C — 33 — The Unlabeled.

There is a kind of pain, that we all have learned to accept by now.
The kind of feeling that can be labelled. The feeling when you lose a haven. By haven, I mean the place, person, thing that made your existence feel worthwhile. No matter how crippling is that feeling, it leaves you with an assurance that at least it is comprehensible and reasonable.

On another end, there exists another kind of pain. The kind that feels like a misfit in a room of labels. The feeling when you mourn for the loss of someone whom you never met in the first place. When you feel you have everything, yet you belong nowhere. When you start imagining the worst, in order to prepare yourself for the hypothetical worse. When you see the shining sun, with shades in your eyes, wondering why everything has to be so bright. Let me not generalise, is it just me? In a room full of harmony, humming my own melancholy?

Human emotions are so complex that they cannot be boxed into constructs and categories. While once your heart may empathise with the pain and sufferings of the Romantics you read in your Literature paper, the other day you may mock them to belive ‘facts’ dictated by sciences. We are the unlabelled species.

Because in our quest to carry out a nomenclature for every species, objects and feelings, we have distanced ourselves from the unspoken rawness which makes us unique.