Dear Journal, Date: Sometime in the present
Quatre gave this to me saying that I have to "evaluate my life and express my emotions". Haha, what an ass! Why doesn't he express his emotions? No one can be that happy and compassionate all of the time and not be a 50 year old grandmother. So that leads me to this: Quatre is a 50 year old woman dressed up as a 17 year old, gay boy who thinks he's Ken. I'll go get Barbie (Duo) and they can have a bloody party. Wahoo. I'll bring the confetti.
All right, so maybe I am a bit cynical. You would be too if you were surrounded by geniuses. Duo is the light-hearted, comedic relief; Heero is the leader, the "perfect soldier"; Quatre is the compassionate bastard who's always there for you; Wufei is the fighter who will never let go, so what the hell am I? Am I the shadowed one? The one who will end up dead in a sewer or crying because he's too weak? Nod boy? Wow, look out for Nod Boy and his mystical nodding powers. Is that all I'm good for?
I don't even bother caring anymore. Yes, I have no place, no name, and no home, but who's complaining? I know I'm not. I don't need an identity to know who I am. I'm me, and that's all there is to it. So why do I want to have a place so goddamn badly?
I tell you why. Everyone needs a position or job in life to be secure. We need friends to fall back on and teachers to guide us. I'm without friends and my parents...well...that's a dark story that I don't want to go into. Some would probably say that the other Gundam Pilots are my friends. God, don't I wish. We're all too busy in our own little worlds to notice anyone else. Our basic day plan consists of this:
1. Get up. Try not to get killed by a PMSing Duo.
2. Eat Quatre's breakfast and try not to throw up before 12 noon.
3. Get mission.
4. In Duo's case: swear about mission; in Heero's case: form plan to die during mission and make it look like an accident; in Quatre's case: jump around like a freaking idiot and pick flowers; in Wufei's case: make no reaction and say absolutely nothing so long as the trees are brown; in my case: nod.
5. Get home, eat dinner, and go to bed.
6. Try to go to sleep. Fail. Wow.
Okay, so why do I sound so sarcastic? It's quite different from who I am to everyone else. I usually know when to shut up and when to say one-word answers. Sometimes...it's just...god. I'm going to bed. Stupid journal.
Dear Journal, Date: Still present, though somewhat lighter out.
Today was very interesting. Duo has been planning to get Quatre a boyfriend and find out whether or not Heero is straight. We've all placed bets, and both Wufei and I agree that he's definitely gay. Nobody could wear that many spandex pants and not be gay. Look at what happened to George Michael.
Duo just walked in and gave me an odd look. "What'cha doing?" God, he's annoying. Must he slur all of the English words known to man together?
"Writing."
"Why?" Why the hell do you think?!! Because I like ink?!?!
"Because, Duo."
"Oh."
Then he moved onto Wufei. I must say, their conversations always make me laugh so hard I have to leave so that no one will see. Here's a bit so you can crack a rib as well.
"What'cha doing, Wufei?" See what I mean? Americans can not speak properly.
"Maxwell..." Ah, the look on Duo's face is priceless. This is the second that he notices that a little more will end him in a trashcan wearing a pink tutu.
"Yes, Wufei?" The puppy face. I *hate* the puppy face.
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Because you're annoying."
"Why?" This game again? Duo will just keeping asking you why until you smack him so hard in the head he sees little birdies dancing around in a bowling alley. With Wufei, this could be very dangerous as he's already like a bomb ready to attack the next living organism he sees. Must be that time of month.
"You ask too many stupid questions!" I look up, getting interested in this entire scene. Quatre just walked in, and then gave a little squeak and ran out again. Heero is sitting next to me, watching as well. You know where Duo and Wufei are.
"Why?"
"Don't. Ask. Me. That. Again."
"Why?"
"Because it angers me!!!!!" Wufei is getting pretty pink. I think he's about to explode...
"Why?" 5....4....3....2.....
"MAXWELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Explosion!!
Duo laughed so hard that Wufei ran after him with a spatula. We weren't in the kitchen, so how the hell did he get a spatula? It is times like these that make me wonder why my roommates are obsessed with inanimate kitchenware. Then I remember that I want to kill myself with a dull spoon.
Journal- Date: I have no idea
The next time someone tells you to be honest, lie. To be perfectly truthful, people don't want your advice. They don't want your opinion and they certainly don't want the truth. That's just the way it is. If someone tries to convince you that they're a person who loves the truth, they're fools. No one wants the truth because lies are a lot easier to handle. You don't have to look at lies. Lies don't crawl into your head at night and shake you awake, whether you want them to or not. Lies just sit there like Jell-O.
