A Life of Misfortune: C Minor Symphony of Chaos

While life might be a nice song for some, treading well between happiness and sadness, it was noise to others—unbearable, continuous series of dissonant notes that make somebody wish for quietness while he covers his ears. The following is about those belonging to the latter group: a messy piece played messily based on reality.

It is the first stage, characterized by puzzlement and indecisiveness in regard to oneself, familiar to many. Many of us turn to questioning ourselves: am I the one pilfering me? Do I just act to be someone else? A person in identity crisis? Our memory of our childhood is hazy and we sometimes ask if we have changed a bit or we have always been a mess. It can be put to a point of extreme frustration-such that all one is surrounded by are questions running ceaselessly without answers, beating on our heads: "WTF?"

The next movement on the table is the going into the void of loneliness. The feeling of valuelessness is likened to just floating adrift in an ocean of apathy since each passing day becomes so similar and with no clear meaning or use. This world seems alien- all its discourses being nothing but babble through our ears. There are much more languages in this world than there are continents or nations; however, nothing but silence resonates them when bereaved people talk about their loss here through the450 writing music CDs without signing their names anywhere. It is often during such times that we wish someone would hear what we are going through without necessarily asking us any question while looking straight into one's eyes from afar off.

This condition of aloneness is heightened in the third movement. According to them, we are outcasts of society due to our attention deficiency. But amidst the Techno talk is a truth as raw as skin–we all have a need to touch and we all feel pain. And yes, bullying hurts–that's a hard song for anyone to play, let alone persons who want to dismiss outsider or pariah emotion.

The deeper the despair, the more it takes a grip in this fourth movement, as if we stand poised at the edge of waking and helplessly gaze out at chaos, already happening. Every morning makes it more transparent: what a mocking, wretched thing daylight itself is, as though tomorrow will be spent in battling nothing but self-inflicted demons! The reality turns itself into the most despicable portrayal one can think of which one cannot help but detest at all times. Still, the question lurks around our necks– am I throwing away my life with open eyes?"

Fifth movement: This frustration boils over in an angry lashing out at others for what they say; their silence tells us more than words ever could. We fall upon an internet support group with patronising cliches but hit out, hoping at least one person will listen. "They care," but this means nothing and offers no answer to make things worse instead of remaining as empty as before.

The next movement was balancing on the edge of self-distrust. Other people's whispers haunted our minds, haunting the conscience with their judgment. Are we troublemakers? Mischief-makers? Abnormalities waiting to happen? The ambiguity is maddening, a tangled web that smothers any sense of self-identity.

This seventh movement brings out a sorrowful serenade of isolation that festers within despite being amongst people. Everyone is around and yet utterly alone. Every socialization fails us, and we drown in an ocean of desperation. A seascape drowning feel comprises all, a drowning feeling that suffocates us of our breath.

The final movement is one of desperate seeking for answers. We quarrel with the label attached to us—"loser," "failure." The words sting, rubbing salt into perceived shortcomings. The symphony builds to a fever pitch, a chaotic melding of self-loathing and a yearning for redemption.

This, my friends, is not the beginning of the end. It's only the first act climax, gut-wrenching opening to a set of convolutions in an unhappy existence. Somewhere in all that cacophony lurks a thread of hope. The darkness acknowledged gets closer to light.

Though this symphony is now in the key of C minor, there is always room for key change. Maybe, given time and a lot of elbow grease, we can actually rewrite this score, new instrumentation, define a melody carrying at least a hint of optimism—the promise of a finer tomorrow.

This blog most definitely is not the closing limb of a long tale; it quite literally calls one to arms, opening the invitation for participation in this orchestra. Take part with your own instruments, your own experiences, or your struggles amongst others. We, together in unison, can transform this cacophonous symphony into a mighty anthem of resilience testifying to the human spirit that has transcended some of life's most discordant notes.

Remember, you are not alone. Indeed, the conductor vanished, but the music continues. Play on.