i have no regrets only lessons learned ...

I've been writing a lot lately.
I think it's because I've forgotten how to talk.
I'm out with people so often but being involved with their conversations just takes too much effort.

Words that need to be pronounced.
Sentences that require careful construction so as not to make a fool of yourself
or being insensitive that you might hurt other's feeling.

To further enforce the fact that - I am here, I am relevant.
But somehow I no longer feel here anymore.
The here being where I am tonight.
The physical sits in a chair and tries her best to play a role,
but she has forgotten all her lines.

The I is somewhere else,
a million miles away from the endless disagrrements and gloominess that permeates the night air.

After awhile they ask questions like:
"What's wrong?" and "What's gotten into you?"
Questions I find ignorant and careless coming from
people who assume they have an understanding of who you are.

They are bewildered by this impostor in their midst,
who has inhabited my body but is not acting
like the me that they have come to categorize,
label and accept.

The impostor stares back through vapid eyes
and again struggles with it's diction -
excuses are croaked out,
even apologies are made which fills it with a resentment directed
both inward and outward.

After what seems like a long while
the I starts to return to the physical -
the fact of being here and being now.

She feels herself breathing and She feels its toes stretch out.
She starts to smile and will even try to lengthen
its replies upon being asked a question.

They see this of course and welcome back the her
that they thought they know so well.

She starts talking even though She has nothing to say.
The words will come like they always do.
Even if they're not the right ones.
But the only different this time is ,
she doesn't even care to make things right anymore.

Another lesson learned !


 

When you love someone, you do not love them all the time,
in exactly the same way, from moment to moment.
It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to.
And yet this is exactly what most of us demand.
We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships.
We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb.
We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity;
when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity
- in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free,
barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern. 

The only real security is not in owning or possessing,
not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even.

Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia,
nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation,
but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now.

Relationships must be like islands,
one must accept them for what they are here and now,
within their limits - islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea,
and continually visited and abandoned by the tides...

 ...will you catch me if I fall ?

In these drawers are the compartments of myself I keep hidden.
Sealed in envelopes, wrapped up in boxes, buried in thoughts.
These are extensions of me, they further my understanding of who I am.

I keep these because the past is important,
the past is pertinent and the past affects my understanding
of things present and things yet to come.

The connection is no longer there however.

The lines I am reading trigger brief physiological responses from time to time:
a skipped heartbeat, labored breaths, a convection of sorts,
a transfer of the ink on the page onto my skin.
I rub it and it smudges.

Just like all this compressed time has smudged.
Archived and safe but no longer accurate.
I cannot remember anymore.

I rub the ink on my skin again and again until it almost disappears...

l will never understand why people make a huge fuss
about the transition to a new year.
Time is just one long permanent straight line and
we will never live to see it loop back on itself.
Apparently clocks run slower in regions of lower gravitational potential.
of course.

The point perhaps, is that the people who weave in and out of your life
will be the same regardless of the hands on the clock
quivering in anticipation at 11.59pm. I will remain the same.

Time is but a parenthesis in an unending sentence
whichmeanders on and on
but never really gets to say what it wants.

Tonight the air is a little warm.

I'm guessing it'll be slightly more chilly where you're at.

New beginnings never really do begin at the start of anything,
there is much that has come before which I realize cannot be dismissed with the turn of a page
or the folding and storing of a memory.

I guess this is an attempt at something different, something lighter,
less personal and because of that less dreary I hope.

The day was spent on the road between hotel and somewhere else and then back again.
Yamagata's Sunday Afternoon playing through the speakers on a sleepy sunday afternoon.

I kept turning the volume lower and lower each time I replayed it
until her voice was reduced to a barely audible whisper.

Good music has always been the best companion on journeys like these.

The optimist inside of me says:
I want to travel all over the world,
to the most picturesque of European cities where everything will look like the movies
I keep watching to fuel my wanderlust.
Soft orange glow and a deep focus to everything,
the background and the foreground merge into one, flooding my senses.

As I'm dreaming I feel like someone both young and old,
slowly coming to the realization that past experiences and memories coupled
with future hopes and dreams merge into one single present : Waking up begins with here and now.

if I were an astronaut these are some of the things I'd miss upon leaving earth:


People talk a lot about regret but I don't think I have much anymore.
After leaving our atmosphere I think all the regret would just evaporate away
and a kind form of sadness would remain.
I say kind because it's the type you think about but it doesn't play much on your mind anymore.

I would miss the stars as seen from the ground because
I think everything looks more beautiful when seen from afar.

I would miss telling people that I love them.
It's kind of sad to think about how much some people can mean
to you at that very moment in time and how they don't mean as much now.

Things happen in moments and in their own private, personal spheres.

Maybe all we're meant to do is genuinely fall deeply in love
and then slowly grow out of it before someone else comes along to continue the cycle.
But that doesn't mean you haven't loved anyone with everything you have
in those brief fleeting moments.

'Cause tonight I'm feeling like an astronaut
Sending SOS from this tiny box
And I lost all signal when I lifted off
Now I'm stuck out here and the world forgot
Can I please come down, cause I'm tired of drifting round and round

Rain on the windowpane as my mixtape plays. 
As I scribble away on my notebook and occasionally sip tea from a paper cup 
because I don't like coffee and because polystyrene is non-biodegradable.

A tear slips down. “Finally” she thought.

It’s been there, those feelings, swimming around inside her,
like fishes in the pond, like water droplets creating ripples.

Those feelings has been there, but everytime she’s about to cry, no tears come out. 

