I can feel something well up inside of me. It's a vaguely familiar sensation, and I search my brain for a comparison. Oh, yes. This is what it felt like when I was about to cry. There are no tears left now, just this strange, unsettling sensation. Yet one more thing I've failed at -- I can't even cry now. My mind has an image of a bucket being lowered into a well. The bucket comes up empty. Turned upside down in a desperate search for water, all the bucket yields are a few grains of dust that quickly blow away.
I can remember what it used to feel like to really cry. The emotion builds up, swelling like a wave. Finally it comes crashing to shore; the tears spill out and go streaming down your face. Your chest heaves with sobs as your face contorts. Your entire being is focused on expressing your despair. It's a physical, emotional, mental and spiritual event that consumes you completely.
And now, it's merely a shadowy echo somewhere in my memory. I wonder what happened? I can't even remember when I last cried. Do things no longer affect me as deeply as before? Perhaps this is a sign of maturity. As a world leader, I have decisions to make, and allowing myself to be swept along by feelings wouldn't be in the best interests of the people. A weepy leader would only be weak, and I must be strong. It is my destiny. The interests of the group must outweigh the emotions of the individual, mustn't they?
Alone. It feels as if I've always been alone. Even when I'm surrounded by thousands of people, my thoughts and I seem to inhabit our own solitary island that no one else can ever reach. There are occasions, like today, when it grates on me a bit. But it's been part of my life for so long that, most of the time, it isn't positive or negative, it simply is. It is my life.
I grew up alone. I became accustomed to it. My parents, well, the Dorlians, did love me. They were just very busy people, and I was raised to understand that, and accept it. I was also raised primarily among adults. There were very few children my age around. I played by myself, inventing adventures for my dolls, amusing myself with books, making up my own stories. My parents were very happy about that. I was referred to as a 'very mature child', and 'very intelligent and well behaved'. Some people, when they hear about this, say that it wasn't normal. What is normal? After what my life has become, how would I recognize normal? To suggest that my life isn't normal would probably be correct, but I simply have neither the energy nor the inclination to discover what normal might be. It's easier to just be, and accept what is.
I was content as a child, and I have responsibilities now that, again, preclude my individual needs. It's not bad being alone -- it's comforting in a way, and familiar. Others always want something from me, so friendships just aren't possible, not on any meaningful level anyway. It helps my position that I'm comfortable with solitude. Most of the time.
Solitude seemed more hollow than normal when I met Heero. I hadn't had much exposure to boys, and was completely unprepared for how he would affect me. All of these feelings...what were they? I couldn't even begin to put a name to them, let alone try to comprehend and cope with them.
I did the proper thing, and introduced myself to him, but he was nearly a mile away by the time I finished. I held out my hand anyway. Manners, once learned, are hard to put aside, even in the face of disdain. I imagined that he saw me, screeched to a halt, and turned around to come back. He got out of the ambulance, and walked toward me. He apologized for being so rude, but explained that it was for my own safety. Thanking me for helping him, he took my hand in his, and wistfully told me that he had to go, but now that he knew my name, he'd do his best to find me.
No one else knows, but I often have conversations with him in my head. A benefit to his silence and reticence is that I can project whatever emotions, motives and thoughts I want onto him. It's just like making up stories from childhood again. He comforts me, supports me, and talks to me for hours. We laugh together, roles as warrior and pacifist forgotten for brief precious moments. He holds me as I cry, offering comfort and fleeting glimpses of safety.
I know these stolen pleasures won't ever happen in reality, but I need them. At times, I have to guard myself from talking out loud. He's become my almost constant companion, the one person who is always there with me.
I think I try too hard to make my fantasy a reality. Even as I'm craving his attention, I know deep down that it will never happen. I don't want to make a fool out of myself over him, and yet I think that I do. I need to work on controlling those impulses. I can have him in my mind, and that's going to have to be good enough. I don't think I really honestly want the reality anyway. Reality is never as good as the fantasy. If we ever did get together, we would probably break up in a few weeks or months anyway. I've lost so much to this eternal fighting -- two fathers, one entire family, a name, a kingdom, friends, people who depended on me. I've lost track of all I've lost. Why give whatever nameless forces rule the universe one more thing to snatch away from me? If the only relationship I have with him is in my imagination, no one can ever take that from me.
Who am I? I'm Relena. Peacecraft or Dorlian? Does my choice of a surname reflect anything about me? Should it? Most of the time, I feel that I'm merely a symbol rather than a person. Pacifism, the concept, is embodied by me. I am merely the vessel. If you take me away, does pacifism go away as well? Am I the only champion of it? Am I simply perpetuating a naive philosophy that is no longer valid? What if I had been raised by a different family? Would they have told me sooner about my 'true' identity? How can a name change so much? Sometimes I hate it. I want my last name to be Jones or Black or something normal. I just want to be one of those insipid girls who attend my school, and whose only worries are whether I should get a dress in blue or green. I want to giggle over boys, eat too much sugar, grumble about homework, and just be normal. I want a life, any life but the one I have. I want someone else to worry about the fate of the nation and the world. I want someone else to decide what to do when mobile dolls are attacking, and I want to be hiding under my bed. I'm just a girl. And now they're calling me "Queen of the World". I don't know what that means, I just know that I have responsibilities, and I'll live up to them, but, sometimes, late at night, I just want to be a girl.