letting all the bad feelings out through “poetry”

messy_art_by_amalitsa

Artwork from deviant art: amalista

unsavory, like salt,

a scrunchy I left wet, hanging

on the toiletries rack, the

morning couldn’t get any sweeter

with awkward dances an­­d words

I was too sleepy to say, I don’t

have the tolerance for unironed shirts

today. Stay, we kept holding up

hands against the sun, grass and shoes

were about to give up, cold sweat,

unsatisfactorily everything, from half

hearted laughs to always one step apart.

I was pulling but breaths kept

at it until the quiet was quite as desperate

as fried chicken for breakfast. There is the

illusion that forms meant to taste like

cake, chewed on by a thousand dreams I

had for a fifteen-minute nap. It was

just as I thought it’d be with misspellings

and mishaps the saints in my head invented. We

were just as they told me when I prayed not

too long ago to do what the common

folk to with their tongues, for the sheer thrill

of being normal, in the streets there was

shouting instead of constant nods to hats tipped

off. I was no longer awake after more

than a day of crickets and throbbing and

the light showed itself out of my eyes until

I wobbled. My bedroom floor tasted like cement,

now that I think about it.

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how she learned to be afraid of attachments

 

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Artwork by Fanny Nushka Moreaux

 

Younger, she could boast about one thing – once she decided to keep you, she’ll never let you go. She never gave up on a friend, even if there was distance, because she wasn’t one to lose people. (Perhaps, that was why death was one of the concepts she found really hard to process.)

But older, one of the parts of her she had to trade away was her naivety. She learned that there were people who went away, who took different paths and worse, that she wasn’t that good at keeping correspondence because time and distance had the power to make her forget and feel awkward.

The lesson was: She had to work hard to keep people because people didn’t and couldn’t always stay.

But learning this lesson also birthed a new fear – the fear of getting too attached. She’s already too familiar with forming deep connections with the souls of the people she let in. But, as life had been slowly teaching her, all these people eventually became just parts of moments she once lived and not constants with whom she shares her new secrets to (and sometimes, it was her fault for not reaching out as often as she used to).

Accepting the possibility that people could leave meant she had to worry about investing her heart in every new person she lets in. It meant dreading the goodbye. It meant trying to promise in a future with a person while trying to push down some sort of bitter taste down her throat. It meant learning that she mustn’t be as capable as she thought in being a friend who keeps and a friend worth keeping.

(How and why is it even possible that good people would be sent in your life only for you part ways?)

She hopes, one day, that this fear turns into an inspiration instead, that the fleeting nature of people make them more precious. For now, she’ll try to live in moments, work on keeping people and remind herself to live life boldly, without any regrets.

The concept of timing and time

 

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Image grabbed from Pinterest

 

Isn’t time merely a construct (just like all the other abstract things I cannot explain well)?

One early afternoon, I was writing down my third to-do list of the day (instead of actually trying to accomplish one more task). As I was listing lessons that I needed to make PowerPoint presentations for, I kept thinking about the vacation that was and how I planned to supposedly have made the same presentations I was planning to make, then.

I planned a lot of things that I supposedly should’ve accomplished during the sembreak. I made a lot of promises to myself too. Though I did tick some stuff off my bucketlist  like jumpstarting my novel, learning to drive (properly) and getting a student driving permit, I didn’t finish everything I had to do.

As some sort of mechanism to forgive myself, I told my turbulent thoughts (Hello Virgil!) that maybe there isn’t really a certain time for certain things. After all, if I really wanted to get things done now, I would and should do it now. I didn’t have to set a one-week vacation period for me to function hyperproductively. I could continue on and I can start anytime. It was me who set that deadline and me that was disappointed in myself for not being able to commit to it.

It sounded like an excuse. Of course, I believed in time, whether it be a construct, a divine gift or a limitation. More specifically, I believed in timing – that there is a right or wrong timing for things. In writing – and I hold onto this dear God because if not I’ve just been wasting the years – I believe that certain things have to be experienced first before they can be written. I couldn’t have written about magic if I didn’t know what magical feels like, right? In love, I believe that the right love and the right person wouldn’t feel right if it isn’t the right time.

So if there is such a right time in doing things, shouldn’t it have been done then? Or is that not the right time too?

I’m talking about two different meanings of time and timing now, aren’t I? (I shall not correct myself. I’m merely rambling so mismatch of meaning and non-sequiturs are normal.)

I don’t hope to get any resolution, to be honest. All I want is peace of mind. For now, that means believing that whatever happened during the past week was meant to happen – the good, the bad and the lazy (and yes, even the sickness).