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Fiction holds us with a strong attraction. We want to live the lives of those we read about, we want others to personify us, we want all this because most of us live miserable second-class lives. Most of us never experience the thrill of having a dream come true. Most of us never take the road less travelled. Most never travel further than the spaces we draw ourselves into.
In this strange way, literature is like prostitution. Each book, each spine, each letter in the title, trying desperately to entice you to read and to lose yourself all over again.
Before trying to write this, I furiously racked my brains to hopefully uncover any vestige of anything memorable that happened to me today. I came up with nothing. An uneventful bus ride, idle conversations, a walk in a bookstore… Well, that’s life for you. I wanted to spend my day doing something useful, something productive, but was called out in the afternoon. I spent the large portion of the day engaged in discussion. Now I’m back, and in no mood at all to be productive. So that’s life for you. It’s been going all wrong ever since two weeks ago.
This is not the end. Every time I turn my head and look, it’s another journey to a place I’ve never been before. Every time it catches my eye, I’m lost once again. Every single moment I haven’t lost yet, threatens to slip between my fingers in just one moment of frailty. Every heavy step, every single movement threatens to tip the scales in your favour, and I’m not ready to start all over again. I’ll never see the same thing twice, in this world of strangers, and every corner I turn is another chance for me to fall again.
I wish I could keep on running. Because I know if I don’t stop, I’ll never give myself a chance to turn back. Take anything at all, but don’t take me back to December. There are things I’d rather forget.
Looking past the edge of my coffee cup, there’s really not a lot for me to see. Today’s here and all I’ve got to keep is the gentle caress of the wind.
After everything comes to a stop and the camera pans furiously, it’s all the same.
It’s all so damn familiar that I wish I could forget it all.
Take you damned half-empties and leave me alone already. You just walked all the way here through the rain, you’re soaked and expecting some pity. I’m stuck here and unable to go anywhere, I’m lonely and I’m expecting some pity. Maybe it isn’t the problem of a half empty cup, or a half full cup. Maybe your cup is too small to contain any of your troubles at all. Are you pouring them out or are you filling them in? Is the rain rushing in too much for you to take? Because today I feel like I’m pouring them out.
You’d have you pardon me for all the silence these few days. I haven’t had much to say, and whatever I needed to say, I couldn’t find the words to put it in.
I’ve been staring out of my window with a pen in my hand, and often I find myself wondering what I’m preparing to write down.
There’s really nothing I can do right now but to wait. I’ll listen to everything to say, but I have no chance to start to ask you to speak. I’m wondering why I’m here once again. It just takes my breath away.
Right now the sky’s just slightly dark and everything’s washed with a sheen of brightness. The greens and the white are juxtaposed against the remnant of what the thunderstorm didn’t use. I just woke to a quiet typical of the overnight rainfall, and right now I can here the crescendo from outside. If I didn’t know better, I’d be dancing in the rain right now. A thunder rumbles in the distance and repeats itself for added clarity. This rain isn’t dreary, it’s preparing me for a better day ahead. Somehow it’s making everything look new again. This is amazing rain.
I relived the experience of walking in the rain again today. Getting cold and wet had never been this fun. It was like going back to all the times I never listened. Back then we didn’t have to care what we had in our hair, or what we were wearing – on our faces, our bodies or our feet. We didn’t care at all about how we looked. We had a very different way of seeing things.
But I think our priorities get more messed up as we get older. We forget to do important things like walking in the rain.
I’m writing now from the current tomorrow.
Today was really boring, like really. No rolling landscapes for me to look at, no movements outside the window. No nothing at all. I’ve already slept 13 hours today, and I feel tremendously refreshed. But bored, really, really bored. I’ve nothing to do now, except wait. For my dad to come home I guess. I’ve to attend a social tragedy later, and I hope it wouldn’t be as bad as the last time I went to one. It’s all so formal and troublesome, the tenderness doesn’t seem real when you don’t know him.
There are things that make your day. Then there are things that spoil it. I don’t think its just me because… well, just because. I’m sure you get these things too. The problem with me is that I let things get to me to easily. Anyway, everything now seems to be unexpected and inexplicable. Things happen, shit happens, and when the sun drops over the horizon there’s just too little time left to let it fix itself up. I think I forgot to write my hundred words for yesterday. Yup, I’m right. I forgot to write it. Here goes nothing.
Some things in life just aren't granted. Some people take more liberties, others less. We often forget the difference between our rights and our privileges. Some people work to earn their keep, others just live off what they can. We've all had our sad stories, our bad days and our low points. Some of these stay with us forever, other's fade with time. Everyone hopes to leave all these behind and move on, hoping we'll never be reminded of them again. You never know: everyone has secrets they never tell.
