Illustration for Gaysi Family, Written by Seven.
It’s 3 a.m. and your peaceful slumber is disrupted by a phone call. It’s your best friend seeking to be comforted by you during an anxiety attack that struck them at the dead of the night. The way they are freaking out concerns you, snapping you out of your dreamland; now your attention is solely focused on helping the poor lad. You try your best to calm them by being a good listener, saying something when words are necessary to weave the next thread of the conversation and staying put when they’re not because during the entirety of this conversation they’re safe as long as they’re talking to you, right? Congratulations! You are a good friend.
It’s 3 a.m. and your peaceful slumber is disrupted again. But this time, there’s no call, there’s nobody. It’s yourself that you have to face now. During tonight’s dead of the night the innermost demons that you shoved deep down inside a little corner of your subconscious and locked into a glass jar have, by fair means or foul, managed to knock the lid off and are wreaking havoc at the forefront of your consciousness. But you’re not as kind to yourself as you were to your friend, are you?
In a world where we are taught to be something, do something the moment we’re born, it becomes extremely hard to navigate through life while making sense of what’s being taught to us at the same time. And if you dare question those lessons instead of mindlessly following what’s being taught, then only the formidable god can be your saviour. It’s comically ironic that a society puts this much obstinate faith in an adult-sized imaginary “saviour” than they would ever think to put in their own selves, or their peers for that matter.
