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| what must be done, will be done.
and to never think something is undone.
more importantly, unachievable.
to keep mending, creating.
even if it's just in your head.
let it rise and come to be.
breathe, and give it life.
when it's dormant,
let it sleep.
it will know when to wake up.
and from its long sleep,
it will feel familiar.
you will be relieved,
to be awake
and to be with it again.
it will be like a sweet nostalgia
reunited and oh so relieved
that it was just a sleep.
the immobility of your arm
was just a temporary dream
and when at night,
figures seem larger and darker
but in the wake of it,
you will own it.
it's yours to be, when you let it be
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| i hate to do this, indulge in deep inquiries yet again of things that might just apply to me.
lately, i've been having specific and vivid dreams about death. surrounding these dreams are constant thoughts/feelings of the unnerving fear--the purposelessness of my life right now. i'm not even quite sure if i am living a purposeful life. what deems purposeful, is it personal satisfaction? emotional fulfillment? financial stability? i am so scared of that quietness, the unknown, the end to my living existence. the burial.
whenever i fall into these pits, i remember the time my aunts were talking about my cousin. she was about my age now, 22/23 (i'm 24). they were talking about how she just started asking questions about the meaning of life, and it's possible relevance/consequences to death. one of my aunts said that she (my cousin) was at the age, the age when you search and question one's existence. and soon after, they laughed, as if they have far surpassed such trivial thoughts. i was really young then, but it has stuck with me eversince. and now, i tell myself, i am just at that age.
i think that's the best part of being a child. you ease drop on adult conversations, and some of them stick with you. at the moment, 'at that age', you don't quite comprehend, or even really know what they are talking about, but when the time comes, those conversations you have overheard become home to you, true to the moment you are living. perhaps, this is my lesson. to recall a conversation my two aunts were having about my cousin.
simply, these tribulations are echoes of our predecessors. and one day i'll be able to laugh at someone who is experiencing these same thoughts. one day.
watch a movie/read a book you've watched/read when you were a kid. it will redefine itself. | | |
| 2 cents
0.01 every conversation i have is either about the exponentially increasing number of lay offs or about the irreversible state of the economy. having been laid off myself, this brings me down even more. i can't cease to think about other things. i had a recent exchange with my friend, and she told me that she is too busy working, she no longer has a social life. she wished she was "resting" and finding something new. it's funny how we're never fully satisfied with a situation. nothing is seamless, nothing is perfect. perhaps, that is why nothing is permanent. we are ever changing, and our lives will never be fixed in one place. let's hope.. i really hope.
0.02 my aunt always tells me never to think of life so short. i know this is plays on a common cliche. but it recently dawned on me...what she really means each time she gives me this advice. to elaborate, she has told me to look at life like a long journey (limitless and infinite). that there are unimaginable events ahead. if we fail to look at life longer than what it looks like now.. then we fail to realize that life evolves. i have been too fixated on my situation, inevitably i have been feeling confined and trapped. but strangely, i recalled my aunt's advice. the validity of this brings again...glimpses of hope.
nothing is permanent. even the greatest of battles will end and bring us closer to where we fought to be. and to me, this is the beauty of being human. | | |
| what is necessary
having been home most of my days now.. i have been exchanging conversations with myself. i have become my best friend and my worst enemy. this is possibly the most introspection i have done in a while. asking myself, what is necessary and unnecessary to talk about. i understand self-criticism and self-reflection helps us further who we are, in this modern self-referential world. but when do you stop, stop asking yourself.. to stop examining.
i have somewhat come up with several realizations. of many people, i am the indulgent type (as aforementioned several times). this obsessive character has torn me apart lately. i feel like i am constantly in battle with my own expectations and my shortcomings. balance seems merely a word one uses to weigh heavy weights. secondly, i am highly imaginative. no, this is quite a vice. i use my imaginative power to envision the unnecessary. i begin to imagine the pasts of my loved ones, the past of my own, and let it affect my current state. there is nothing productive about this process. it is just my imagination working at my disadvantage. i have tried again and again to redirect all these thoughts, but i seem to fail.
i recently told my friend, i am still a child. perhaps, the imagery of the child from my previous entry alludes to my immature state. it's as if everyone has conquered their vices, and have abandoned their naiveté. whereas, i am still succumbing to those feelings and thoughts that i seem to think define who i am... but lately, i'm realizing, this is wrong. i haven't regressed, or progressed. i am untrained. i am disciplined and docile, but i am still louder than my surroundings.
so i'm going back to old tricks. i am using my discernment, and examining myself in juxtaposition to worthy things, such as developing relationships with various voices in literary pieces, and letting these characters remind me what is necessary.
and finally, i've realized monologues are quite monotonous. perhaps, that is what being a child is like. it's the sense of loneliness, a lonely being living in oblivion...
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| untitled.
a child, soft eyes, dreary and naive. she starts to understand the pleasures of life. running through miles and miles of grass, without a single concern. where her hours are limitless, and her heart, a tabula rasa. clean as a slate. she blends in with the other children who run aimlessly, for the adrenaline is plentiful, where adult expectations pre-existent. suddenly, the child stops as the rest continue to stampede into naive oblivion. she stops and stares at a beautiful woman. a woman elegantly poised, glasslike skin, eyes much older but deeper. the girl is immersed and entranced by the depth. she feels much smaller, and the woman is quite towering. the woman mouths words and the girl believes that this woman beholds everything with the beauty she possesses. as the woman walks away with her scarf fluttering in mid air, her stride is rhythmic. one two one two, a trained dancer who gracefully and silently floats. the image of the woman slowly becomes smaller in the eyes of the child's pupil.
i have been feeling quite like this lately. a child yearning to possess the beauty that buys all the richest of hearts. the beauty that is silent and understood. perhaps this won't ever be achieved by anyone. i think there is a quiet beauty a woman aspires to possess. but inevitably, to be a woman, it means to endure the darkest of battles, and appear flawless. | | |
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