Now that the skies are clearer, we're moving on again.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
How many times have we been asked that and seriously thought about it? I’m not sure if this is ironic: the moment we get serious about these questions, they stop asking us.
What do I want to be?
I used to want to be an author. I ended up blogging. I used to want to be a docter. I ended up a first-aider. I used want to be a musician. I ended up a guitarist. Now I want to be an artist. I wonder what I will end up as
People cry from many reasons. Some are minor, some more heavyweight. What we consider trivial, what others place great value on. It’s unnerving to watch someone cry: so who’s helpless, you, or he?
Sometimes we cry because we feel we haven’t lived up to the expectations the people around us place on us. Or maybe they are those expectations we place on ourselves.
So where do we draw to line – where does emotion become denial? The room’s not going to empty, the field’s not going to clear – we need to pick up the pieces, face it, and keep moving on.
These are all open secrets.
Things we pretend are not going on, though we know very well they happen daily. We don’t discuss them, we don’t demean them, we just go on living as though they weren’t happening. There are things that aren’t meant to be talked about, and we call these taboos. From the start of civilization, we close one eye, shut our mouths. Today, we close both eyes, shut our mouths, shut our ears, and force others to follow suit. These are all open secrets, things we were never meant to talk about.
Likewise, we give them life.
This was my memory of waiting when I was younger. In retrospect, I can’t remember for what I was waiting, but I remember the scene. It was dark for the evening, and the streetlights would cast an orange glow at intervals down the street. Sometimes I would glance back in childish fear. I found myself a convenient streetlight beside which I could wait, and sat myself down on the pavement. I would count the seconds as they passed, hoping that as every second passed, the familiar face driving the familiar car would arrive before something happened. And it always did.
It’s easier to watch others fall from grace. Face it. How often do we get to see someone so high up disgraced, embarrassed, fallen?
We’ve all had our share of disappointments, our little screwups – but it’s so much more sensational when it’s someone else – someone held in high regard, someone not as... ordinary as us.
It’s surreal. We may never be elevated to their level, but now they’ve been pulled down to our level and become so... normal, so... human.
Can you see how heavily tipped in our favour the world is? We never do until the day we’re disillusioned.
I stepped into the cab to a blast of cold air, sweat still dripping off my face and hair, shirt inexplicably stuck to my back. I muttered something (which I can’t recall now) to the driver and sat up trying to accommodate myself in the seat. The driver attempted to make no conversation, and I, likewise did the same.
The silence – whether it came from my hurried entry or my troubled countenance – could not deny the fact that we wanted to speak. So we duelled in a wordless conversation, and watched the world pass by outside.
Twenty minutes was up.
In your excitement maybe you forgot who I was. I take things that people never see and make them visible. I take things people take for granted and make them precious. Some things never get too familiar for me – because over time, things are never the same. Things go quickly, and some people would take it into their stride to preserve the moment. Things go slowly and I feel as if it’s my turn to put things in perspective. Take a while and see how the sky changes at evening, hopefully, you’ll know what I mean.
Sure they’re beautiful but –
This is to all my friends, acquaintances and those whom I’ve met even for the briefest of times. This is really just a note of thanks to every – yes every single – one of you. Through the course of my short years of existence, I’ve met many people, and I can very safely and confidently say that every one of them, complete with their flaws and shortcomings, have, in some way or another, made my life a little better to cope with. At some point in time, someone I’ve met had made life worth living. Eventually, it’s all worth the while.
He remembered that time of the day he used to treasure, when the orange shafts of light would shine past the half-opened windows, casting a quiet glow on the dusty patio floor. This light gave everything he could see outside an ethereal sort of shimmer. The edges of the trees gently smudged, engulfed in the tint of the sun as it slowly disappeared. He could stand for an hour watching the late afternoon transform itself into evening, the brilliant oranges fading off into the lingering blues and greens of the night. Gently, the dust would stir, welcoming the breeze.
Touch the gentle contours of the mountains. Under the gentle disguise of the midday light, the lush greens and exotic oranges blend to form a quiet paradise. It’s the beauty of a million sunrises, all of which we’re familiar with – reaching out to caress us, as close as our breaths. They make our hearts stop with fifteen different shades of blue reflected in the steady rhythm of the sky reflected in the ocean – and all at once, take our breaths away. For this instant only, we’ll let these lull us into the mood of things – carefree, light and wholly glorious.
