Perhaps the most helpless emotion of the entire spectrum. Wrecking, to say the least, even in its lightest degrees. Crushing. Nagging. Fought off, unsuccessfully. Lingering; no, festering. It suffocates joy. It dims optimism. It destroys hope. It pains the soul.
Disappointment is that part of the world that’s away from the sun and the moon. It is the land that has no rain nor any light. It is cold, paralysing, blinding. It burns. It asphyxiates. It brings that little NaCl.H2O to the visual centres of homo sapiens. It is a void, a vacuum. It is inescapably shattering.
Even as people are unmade by disappointment, even as they disintegrate, hope grows back. Like a persistent stalker it finds its way back into the subconscious thoughts of the person, whispers quiet words of encouragement. It whispers of the light yet to come. Of the the delightful agonies yet to endure. Pure, tender hope peeks out of Pandora’s jar to soften the blows by the hard rock of reality.
Sometimes it is successful. Sometimes it isn’t. Maybe it’s human to feel alone in the confines of negativity, but if so, it provides no comfort nor assurance. The tongue feels metallic nonetheless, and the heart like it bears an open stab wound.
Yet, the part that’s most astonishing about human nature is the art of forgetfulness. The mind loses the sensation of disappointment after the while. The wound is as raw as ever, but now just goes ignored. The next injury gets our attention even as the old one weeps its bloody tears. The fists unclench, the jaw loosens and the eyes are dry once more. Humans compartmentalise, suppress, and move on to the next day. And eventually, they forget.
Perhaps it is disappointment that fuels drive. Going at one thing over and over again to prove something to yourself. Perhaps the modicum of hope following disappointment is the key that opens doors towards a wider horizon. Perhaps the unconscious act of pushing away pain is what keeps a person on the road to their destination. Or perhaps it’s merely idiosyncrasy, or insanity. I am too young, and perhaps too inexperienced to remark on the unfathomable depths of the art of living. I have only seen the disappointment, and I await the light.