Today’s rainy-day posting has been brought to you by a song called “Greek Tragedy” by the Wombats.

“The whole story would have been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.” – Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

Lately, my thoughts have turned a little darker than usual and I’ve been musing on what constitutes as a “tragedy”.

We use the word freely. News stories describe accidents or devastations as tragedies. We call it “tragic” when an inconvenience happens to us sometimes.

Back in freshman college English, a tragedy is what you’d describe a story that doesn’t end happily. In theatre, for example, Romeo and Juliet is a tragic play because no one gets a definitive happy ending – versus comedy plays like Much Ado Nothing, because we see the main characters enjoy happiness or rewards at the end.

But to use “tragedy” to describe a current life circumstance is to botch its meaning. Because whether or not our stories will be comedies or tragedies isn’t really up for us to decide. We have no right to pass judgment on a story that has yet to end, and stories will live as long as life itself goes on.

An old Chinese story relates the ever changing perception between good and bad fortunes. Once upon a time, wild horses of extraordinary beauty and strength appear and graze in the field of a poor old farmer. His neighbors remarked that he’s a recipient of good fortune, because the horses fetched a fine price. The wise old man smiled and said nothing of it.

One day, his only son tried to tame one of the wild horses in the field, only to be thrown off and remain crippled forever. The gossipy neighbors remarked this time that the old man has got a rotten fortune. And again, the old man said nothing.

Until such a day that war broke out, and the emperor called for all eligible and healthy men to enlist in the army. Since the old man’s son was an invalid, he was not required to enlist. While many young men fell in the war, the old man’s son was spared. The neighbors returned to their original stance that the old man was very fortunate indeed. Still, the old man said nothing about the matter – because he knew that fortune is a fickle thing, and can change any time.

I think this wisdom has been lost to us over time. We like seeing, knowing, judging – all at once. It makes us blind to possibilities, to hope itself. Because to say something is a tragedy is to deem it a lost cause. The story is finished, and it is hopeless.

And for me, I’ve been melodramatic about the period of life that came after graduation. Since I’ve begun, I regret my choice over and over again, bemoaning myself as a tragedy – as a waste. A lot of innocent beliefs and naiveté have been lost in this time period, and a great deal of what I used to love and to respect (newspapers and journalists, for starters) has wavered a lot.

Perhaps I’ve become just another jaded cynic in the world.

But if it’s of any comfort to myself at least, my own story isn’t over yet. I have more decisions to make and things to think about. I just have to be more discerning in my path, and more hopeful. Because to lose all of that love permanently would truly be a tragedy, and it might not be something I can bear.

Maybe it would be truly tragic if I never learn from my experience. But I hope that when I look back at this time of life – where we’re all young and sparkling and beautiful – I can look, laugh, and cherish the memories that pass by.