I must say Quatre's pleased with my surplus of writing lately. I've written only three entries and I'm already on his wall of "people who will get Christmas presents because they did what I told them to do". He was practically skipping today when I announced that I was going into my room to be alone. I guess that translated, for Quatre, into: "I'm going into my room to write down all of my deepest secrets and desires". He needs help.
Why haven't I written down my deeper thoughts and such yet? It's because I'd rather keep them buried. My motto is: experience it, bury it, and hope to god you forget it. I don't want to have to think about all of my mistakes every single second. That would drive me to insanity and I don't think that's any easier.
Duo just knocked on my door. There are times that I just wish I could lock myself up in a cupboard and not come out for fifty years so I wouldn't have to deal with him worrying about me. He always worries when I go into my room or shut up, which means he worries ALL OF THE TIME.
"Trowa, are you okay in there?" His voice is really soft, which is highly unusually for Duo. It's like the spring wind. It rustles by you if you're beside a lake and whispers in your ears coldly, but not too coldly. Everything is perfect then, and it would be fine with Duo's voice if he didn't sound so worried.
"Yeah, Duo, I'm fine." Lying is the key to everything. If you lie, people feel better thinking that you were honest. They think that if you say it it's true. Where's the logic in that?
"Okay…well, dinner's ready." I could almost hear the smile in his voice. He was happy to know I was still alive, despite the lack of talking and full sentences. He was happy to know that despite everything, I was still here no matter what. I wonder how he'd react if that ever changed?
"All right, Duo. I'll be out soon." I'm agreeable, and that's why he isn't worried anymore. I tell people what they want to hear so we don't have to go into this big discussion. I don't want a big discussion; I just want to be left alone.
Duo just left again, giving me one last piercing look. God, will he give it up already? I'm fine…well, as far as he can tell. I'm not so sure about myself, though.
Dear Journal, Date: Friday, March 28, 2003?
If Quatre asks me if I'm all right one more time I will strangle him. No, I'm not all right, but why the hell must he know? "Because I'm your friend, Trowa," he says. He's my fucking friend?! When the hell did he start caring?! How about the twelfth of never? "It affects me. It hurts me, Trowa, to see you upset." So go take your eyes out and you won't have to watch me anymore.
It's obvious I'm not "peachy" or anything, but there are people out there with worse problems. Pain is pain, I know, but I can deal with mine better. No big fucking deal. I handle my problems without everyone knowing about them, is that so bad? Is that so out of the question that I mind my own business? Oh, wow, now there's a concept.
Jesus. I think I upset Quatre and Duo today with my lack of appropriate answers.
"Trowa, you've got to smile more."
"Trowa, please don't look so sad."
"Trowa, eat more."
"Trowa, you need to be nicer to Quatre.
"Trowa, what's bugging you?"
"Trowa…" SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't fucking need this. I want to just give up, shut down, and leave town. I'm not going to die like this—not in this place. I will not give in to their pity. I cannot allow myself to wallow in that misery. I need to be okay and if that means locking me away, so be it.
Sometimes, when I think about it, I realize that I need them to drill me with those questions and commands. I need to know that they care enough to notice the little things about me that change. I bite my lip when I'm alone or upset; I keep my hair in my face to hide the invisible scars; when someone confronts me, I look down and lower my face; I get uncomfortable around adults. If they notice, then I know that they've been watching me; that they've been caring.
Dear Journal, Date: Saturday, March 29, 2003
Life is funny, you know. You think you get everything and then the game changes and you have to start all over again. I'm sitting in the kitchen and everything is finally beautiful. The sun's so bright that I can barely look at the sky and not be blinded. It is days like these that make me realize how small and insignificant I am. I stare outside at the leaves and trees and grass and manage a small, contented smile. I'm happy because I'm staring at pure nothingness.
We live beside a large river so I can stare outside and be mesmerized by its iridescent glow. Everything is so beautiful that it hurts. I get lost in days like these, only to return when it rains. Rain rips you awake from whatever shadowy sleep you were in, but it's a refreshing tear. The water washes over your body so softly and silkily it's intoxicating. For a brief second, you feel everything rinse away with the seductive droplets and the world is okay. You're okay. That's what I love about the rain and that's what I love about the sun. Warmth and cool—they wash over you and you're okay for a moment in time.
