Emotions

One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. Four sheep. 

Five.

Six.

Seven.

It's no use. I can't sleep. I'm tired, but my eyes refuse to shut. 

Eight sheep. Nine sheep. 

Ten. 

Eleven.

Twelve.

Go to sleep, dammit!

Maybe I'll get myself a glass of water. I can't go to bed with a dry throat.

*gulp, gulp*

Now, back to bed.

Toss. Turn. Toss. Turn.

Damn. Maybe I'll go pee. I can't go to bed when my bladder isn't emptied of its contents.

Gosh. The bathroom seems scarier without the lights on. Should I turn on the lights? Nah... I'm way too lazy. I'll just pee, wash my hands and get out of here. Who needs the light for that? Besides, it'll be quick.

The mirror, huh. I see my reflection under the moonlight. Wow, the moon is so round tonight. I'm glad there's at least a small window to allow some light through. It wouldn't be very pleasant to pee in utter darkness.

My reflection. With my long, flowing hair, my reflection under minimal light reminds me of the evil homicidal spirits of young women, generally featured in most Japanese horror movies.

Why is it that all Japanese ghosts have to be female, complete with long, messy hair which covers approximately seventy-two point five six percent of their faces?

I scare myself silly every time I look at my own reflection in the dark.

Don't think. Just pee and get back to bed. Nothing's gonna happen.

Right?

I mean, it's just my own reflection. I'm getting paranoid. Probably due to my lack of sleep. 

Wait a minute. The girl in my mirror. I think I know her. I've seen her somewhere.

Think, think.

Hah. Of course I know her. She's my own reflection...

Isn't she?

Hey, what is that glistening on her face? Wow. My reflection's eyes are like two crystals, shimmering under the soft moonlight. The crystals are beginning to multiply. Now they're running down her cheeks in two symmetrical vertical lines. Wait. They seem to be some sort of liquid. Could it be... tears? Is she crying?

She is.

I seldom see people cry, nor do I find myself crying very often. Come to think of it, I think in my eighteen years of living, I can only recall myself crying on two occasions. The first, when my friends picked on me. That, of course, was the first and last time they ever did. I never did give them any chances to even talk to me ever since.

The second time I cried was when I fell in love. I thought love could overcome everything therefore, I gave him everything I had. My hopes, my dreams, my life. Everything I did, I did it for him. He became my reason for living. 

Then, he crushed me. He dumped me and left me aside. He moved on. I wondered what else I could live for. Wounded, I let my tears wash my deep cuts. I swore never to fall in love again. 

I never did believe in crying. I'm the sort of girl that would never cry, no matter what. I'd face all my hardships and tribulations with a strong heart. I believe that crying will never help solve any problems, therefore, it's no use to cry. Perhaps, because of that, people see me as one with a strong personality; and when they're around me, they, too, are influenced to hold back their tears. 

Perhaps - no, probably that's why, I seldom witness people cry. Because I do not cry myself. Generally, most people are not willing to allow someone who has never cried to witness them doing so.

The wonders of human nature.

So you could say that I'm finding it quite astonishing to see somebody crying right now. 

That girl in the mirror. Do I know her? 

No, I probably don't. 

Why is she crying?

Damn. I'm no good at situations like this. I can be a fun person to be with, but when it comes to seeing people cry, I don't know what to do, or what to say.

Maybe I should try talking to her. What should I say? I feel like an idiot. My mouth is open but no sound is coming out. Say something!

All of a sudden, I'm feeling for her. Is that what people call compassion? Ha, ha. Me, having compassion? Nobody would ever believe it, even if I said it.

But the truth is, I do feel for her. Is it pity? Sympathy? Or empathy?

I don't know. I'm not good at discerning my feelings. I feel, but ninety percent of the time, I'm not sure what I'm feeling.

All I know is, I feel for her. I want to comfort her. I want to giver her an assuring hug or even a light squeeze on the shoulder, telling her that everything will be okay. No matter what it is, it will be fine.

But I'm afraid to touch her. Somehow, I'm afraid that if I do, she'll back off. Disappear, even.

Hah. She's just a stranger. Who cares if she is crying? I don't even know her. Why should I even care for her?

I'm about to walk away when all of a sudden, she talks to me. Her voice was soft; barely a whisper. Almost inaudible.

"Don't go. Please. Don't you remember me?"

Huh? Do I know her? 

"I remember you."

Who the hell is she?

No, I definitely don't know her. But she says she remembers me. What does she mean? 

I want to speak, but I can't find my voice.

She continues talking.

"Don't you want to know why I am crying?"

I eye her curiously. Who the hell is she and why is she crying to me? Annoying bitch. She should just go home and cry to her mommy.

"I'm crying because of you."

What?

"I'm crying because of you. Don't you remember me?"

Stupid bitch comes right up to me, cries, and then blame me for it? For goodness' sake I don't even know her. 

She's walking towards me. I find my own feet advancing, too.

"Stop it!!!" I yell. 

Yikes.

Just a minute ago, I was dumbfounded. Where did this new strength of mine come from?

My heart is thumping against my chest. I hate her. Why won't she go away? Why is a stranger here, prodding into my memories? What is she trying to do? I don't even know her. 

Yet, I have to admit that just a minute ago, I felt for her. Most importantly, I feel a connection with her and somehow, it seems like I do know her. 

No. 

I don't know her. That bitch is invading my privacy. I hate her. She has to go.

"I don't care if you know me or not, and I sure as hell am not interested in knowing why you are crying. Just leave! NOW!"

She doesn't say a thing. Her tears continue flowing. 

Like two crystal clear streams flowing gracefully, they seem to be exploring the contours of her smooth cheeks. They end at the bottom of her chin, dripping onto the ground in small droplets, each containing a fragment of her sorrow.

"You really don't remember me?"

"No," I say through gritted teeth.

"And you really want me to leave?"

"Yes."

"Don't you want to know who I am?"

I look into her eyes. She's pleading; I'm sure of it. Her eyes are pleading for me to give her a chance. She want's me to know her. She's pleading for me to remember her.

A fraction of a second.

A moment of thought.

I remember now. I know who she is. Once a soul mate, now a stranger. 

I don't even remember how I discarded her; treated her like refuse.

"Yes, I remember you now."

"I'm glad you do," she whispers, as tears of happiness fill her eyes.

She vanishes. I'm left alone. My cheeks are moist. Her tears have now become mine.

In the hustle and bustle of life, I almost forgot her. But she came back for me. She returned me what I had left behind, because I felt that I was better off without it. She allowed me to feel again. She gave me what was essential to being human; to feel like human.

She gave me back my emotions.

She was me.