thomas the obscure

The table went silent when Thomas spoke, more out of social courtesy than anything else. Once he was done saying his peace, which had intentions of being engaging and a conversation-starter, the polite smiles went round and after a necessary pause, the crowd at the table returned to their conversations and laughter.


The harder they laughed, the more painful it was for Thomas. He was there but not quite there; he was amongst the crowd but wasn't really with them. And the most painful thing, he knew. He knew he was only allowed to speak because they decided to be courteous. He felt like the loser he used to silently chuckle at in high school. Perhaps this was Fate's cruel reprimand for that arrogance. Thomas felt like Mr. Cellophane.


The crowd interrupted his sentences as if he never spoke, his comments were aired not heard, his exchanges never became conversations. Thomas felt like Jude. Thomas felt obscure.


All he wanted to do was get up and run into the cover of the night. He wanted to show them what a loss to the company if he did run off. I'll make them regret for ignoring me, Thomas thought. But silently the voice within reminded him that even if we walked off, hardly anyone would realise let alone care. So he sat there through the evening, through the conversations and laughter, with every passing moment Thomas' entire being only wanting to belong, if even for a few minutes. Why? Why me? What have I done to deserve this, he implored.


As darkness of night provided a slight reprieve, all Thomas could do was to turn his eyes to the Crucifix, bite his lips, fight the tears and pray. Thomas' greatest comfort amidst this darkness was being on his knees in prayer.


So the story goes of Thomas the Obscure.




"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love, and to be loved in return".


Uncle T