Do you know what is really underrated? Falling out of love.
Now let’s have a reality check: I wasn’t in love with anyone. But I am proud to say that I am currently crush-free.
Not too long ago, I proclaimed that I liked having crushes. I even went farther – “I need to like somebody!” Vomit-worthy: “I have to feel something!”
Though I’m presently retching all over my keyboard, I can understand the girl of half-a-year-ago. Having a crush is a downright giddy experience. Liking someone is always a blurry concept that I find hard to explain, but the closest I can describe it is having your brain washed in a technicolor wave of every chemical your body can produce, while having your heart wrapped in a snug thermal blanket. Dump in a packet of Pop Rocks into this hormonal mess and you have a crush. But the feeling that follows this Pop-rock induced high is absolute shit, which I don’t like. And yet I jump onto the Crush Train to Shitville again and again.
I think that the reason I’ve been prone to leading myself to a crush is that feeling that occurs when waking up the day after denouncing a crush – you mentally grope a little bit around your chest cavity and – nothing. Nothing? NOTHING? GOLLY GEE WOMAN, YOU CAN’T LIVE LIFE AS A ROBOT. VOID DETECTED. MUST FILL IMMEDIATELY.
I don’t think that I fear emptiness at, like, an Augustus-Waters-level, but there was definitely that feeling of weirdness and unease of having nothing burning under my sternum – of feeling hollow in there.
Well, Hollowness is underrated. Ignoring the depressing definitions just below, the basic definition of hollow is simply “space inside.” In this space, my heart sighs in relief, stretching out like a passenger on a Jet Blue plane – that leg room. With this space, now free from all the chemicals gunking it up, I find it infinitely easier to breathe. So, as odd as it sounds, don’t equate hollow with bad. There are many lovely things that are hollow. Ah! There is actually one very lovely thing that is always hollow.
A drum, any drum, is of course always hollow. The way it resonates, however, makes you marvel at how something filled with nothing can produce such a nice sound. And you realize that of course it’s not filled with nothing. Not Anything is ever filled with nothing. When you hear “hollow,” don’t think: dead inside. Don’t think: empty. Think: lighter. Think: More leg room on an airplane. Think: of a timpani drum that is hopefully in tune and very shiny. That, my dear reader, is how I feel at this moment.