I was sitting outside quietly, just staring out at the horizon as the night closed in on swift wings. Wufei approached and sat down beside me silently. I didn't need to look at him to know that he was there. I can just sense people like that. He has this swift thing going on a lot, so his shadow tells me immediately who he is. It's funny, really.
We don't talk much, if at all. Wufei and I don't need to talk to have a conversation. By just reading one another's expressions, we discuss our day all on our own. If he looks pissed, I leave him alone. If he stays in the dark shadows, I say nothing and merely watch him. It's a great system—much better than talking.
He looked down, and I noticed how bright his eyes are and how pale his skin is. A true man of power, one might say. I would just say 'Wufei' because power means nothing to me. He's the closest person to me because we're not close at all. Ironic, isn't it?
We sat in silence there for a while, both enjoying the pale colors of the night sky and the brilliance of the stars. He can appreciate simple stuff like that without speech and all of that other confusing shit. I just want silence, and that's what he gives me. It's good to be friends with people like him. I can trust Wufei and trust is what I need right now. That and dinner, probably.
It's amazing: Wufei and I sat there for hours and said not one single word. I can tell that he used to be light-hearted and funny at one point in his life. I'm the only one who knows that as well, excluding Wufei, of course. You can tell a lot about a person by just sitting next to him for a few hours. Duo should try it sometime. Maybe I'll send him out with Quatre and they can "bond". Bond. James Bond. I blame Duo for that.
Dear Journal, Date: Sunday, March 30, 2003
I remember when life used to be so confusing. The war ended and we all were broken. There was nothing left in anyone's eyes. We had won the war, but had lost our own souls. It was a price that we all expected to pay, but no one could've known the pain of being emotionless. Pain isn't an emotion; it's a drug that will never let you go.
Everything hurt so much that I could barely even breathe. When I ate, it would be only minutes before I threw everything up again. The entire world made me sick. It still does, in fact, but I'm able to contain that inside of me.
You don't know what war is until you witness it. No one alive understands death better than Wufei, Heero, Quatre, Duo, and I. How could anyone? We saw people die left and right and we were the ones killing them. I took lives like someone blinks—it's automatic. I didn't think about anything until afterwards.
I yearn for a day when I didn't have to see their blood on my hands. I miss that day when I was able to sleep at night and not have to hear their screams. I've had insomnia for most of my life, but never did I have to be haunted by dead soldiers' screams. That's too much, especially when you're the murderer and the best friend.
Quatre gave in first to the insanity and didn't speak for nearly a year. I watched him sit in that corner, shaking with fear and grief. Goosebumps covered his pale skin and his blue eyes were clouded, and yet, at the same time, empty. It was hard on all of us, but Quatre wasn't prepared for that. He's so innocent and naïve that death just came as a shock.
Duo was the next to give up. He just sat outside alone and barely blinked. I walked into his room once and found myself in a mess of writing and screaming. He had been writing on his walls for hours with a black pen and Quatre freaked. I remember reading, "Life comes on swift wings. Death comes on even swifter." It scared the hell out of all of us; death comes to whom? Was he referring to the Gundam Pilots? He was, and I'll never forget it.
The worst part was the fact that Duo can't do an ounce of math. He's not a very academic person to begin with, so witnessing monuments of numbers on his white-washed walls was quite a sight. He was in this half-daze when he was doing it, I'm sure. No one could write that much and be fully alive or awake.
So Duo and Quatre broke first. That left Heero, Wufei, and I. The funny thing is that since we were all pretty stable and expectant of death, we didn't break down like the other two. Heero retreated into his room, Wufei wandered about the house, and I turned to drugs and the streets. God only knows how much I took to get rid of the pain.
I'm still on the drugs, but not so much anymore. The other pilots don't know and can never find out. How would they react if they discovered that I had never really gotten off of them? I would be in a center faster than you can say "bye".
Wufei knew about them for a while, but he never acknowledged the information. Stuff stop filtering through with him, and it's still a bit slow. None of us recovered from that war and none of us ever will.
The war tore each of us up because we never experienced such confusion and chaos like that. It was overwhelming. Try this: everywhere you look there are dead/dying people with blood and organs surging out of ripped flesh that you slit. Your friends are yelling at you to pull out of your daze and get back to work. You watch the only people you've ever cared about get slashed about by the enemies you could never beat. Everything's a blur of pain, screaming, and death. We didn't need guns. That pandemonium was enough to kill each and every one of our enemies, as well as ourselves.