This is all you’ll ever have. Make it fit, wear it out, do with it, or do without. Go out there because there’s only there to go. Either that or stay in, it’s entirely up to you (and maybe that’s the entire problem). No one owes you anything, you owe yourself everything, so remember that there’s nothing done without effect. These are the only things you’re going to go out with – leave them behind, or bring them along, what are you going to do with them? Stop or go, move or stay still – your choice. There’s one common denominator – you.
Flat over-the-top buzz brilliant mottled white bright used cluttered flashing crumpled unfinished yesterday’s legible almost-complete incomplete still-there printed off stacked crumpled tinned fragrant dusty piled compressed wooden in-progress irritating ajar charging rough lit red pencilled saline soft unread nostalgic uncapped unzipped off ancient hidden waiting precarious mistreated old-school round boxed tangled tilted ringing metal flowing calm cold smoother flimsy plugged-in curling mute gone reflected electric half-open clicking warm plural sudden uncovered neat unused showy square unplugged broken silent diverse scratched stained healing multicoloured tired exclusive supported shared hesitant sudden waiting repaired long varnished altered familiar cracked intense torn open empty
I hate starting to think of things like this. It’s like I spend my whole life escaping from who knows what, trying to get away after I realise I’m not able to fulfil what’s required of me. I’ll shrink away and hide in someplace safe. Somehow, as the times pass, it seems that everything’s more and more taxing, more meaningless, making me wearier. After all, it’s the cynicism that overtakes us when we’re not paying attention. It comes after the idealism of youth fades. I felt like taking the world for myself before, now I’m not so sure it’s possible.
Where are you going?
Which bus are you taking?
That was an abrupt conversation. As you can see, I can’t find the mood to care less anymore. I used to like hanging around after it ended. After August I’ll have nothing to do with this anymore, I refuse to. In my time I’d probably never make an impression, and though previously I wished to, now I no longer hold the same desire. It’s not difficult for me to admit, it’s been a downward spiral ever since last year, and really, it’s time to give it up.
Right now, I can smell the lingering scent of the mosquito coil, long burnt out already, pervading the room with a sharp, noxious odour.
I still remember the ride on the train today. There was this guy in black on my right, he reeked faintly of cologne – a distant, familiar smell. The guy to my left smelt strangely like spices, an exotic, almost pungent scent.
It’s been interesting, the musty perfume of and old room, the pristine aroma of a new book or fresh banknotes, the distinct tang of that oh-so-familiar curry by the roadside stall.
I don’t need eyes.
They sky was exceedingly blue today. Maybe it has something to do with the final day of school. Running up and down the turf in the ardent heat of the late morning sun, clutching at whatever remains of the day. The things around me took a more relaxed pace all of a sudden, and in the span of a few hours, everything seemed strangely...
. I haven’t felt this way in ages, and I think I’m not going to feel this way for a long time to come. It’s time to start treasuring days like these that pass too quickly.
Yes, bring me back to the city. Take me to see the things I remember seeing when I was young, take me to recall the places I’ve forgotten. I want to see the blue sky at the end of the vertical avenue between the tall, tall buildings. Walk down the familiar alleyways, eat at the familiar restaurant. Everything has changed, but nothing really changes. It all looks the same, reflected in the same river. Old familiar places, old familiar faces. They’re all around me, and it seems almost real again. Take me back to the place where I grew up.
So this is what it means to be alive! Thoreau said that to be awake to is to be alive. I couldn’t agree better. Alive: feeling the pain and adrenaline coursing through your body as you lie in a tangled heap, laughing heartily at yourself tripping onto the gravel. Alive: feeling that dread and excitement as you wonder what’s on the other side of the bend. Alive: not know what comes next, making the best out of whatever sticky situation you’re in. Alive: feeling the sunshine, feeling the wind, feeling every single inch of your soul engaging with the world.
We’re catching up on older things these days. Today was just a mad whirlwind of talk and fun. Things flow so much more easily after the ice is broken. These are the things you’ll never regret remembering, but probably will forget anyway. Like digging into a tub of Ben and Jerry’s around a table, or sitting around the café just talking for hours on end. Everything we’ll forget about, except the emotions, the laughter.
We keep our most personal experiences to ourselves, those we share – conversations, games and meals – we forget them before the month is up.
C’est la vie
I haven’t really been doing much lately. It’s five days into the holidays and it’s starting to feel like eternity. Outside, it just started to rain and the raindrops are falling in an ever rising crescendo. Inside, I’m idly strumming my guitar to Howie Day’s
which was what Adrian played in class on the last day of school. Sweet song. I’m feeling indecisive today, and I’m catching up on the things I missed over the last few weeks – shows, songs and words. Out of whatever blue is left of the sky, the entire schedule came to an abrupt halt.
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