Advice

"I always pass on advice. That is the only thing to do with it. It is never any use to oneself."
-Oscar Wilde

I've talked to plenty of people about their pre-college breakups, and when I do, I make an effort to be honest; most of the time, I feel like holding onto futile hopes is worse than having no hope at all.

It was only after last Saturday that I realized just how right Oscar Wilde was.

See, I used to pride myself on being a decent friend to talk to for advice because I'm realistic and rational.

It never hit me that the only reason I can be so rational is because I'm never talking about myself. I care about his/her feelings, yes. But no matter what, in the end, I'm not the one who actually has to deal with the problem. I'm just that annoying backseat driver that spews out logic and reasoning, comforting or not.

What I'm getting at is, the last two days have been a lot more painful than I'd like to admit. I've tried to comfort myself with my own medicine, but hell, it seems my heart just doesn't feel like listening to my brain right now.

Ryan, who is supposedly the stone-cold logician that listens only to reason, has rejected his self-proclaimed lifeblood in favor of his emotions.

I don't consider myself rational anymore. I've merely been that infuriating voice in the back of the classroom, blurting out all of the answers incessantly, yet suddenly going silent and quivering the moment I get moved to the front and have to deal with the pressure.

No, I'm not rational. I'm just as driven by my emotions as anyone.

No one is truly rational.