It’s Okay Not To Care

When I was younger I used to care a lot.

I used to cry every time my parents fought, every time my friends had troubles, every time I saw something bad on the news.

I used to tell people I didn’t care.

But, it’s like my 9th Grade gym teacher said, sometimes people compensate for their faults. Mine was too much empathy. So, I’d pretend to shake it off. I was the epitome of arrogance and rudeness in a thirteen year old girl.

When I was fourteen, in the office of my school counselor (who was useless in actually solving any of my issues), I broke down crying. I let out years worth of emotions that I locked up inside.

Then I hit restart on the clock.

And then I turned eighteen. And my dad nearly died. And he survived. And my best friend told me that though my emotions were valid, I had to think rationally.

Somewhere along the way in the recent past, due to a friend of mine deciding to stop talking to me for (what I personally feel to be) a relatively minor misunderstanding that could’ve been solved on the spot had she just told me how she was feeling rather making me guess and guess what was in my head… Nothing made sense any more. And then COVID was still a thing. And then Russia and Ukraine happened. And I had exactly one person of Ukrainian origin that I knew from my entire nineteen-and-a-half-ish years. And that was all it took. For an event that wouldn’t have bothered me otherwise to make me feel the pain of each and every live lost. But I also have Russian friends (who abhor the situation just as any other decent human being) but are probably going to be faced with prejudice for years to come in several places around the globe. And it hit me that the only people to blame, the ones on the top of the food chain (no disrespect, they’re human too) are causing a lifetime of suffering for an entire globe. And they won’t realize it now. It’ll hit after everything’s over. The world made even less sense. And then this weekend in spite of several other issues that we could’ve possibly been solving around my workplace – serious issues that’ve always needed attention – our supervisor had us hall decorating. Which also set me behind to on three assignments. Not that I’ve felt like working as much toward the end of this semester.

I credited it to a case of senioritis, err, sophomoritis.

Until on Friday, I found the drive to get up early and get ready more than ten mins before the first bus for the first time in ages.

And I realized I still had it in me.

It dissipated the next day.

Then, this morning, I broke down crying.

I understood nothing.

Everything felt pointless.

And then I had a conversation with Shara McCallum. She’s famous. So, it’s okay that I mention her name, And there’s her photo below:

She told me something interesting that I never thought I’d hear come from a well-learned person in my life. Primarily because I never have.

It was one of the wisest things I’ve heard in my life. No disrespect to people who love the news. But I can’t tolerate it. I hate watching the news or reading the news and refuse to do so. I’m a firm believer that if it’s important enough, I’ll find out anyway. I mean, I didn’t find out about COVID from the news. Ironically, I did find out about Russia-Ukraine from the Times. I had to subscribe via my school email for an assignment and then, I didn’t end the subscription. Every now and then something interesting and worth my time shows up. So, I kept it. But every other day, it’s something depressing.

Something that makes me realize how the broken the world is.

And Shara was right when she told me I “have a very associative memory”. So, one bad thing only makes me think about the next.

And I didn’t cry the whole day. There were moments of joy and laughter filtered through all the distress. I mean, I met someone famous. I had fun in my History of Rock class, making fun of some pretty deranged old folk song lyrics. I made plans with my bestest friend for a call this weekend. I walked home from campus with my boyfriend (?) (we’ll go back to that question mark later) in the freezing cold, hand in hand for the last stretch, mind you. I’m drinking a Pepsi cola right now, listening to a favorite song, “Nee Vente Nenunte”, and writing this post.

But, it’s up and down.

I took a two to three hour nap earlier and still didn’t feel like working.

I knocked on one of my close friend’s doors down the hall and asked him how he manages to stay motivated and keep working in spite of the world falling apart. He laughed and blatantly told me the following:

I laughed and was confused – not shocked but confused – at the same time.

It’s really that simple? I asked.

And to him, it is, it seems.

Actually, he’s the one person in my life in the last year that I’ve not seen stressed. Except once. And it was my fault. And it was for a day. And that’s done.

And he wasn’t overcompensating for anything as far as I could tell. He was genuinely unfazed. Which… completely predictable from him. This man once climbed on top of a god-knows-how-high piece of machinery and jumped down like a stunt man, terrifying the fuck out of me. Moron. Loveable-as-hell moron, but moron nonetheless. And my first thought was, I wish I was that carefree. My second thought was, I used to be. Not to extent of jumping from high machinery because I have functioning brain cells that scream “Danger, dum dum” and I’m afraid of heights. But I used to tell the world to eff itself while I did exactly what made me happy. So, when did I change? Why did I change?

It struck me that that Friday morning I was so hyper-focused on waking up early and prettying myself up so I could go talk to the guy I’m seeing before the first bus showed up that I didn’t care what time it was when my alarm went off, I didn’t care whether the sun was up or not, I didn’t care where I had to go from there.

I wrote some lyrics last semester that I wish to hold true again:

Didn’t I once say the worst way to waste time is the worry about it.

Well, the worst way to save the world is by worrying about it.

Because then what are you getting done?

The world will always break down. And we will always build it back up. That’s the just the way it works. And the worst thing you can do is pretend you can change it. And I’m not being cynical. I’m being rational.

Changing the world, saving it, is not the job I signed on for. It’s not my problem. I am a student. I will one day be a teacher. I am an employee. And I wish to never be an employer. I am a child. I will one day be a parent. I am a girlfriend (?). I will one day be a wife. I am an older sister. Who sometimes acts like a younger sister. I am a friend. I will always be a friend. I am a writer. I will always be an artist and a writer. That’s it.

That is the extent of my responsibilities.

And yeah, the world doesn’t make sense. My life makes even less sense. But that’s not my problem anymore. I have a good life. And I’m gonna keep smiling.

And here’s one of my favorite songs that epically captures this concept:

Alright, now that I’ve procrastinated enough, I’m finally gonna finish that English assignment that makes no sense but I enjoy.