Ghosts (2016)

The weary of the soul is greater than the weary of the body. It takes sleep and sustenance to recover from fatigue of the physique however, when the spirit is drained, a being becomes but an empty husk. And empty husks are useless.

What worries me is how often i feel dispirited. As if being irritable with a life so mundane, so extraordinarily ordinary, hasn’t spared me enough grief.

Is this growing up?

My patience seems so much shorter.

I am cursed with disinterest. A lack of passion and heart. For all the trades I’ve learned, I am a master of none. For all the people i’ve met, I could connect to no one.

In search for the divine, the peace, the meaning, I lose grasp of cheap talk and idle fun —what most of the people I am associated with are about— and consequently, enthusiasm. I feel burdened with an eternal thirst, a quest for purpose. As if real happiness lay somewhere higher, far from the laughs I share with my friends and family. How cruel. How selfish of me.

However, please do not give up on me. I am presently trying to figure myself out. I am a product of the lack of materials and motivation and it’s leaving me at a standstill, a grey scale. Am I making excuses for myself? I don’t know. Give me a view of the world, I am at a relative dump.

For there is a fire in my heart and it is but fuel to my ghosts.

it’s not love
it’s not like
it’s your crippling sense of loneliness
which drove you to surrender
within her arm’s reach
and you always knew she was a carer
it wasn’t love
it wasn’t like
it wasn’t your crippling sense of loneliness
it was your inability to decipher and control the three
that she was became your mess’ collateral damage

religion and its practices are beautiful

but it’s just not for me

i believe in a God 

so vast,

so pure,

so mysterious

i can’t imagine committing to just one practice

when this great deity cannot possibly reveal Himself

through only one idea of a man-made creed

there are thousands of versions of prayers and people calling out His name

for help,

for mercy,

& for salvation

in the dead of night,

in moments of waking,

& in isolated desolation 

i believe in a God 

so kind,

so forgiving 

that He accepts us for whatever we believe in

for whatever amount of faith

our difficult little lives have led us to cling on to

for all our regrets & hopes & desperation

As quick as a room is filtered when the sun decides to hide behind the clouds, so do your affections change day to day for me. Your love was ambiguous. I was weary to make out what version of you I had to love every day. You were merely irritable; unbeknowst of my weariness. There were days you & I could neither decipher whether the love we gave was unequal to the love we spoke or if we were merely running on automatic. Should the former clarify itself, must we then degrade love so much? Or does the latter prove that love has just long given up on us? 

She was born with a gentle heart but dreamed of dreams only wild hearts could pursue. That was, I think, her greatest downfall. Falling before she’d even had the chance to jump. Limping from the excessive weight she could no longer hold together inside. Strong spirited caged in a body too weak. Like big ideas hushed up & quelled by insecurity & small minds. 

Grant her courage, Lord that she may find more heart. 

Opia: n. The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable

I have found that in the most critical moments, anything is made more intense by eye contact.

For a lover, there isn’t quite anything like the gravitational like force pulling you to connect your senses with theirs, enclosing what space could be stitched together, willingly mimed & blinded & surrendered.

For a beggar, the span of seconds you hold their gaze is the thin thread between their hope & their dignity, your mercy & your pride for one can choose to give and one can only wait to be given.

For a stranger, the beginning of a relationship suddenly enfolds, blooming in the back of your mind. A friend, a soulmate, a playmate; who they are, you need not know for your ideals have suddenly found a face to latch itself onto. To comfort you — but only in your head.

Then again there are ugly stares, the ones that dig deep into your bones, the ones that echo and reflect how worthless you feel. And ironic that the ones that resonate the most can come from the ones you look up to; a teacher, a parent, a loved one. Sometimes disapproval helps to guide. Most of the time, it just hurts.

Eye contact is so beautiful and so disadvantageous. They really are the windows of the soul for no matter how many masks you wear, your eyes will always reveal your downfall.
But then again, there are also doors. Beware of people with stars in their eyes, they’ll pull you into their universe and you’ll be late to find you can never really exit, you can never escape them.

Be careful who you make eye contact with.

Me After You

It’s been two years. Two years of extraordinary pangs of longing, nostalgia, quietness, internal conflict & deep sea level sadness. For two years I felt the most lonely I ever had. Maybe it was the paranoia; the walls I built back up around me. Maybe it was the intense desire to unload my woes of love and forlorn to someone willing to hold me. Maybe it was the pressure to forget about the ideals pinned to the boy I thought I loved. Maybe it was the realization I wasn’t living as me. Maybe it was college stress. 

Of course, over the span of those two years, I sent a few (ok, a lot of) mental love notes to my past lover in the hopes he’d come back to me. But after acknowledging his permanent leave, I (struggled) directed all that unrequited love back to me. I mean, wherever else would it go? (Waste not, want not.) He was a cool guy and I miss what friendship could’ve been but that whole year was never good for me. I was weak; too characterless and too forgiving. Teenagers often confuse their raging hormones with feelings of love. Especially when there’s a receptacle present.

And then by some miracle, I found myself. & here’s what I’ll say to people who are hung up on a dead relationship: it in no way lessens your credibility. I gained more than I ever did alone than being with someone who was wrong for me. I held myself when I wept alone in the middle of the night. I was haunted by all my ghosts of regret. I thought things too thoroughly that all his mistakes suddenly seemed like mine. I went through them all, coming out the other end more weary than ever. But in all honesty, it has made all the difference; it all made me so much stronger. I danced, I made new friends, I focused on my work, I bonded with other people I used to ignore due to the time and focus that relationship took. It’s refreshing to only think about yourself after sharing privacy for so long. You get to know what you really want to do, be. Free from the shackles of a partner’s expectations of you.

Solitude is such a beautiful, underrated feeling people don’t know how to appreciate. 

What’s the stigma with holding your own hand for a while?