hot and cold

[rone]

When i was very young, i was afraid of the dark.  I saw large skeletons behind doors with not-so-friendly intentions.  Fortunately, i found out that closing my eyes would make them go away.

As i grew up, i felt that phobias of the dark, heights, et cetera, were silly and something that would impede my enjoyment of life.  So i resolved not to have any.  And somehow i thought that by taking that decision, i would never again be afraid in my life.

I hadn't gotten into any fights in school until my mom got me transferred in midyear to Colegio Americano during 4th grade.  I got angry with a friend over a discussion of which soccer team was better.  I'll always remember the first time i smelled my own fear; that bitter odor that feels like it's firmly pinching your septum, and makes your eyes water, your stomach turn, and your limbs tremble.  Hell, it was hard to forget it, considering how often i started getting into fights after that.

Fast forward to the first fight i actually won.  7th grade, and some stupid dispute over a soccer ball.  Fear at first, but somehow, i was not only holding my own, but i was kicking this guy's ass.  That was the first time i smelled my rage.  If fear was trying to creep its way up my nostrils, rage was like a nosebleed, the exhaust that my body put out as it burned my opponent.

Now, of course, i'm a model of emotional balance; where there was fear, there is now worrisome anxiety; where there was rage, there is now frustration and tepid anger with a side order of despair.  Where fear was an inhibitor and rage was a motivator, now i have emotions that sometimes blur, provoke nothing, and have no smell worth describing.  No, not balance; stasis and stagnation.  Oh, i can FEEL it, you know, but sometimes i wonder, why do i bother to feel?

I don't want to become an adrenalin junkie, someone who has to do something mindnumbingly risky/stupid just to feel the thrill.  Not the least because that thrill is anything but cheap, nowadays.  But i don't want to return to the days when my skin would prickle and my blood boil at the slightest stimulus, either; i don't want the fear to paralyze me, nor the rage consume me.

Sometimes, though, you don't get what you want.