“I never see a wild thing
Sorry for itself.”
—D. H. Lawrence, “Self-Pity”
Did you ever see a wild thing feeling sorry for itself? Perhaps a tiny bird fallen from its nest? Or a kitten lost on its own in some alley? D. H. Lawrence claimed he never did; and neither did I.
Pity—it seems—is an entirely human trait. It’s a feeling we bestow towards those less fortunate than us. It moves us to lend a hand, to help, to sympathize on others’ grief and sorrow. Some of us do it for a gain, some others don’t. Hey! It’s all human.
Yet if you care to look closer, it might be interesting to observe how some people seemed to cultivate more pity than others. Some people seemed to know exactly what story to tell, what expression to wear, which word to use, and to whom they plead … they seemed to glow in their sorrow, playing their roles as victims in an Oscar-quality performance [well, not an Oscar-quality, perhaps. A Kelurahan Theater Competition on Tujuhbelas-Agustusan might do]. And so they cultivate pity like the Valkyries reaping lives in the battlefield. They know exactly how to capitalize each episode of their [usually] never ending sorrow.
Lately I was quite immersed in my observation of one such character. At the beginning, it amused me … that is, until I became nauseated. Well, call me cold-hearted, feel free. But when a beautiful woman with a perfect pedigree regards herself as a helpless little girl in her thirties, claims herself to be drowning in darkness and loneliness all the time—while those darkness and loneliness were obviously self-inflicted—what would you make of it? Surely you’ll be sick of it at some point! Still, it intrigued me how she managed to cultivate pity with such surgeon-like precision. How did she do that? Honestly, I came to admire her talent.
Then, in one misty morning, as I yawned myself through the veil of dawn, it hits me hard as fact: To be able to cultivate pity like that, one should have a monumental amount of self-pity. There is no other way. Pity yourself as if there is no tomorrow, and others would pity you like there’s no other sorrow.
So what would you do if one day you came face-to-face with this kind of character? Would you still let them flourishing in others’ pity? Would you turn away? Would you observe them as I did [it might be amusing for some time]? Or would you shake them hard, hoping they’d get a grip on their lives?
It’s up to you. But I know what I would do. I’d tell them to reclaim the responsibility upon their own dear lives; then I’d slowly turn away and move on to take the responsibility upon my life.
That would be enough for me.
27 December 2008 ; 16. 31
