I live in an imaginary world.

“You can't live in your imaginary world forever, you need to come out sooner or later,” my friends would tell me. I would reply, “Yes, I can. I’ll have to making a living out of the imaginary world.”

I used to think only people such as writers who write fictional stories could say that, and piss their friends off and/or make them laugh. But now I have realized that I, too, can say that to make my friends shake their heads at me.

But, of course, I have to provide a proof to back me up.

Once in my introduction to analog circuits class, my professor was solving a very complicated equation on the board. I can’t remember what exactly he was solving that day, probably something like open loop and closed loop gain and feedback transfer function (need to make sure that the circuit is stable). After he finished solving this long and stinky equation, he pointed to the solutions to the equation, “If you’re a mechanical engineer, you would care about the real solution. But you’re electrical engineers, so you only want the imaginary solution.” After stating that, he circled the imaginary solution a several times and went on with his lecturing…

So there, I have proved that in my life, I probably care more about imaginary solutions much than the real solutions.

Yeah yeah, it’s not the same “imaginary world,” but it is so fun saying that…

"You make me believe in magic."

So said a close friend once, with a sigh. I wanted to hug her, tell her all the times magic has shown itself to me, that something fortunate and fairytale-esque was no doubt just around the corner for her...but I couldn't, and didn't.

For one thing, it's not the kind of thing you say. In storybooks maybe, you know, ones like Anne of Green Gables, in which the heroine stares into the distance and spews off a long beautiful paragraph full of moonlight and hope, perhaps shedding a tear or two--at which point the two characters embrace like sisters, and continue their idealistic journeys.

I have realized that I am just a wee bit too naïve, and it hurts when the world hurts you, no matter how pretty the moon is, or you know, whatever. You mustn't downplay the negative, but I have...forever. Poetry, music, dance, sports...I have used these to mask the unpleasant aspects of life.

People don't believe me when little snippets of my past come out in conversations. Like the time a gang threw rocks at me and my friends because we weren't white or black, but brown. I have a scar and one eyebrow's been jagged ever since. I have so many stories. I could go on and on, some even I have a hard time believing, since I put so little focus on them.

Now that I am old enough to be trusted with intoxicating beverages, I must grow up. This is to be a reminder that being a little realistic, a little cynical, a little jaded, is good...better than being so vulnerable that you become an open target...aching for years after an attack.

There are bastards out there. They feed off of pain. Some of them you've already met. Some are grown-ups, like that most accomplished of bastards, Mr. fucking Isaac. Remember him? Remember the lies he spread about you, and others? Remember how 4 whole years of high school were almost erased from your records, because of him? Remember the way he bullied, slandered, cheated, mauled?

Oh yeah, great teacher. Real inspiring.

Try to forgive it all. Forgive him, let it go. If you do, you will be stronger for it.

He wasn't the only one; forgive the others, too. Healing takes as long as it takes, but forgiveness is fully within your control. Forgive. And when you're done, have a cup of chai, right now, outside, while everything is still bathed in moonlight.

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