Life is like a box of chocolates," Forrest Gump said. "You'll never know which one you'll get." He failed to mention that you'll also never know who's got what.
I probably woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Well, that's what I chose to believe, probably because that's what Misha said to me this afternoon, but my day actually started pretty well. I was just typing away, doing school-related stuff, until around midday when I finally left the house to itself. The moment I got to school, there went the mood swing, and for the next hour or so, I was talking about suicide, school being a worthless exercise, and other incoherent and improbable rants.
If it's of any concern to you, by the way, there's the weird everybody-is-suddenly-concerned thing. "A classmate of mine in accounting class died," Misha told me from out of the blue, probably trying to draw a smile in my face with a felt tip marker.
I've already heard of it, actually. "Aneurysm?" I answered.
"Yes," she replied. Then came a babble of words I couldn't remember. All but four of them, at least. "Don't be a statistic," she said, and probably in an attempt to drill that smile down, she touched my shoulder. An obvious gesture of friendship, to say the least.
I whispered to myself. "Don't touch my shoulder."
Everything, of course, lies in the details. During that hour when I fluttered from terminal to terminal, telling about my apparent depression, I wasn't even sure about what it was about, and why. Either it was the foreseeable end of my academic life, or the foreseeable end of my sanity over another - it was something I never got my finger wrapped about. All I knew was I was ranting about something, but a half-hour later, I was cracking terribly insensitive jokes again.
So I guess Misha was successful with that marker - I think my shirt's been smudged.
I was talking to Piyar after gender studies class. Unlucky her found herself with a camera she never got to use for the weekend she had it on loan. It merely acted as a desk while she waited outside, which is still a convenient thing, as she never had to endure the floor while listening to my rant. I still had something to complain about, sure, and this time it helped that I had somehow decided to boil things down, unfairly, to one succinctly boring thing.
But since Jaja, Kizia and I won chocolates during class, our discussion naturally drifted towards food, and to chocolates, at that. Thus, Forrest Gump's oversight: we don't know which chocolate we're going to get, and who got what, unless you're lucky enough to be told about it. It's either a caramel-filled one, or a coated wafer, or one with lots of almonds inside, or in my case, one with coconut. Not that it's bad, but it's just not right, it seems.
So, if you're given a chance to choose a chocolate from that box from the airport, would you think about what you like, or would you take a risk and just dig in?
Maybe the better question is, are there any chocolates left in the box?