Tonight she feels a bit weary, a bit tired, a little bothered.

Tonight it feels like the whole world rests on her shoulders,
tonight it feels a little bit suffocating.

The memories of the year’s events,
the memories of the past few months,
the memories of yesterday,
the memories of today- envelopes her like a warm quilt on a summers day-stuffy. 

Who knows how long she has been struggling with these emotions,
who knows how long she has been pushing and pulling,
who knows how long she’s been ignoring it.

Sometimes it’s a wonder how she got here,
how everything fits in, how she can stand here and just… breathe. 

Breath. The promise of life. 

Heartbeat. The promise of life.

Tears. The promise of life.

Thoughts. The promise of life.

As long as these are present,
she’s reminded that she’s going to live that one second.

And suddenly, it’s not so bad.


The tears, even when carrying all the weight of emotions,
remind her she’s still alive.

At least, she’s still here.
She might not be able to change the past,
but she can still change her future,
she can still make decisions to do better,
she can still stand up for what she believes in and for. 

So today she may feel weak and dreary,
and maybe tomorrow those promises will come to pass.

One day at a time they say.



Take your time to heal.




Maybe she hasn’t healed completely,


just yet.

Many times I would open this little space wanting to write my feelings away
hoping that it would make me feel better,

but lately I always find myself ended up staring at the blank page 

and just let the thoughts run in my head.

There are many things that are better left unsaid.

somehow inserting pictures like that makes the post look more emo.

Hello can you feel the emoness?
I realize that I can still joke when I’m sad.
It’s just a way to make myself feel better when nobody is around

I haven’t been eating or sleeping properly but hah luckily
I didn’t lose any weight. I probably think too much.
I need to stop overthinking about petty things that are...

not important anymore i guess.

Time heals all wound. 
How long do i need for mine to heal?

I may not seem like a strong person.
I even doubt at my capabilities. But im going to prove this to myself.

I will not crumble. This is just a lesson.

... Hey 

I 

Miss  

Talking 

To 

You

,

I 

Miss

The 

YOU

you.

Dreams are structures just like buildings. 

You start from the bottom and slowly build upwards from the ground.
If the foundations you build aren't strong enough
then you won’t go very far up before parts start falling off.

In the same way, if your ambition gets the better of you
then you may be prone to irrationality and design elaborate and ambitious plans for your building.
Again, it may all come tumbling down because
you were too quick to make it perfect before you made it stable enough.

The blueprints of how things should be are still in your head
even as the building doesn’t quite look the way you imagined it to be.

If everything comes crumbling down then
you only have poor planning to blame. The architect in your mind is disheartened
and confused for none of this was meant to happen.

As long as you have the plans though you can still start all over again.
The air is cool and light on my skin,
the sun hasn’t yet come up fully and there’s a serenity to the proceedings.
I need to dispose of these maps and diagrams in my head
which attempt to tell me how things should be like and refocus
instead on the basic and the simple.

If I've realized one thing, i
t’s that dreams never die or disappear.
In dreams everything is exactly the way it should be, intangibly permanent.

It is when dreams stop being dreams,
the moment they attempt the transition to reality,
that they become fallible and cracks appear everywhere.

I thought I understood it.

But I only grasped the vagueness of it.

Only the smudgeness of it.

So I'm sitting here struggling with something I don't need to get out.
But perhaps we kid ourselves when we say that we're able to deall with the situation.
Surface verisimilitude is dependent on detail
and detail can always mask some form of muted substance underneath.

We tell ourselves to be strong and we resist opening up
because the world is formed in shards and the glass from which it was cut is sharp and unforgiving.

That is why we fill our surfaces with detail and
sometimes neglect the person underneath.

I feel I am almost losing track of the innate
which supposedly resides inside of me.

I resist thinking and succumb to my cognitive misery only because it provides a brief respite.
But this respite is only temporary,
I'm still looking for something.

Something I will never fully understand until I find it.


softly and wavery:


all the blue roads lead home 

It's strange how suddenly within a randomly specific period of time
these bouts of nostalgia hit
and the emptiness of being without you and the thought of what happened within that few months,
the pain of having lost everything we once had, becomes so amplified. so loud.
so fucking poignant that it just rips through the entire façade
i've taken such care and effort to build for myself.

i have neither solid evidence nor concrete reasoning as
to why this is so but every time, without fail,
within this particular window of time,
the memory of what happened comes back to haunt me
and suddenly it's like the floodgates to emotional hell swing open.

i guess i'm finding it out the hard way—that no matter how hard and far i try to run,
i am never truly free of the past.

It scares me that i might possibly never be.

I grew up with fairytales.
But have always believed that life was either black or white.
Its either yes or no.
Now. Or never.
Love. Or hate.
Life was safe with absolutes. I knew what was happening.
I was in control. I knew what I had to do.

But as I grew up, I learned that life had a new colour to it – the uncertain twist of grey.
The maybes and could have beens.
The sometimes and laters and regrets.
And the taste of bittersweet love.
Grey is neither hare nor there.It was a mixture of both black and white.

Never either , stuck in between,lost.

long talks 'side summer lakes

days like these, moments of infinity

quiet, quiet it breaks

no words, no sound but that of clarity

bright smiles within bright eyes

sparkling from without, from within

still hugs and quiet byes

with them, all will go dim

privates lines from private vaults

a gesture of trust, treasured above

honest words with honest faults

 in secret places, safe in a cove

secretive lines hidden in paper white

maybe, all of that IS the point it was for

the only exception, the only right

this, is better than anything i've hoped for