I look back on our training from time to time and wish I had just backed away from everything. I didn't need that life, nor did I want it. I just wanted an escape; how could I have not foreseen a life of imprisonment? I lost every emotion I had once had and that was replaced with mechanical stuff. I was a machine in a human's body. I still am.
I wanted a life, not a war. I never wanted loss like that. I could've been somebody—now I'm just a killer without a name. There's nothing worse than a nameless assassin.
Sometimes at night I hear the other pilots cry out in their troubled sleep. I've been told I talk in my sleep, but never shout. Maybe I manage a whimper or two, but nothing big.
Tonight it was Heero. He sobbed about Relena; about his friends; about not dying soon enough. It would've been too hard had any of us died in that war. That would just be too much to handle. It's bad enough to deal with a complete stranger's death, but someone you're connected to?
"No…please…I…wanted to die…let me go…please…" I would go to comfort him, but I know that would be awkward. We don't talk much in general, so how would it be if I came into his room in the middle of the night? It would be uncomfortable and embarrassing. So I just sit here, listening to him moan.
"…Let…them be okay…" This sort of thing tends to happen a lot when Heero has a bad dream. He whines for an hour or so and then falls into a dreamless sleep, never remembering his nightmare. It would be rude for me to mention his whimpering so I don't. How would you feel is someone listened in on you late at night? It would raise eyebrows from Wufei and Quatre would wonder why I was up at that late anyway. I don't want to have to explain it.
There are talks of rebellion again and destruction. A few fires have been set and that's why I'm recalling the war. Fire blazed in those fields, destroying everything that came into its path. It burned your skin, but erased a lot of memories at the same time. That's what's great about fire: it erases things, making it as if nothing was there before. Once there's destruction, you forget what life was like before that. That's what war is like. Once you fight, you don't know how to stop and remember what living is. You're dead and there's nothing to bring you back from death. Resurrection doesn't exist; the Egyptians were wrong. Life after death couldn't be or I'd be alive right now. I'm not alive, truly, just an empty shell.
I hate them for doing that to me. I didn't deserve to be nothing inside. I didn't earn a life of beauty and glory either, but nobody should be meaningless. Humans were created so they could have a purpose in life, not to be destroyed by the battle of their goddamn life.
Drugs can drown out that, though. It can drown out the entire world if you let it. Stuff like Ice and Cocaine gives you hallucinations so you aren't even here in reality. You don't need to be; the ecstasy is so engrossing that you get lost in this other world—this fantasy world. War ripped your heart out and stuffed reality in its place, while drugs softly woke you up from Hell and took you up to a fake Heaven. That's what it's like to be addicted.
Tentatively, Quatre once asked me why I didn't talk so much. It was after the war, and he still hadn't recovered from his silent year. Why didn't I talk? The answer is pretty hard to say to someone who had just locked himself away for a very long year.
"I don't know, Quatre. I just don't." He accepted that and we both moved on, but I'll never forget that moment. The thoughts that ran through my head were hard to handle so I went out after and got high. Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.
It's hard to think about everything that has happened since that catastrophe that historians like to call the "Revolution". I'll give you a fucking revolution. The word revolution summons the image of valiant men riding off to the sun—the heroes of the war. They win and are all good and wonderful in everyone's eyes. Were we that? Were we heroes in everyone's eyes? Were we righteous? The answer is no. We were the very things everyone hated. We were the enemy. We weren't righteous, brave; full of valor. We were nothing.
When you risk your live for millions of people and the good of mankind, you usually expect some form of gratitude. You expect at least one person to be proud of you. Did I get that? No, I didn't. I got absolutely nothing but hatred, disappointment, and even from the people who had told me to do the very thing I did. I know my logic is screwed up, but is that fair? The people who trained us acted like we had destroyed the universe. We won the fucking war and had lost our own selves in the process.
Now, looking back on it, the gratitude (or lack thereof) never seemed to bother me. I've dealt with guilt and regret before. But I never wanted to fight this war to begin with. It wasn't mine to fight.
I didn't deserve to die in that war and then have to go home and bury the people I also had slaughtered. The point of dying is to go swiftly in your sleep and be forgotten, buried in the deep of the earth. That's what death is. When you die, everything ends. Why do you think so many people commit suicide? It's because they can't handle to know that they've barely reached the middle of their story so they end it all. I wish I was that strong, but I'm not. I have to kill myself off with something else so it's indirect. In a sick way, I'm not responsible. I'm the victim. That's all I want to be: the victim. Then I won't have to be murderer, the psycho—the enemy.
