Empathy with the dead
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- Votes 8
- Parts 4
Someone from my grandma's times said that,
"Empathy is about finding echoes of another person in yourself."
I was never great with this understanding or emphasizing stuff. From the moment I learned to walk, I have done everything on my terms. I studied what I wanted, dated who I wanted, drive at the speed of the wind, broke rules I didn't like and enjoyed life to its fullest. And I don't have an apology for any of it. Giving a damm about what others think was never my style. I am a free bird and my talons are always ready to protect my freedom.
I didn't really care about other's feelings. Not that I am rude or outright blunt, I just don't care. My tomboyish look and attitude aren't the most attractive thing to the opposite gender. Thank God for that, I don't have to deal with those sweet chocolate promises of eternal love (that die in 2 months in reality) that plagues today's teenagers. That left dating just a new hobby to try.
Empathy is not my cup of tea. But the nature spirits of my family may have other ideas. It blessed (or cursed) me with this strange power to feel the emotions of those who were buried. Those emotions are not haunting me, they rather seem sad. And it is in my power to switch them off. But what would it feel like to hold a regret of eternity?
That it. I shouldn't have felt the last sentence. But somehow I did. Especially when my grandma joined the buried and left the burden of her legacy on me. Now I have to make a choice. Whether to ignore this strange feeling and continue to just enjoy my life. Or open my heat to the emotions radiating from graves. I cannot empathize with living. Am I even qualified to empathize with the dead?
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╰┈➤ ❝ [I stood there in unequivocal revelation, the lagging pain slowly catching up with me, but before I could release a fraction of the pain into my screaming, a bell rang, and suddenly, pilfered from my body was the ability to move. My face neutral and my muscles disabled as I fell face-first into the hard, scathing rock that lay unmoved before me.] 》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ * 。° 。 • ˚《 Imagine awakening in an environment you deemed unfamiliar, your back thrumming in pain, with your mind staying clear of how you ended up there or simply the moments that lead to your position. You try to find a way out and later realize that you can't even remember who you are; your memories purged, your identity unknown. It takes you a good amount of time, pain, and effort, and eventually you manage to gather tiny fragments of who you were along with the trauma of how you retrieved it, but it's okay, maybe it's all worth it as you finally make contact with another person. Turns out she was your best friend. Finally, it looks like all is turning up until you learn of all the inhumane things you've done in your past, things that evade your newfound morals, things that were so detrimental to society that when you hear the reason as to why you've been enduring such agony, you understand why. How many people did you even end up hurting? What did you do that was so bad, that it made millions wish the absolute worst of you? What will you do now?
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