Journal, Date: Tuesday, April 1, 2003
A few things have been boiling in our apartment lately. It seems that everyone is getting annoyed with Duo's nonstop talk of girls, music, and whatever. I swear he doesn't really even need someone to talk to. Once I caught him just standing alone in a room, jabbering away. He must have some serious schizophrenia. I believe we shall now call him Schizoid instead of Duo. Schism can be his nickname.
I'm sitting at the kitchen table as it's about 5 AM and everyone else is asleep. Sometimes I just need to be alone without having to lock myself up in my room. It reminds me too much of a prison cell with its four bare, white-washed walls and singular bed; everything in there just screams "Insane Asylum".
It's amazing writing to you because I never considered myself a journal person. Writing down my personal feelings doesn't exactly appeal to me. Once they're on paper, it's almost impossible to erase them. Sure, you can use an eraser if you wrote with a pencil, but even then you can still make out the words. Besides, I don't want life to be that easy. You can't fix everything with an eraser.
Someone just stirred. I think it was Heero or Wufei, judging by the sore, muffled grunt. Wufei tends to toss in his sleep as well, while Heero merely talks, which may end up killing him anyway.
I sip my bitter coffee silently and stare out of the window, pondering life and existence. I suppose I could go out into town and walk about a bit. We live near the city so life is pretty...well...lively. Everyone is either on their cell phone or pager, trying desperately to hurry to work so they won't be late. It's an interesting sight to watch, especially if you're not one of them.
I pull on my long, black jacket (it's a trench coat, mind you) and head out the door. Birds are chirping and the sun's shining brightly after a long night of rain. Despite all of that, however, the trees look dead. They're naked without the comfort of leaves or buds. Perhaps the flowers are really the three's soul, and the bark is merely the shell. So does that mean they're caught in the winter, empty and broken?
I walk into town quietly, admiring those careless people who are smiling and laughing so happily. A few are kissing and it turns my stomach upside down as I get the desire to do the same thing with a girl I love. Then I remember I don't love anyone, not even my sister.
A small breakfast shop is open with tables out under a sun cover. I order a bagel and some more coffee and sit under the shade, watching cars drive past me and people move about in their daily lives. Today doesn't seem like such a bad day after all, given a few mess-ups or two. It's already 7 so I figure that both Heero and Wufei are up by now, wondering where Trowa went and why he didn't leave a note. It's not that they actually care (because they don't) but they need me to keep them both in check if they decide to fight about politics or philosophy again. Quatre is usually the peacemaker with small squabbles, but he never handles serious stuff like death. He's too naïve, and I think I prefer it that way. If he was any wiser, he would see right through my façade and straight to the drugs. Wufei and Heero don't notice because they're both too busy in their own lives to care.
The coffee burns the roof of my mouth, but I don't notice. I'm telling you my actions so you get who I am. I'm not just the screwy lunatic, locked up inside his head. I can go about and be a normal person as well.
I get home at about 11 so everyone is awake and going about the house. Duo is playing video games, trying frantically to beat the last level of Bounty Hunter; Quatre is in the kitchen, humming and making some food for the day; Heero is sitting on the couch, half-watching Duo die a zillion times, half-writing in his notebook; Wufei is outside in the backyard, reading silently, in the same place we had been a few days before. I guess Quatre heard me come in because he rushed to my side, obviously a bit worried. Whenever I go out he gets worried so I'm not surprised.
"Where were you Trowa? Heero says you weren't here when he got up."
"I went to go get something to eat, Quatre." That appropriately translates into: fuck off.
"Oh." I can tell he's not satisfied with my response, so I decide to end the conversation.
"I got a bagel and some coffee down at that shop on Mary's Street." That pleases him, so I hang up my coat and look down the empty hall, then glance into the living room at Duo.
"DIE YOU EVIL BLOODY SUCKER!! I WILL KILL YOU!!!!! DIE, DIE, DIE!!!" It seems that the creature he is fighting refuses to die. I wonder why.
Heero is trying not to laugh as he keeps his "stone" face down, not risking another glance at the fanatical Duo. I smile slightly to myself and watch for a time. The thing that's making me smile isn't Duo. It's not his carelessness or his intensity and determination to win; and it certainly is not the video game. It's the fact that everything is okay. We're allowed to smile at something as immature and childish as killing a four-legged monster. We don't have people telling us that it's wrong to have emotions. I have friends telling me it is okay to laugh, to cry; to yell.
It's situations like these that make me forget everything in my head. I forget the pain, the drugs, even the war. All I remember is that for once in my life I'm happy. For once in my life I'm not alone.