” You can’t continue to be like this, you can’t keep hiding away from people.” said my father. i replied with a simple why?, ” you’ll grow up one day you’ll be forced to live in an environment with people. and your going to need these people, we are not created to be on our own. people need each other. responsibilities gets distributed and that’s how the world works” he replied triumphantly. i can still remember how mad i was when i heard this talk. i made it my mission that day that i would prove i won’t need anyone and i can make it perfectly on my own.
now that i have grown up a little, i did prove that i don’t need anyone to be who i am. to live. but what i didn’t count for is. did i want to be who i am? because when you live independently. you realize that people’s existence don’t matter. and get to be alone with your true self. your mind takes on a loud personality independent of your being. do i want to be with who i am ? apparently i don’t.
i realized this now. because in the last couple of years, i have been wrecking my mind trying to figure out. what went wrong? why isn’t there anyone around me? why does no body offer help? so immersed in trying to prove my believes i have not noticed that i have been living within that belief. no one is offering help because that is how the world works. you don’t ask for it, you reject the help! and people even very close ones; they stop! they stop offering.
i don’t know if my dad was only talking about materialistic things or not. but i realized that the core of what he was saying to me was: hearing a mind other than mine for a change. i have grown sick with hearing my mind all the time. seeking a louder mind than mine. other people speak and their words float in mid air. untouchable and unreachable. i would try to connect the dots to the closest thing my mind could relate to. but it was like fixing a smudged painting with a dirty brush. voids are created and distance grows.
i look down at my own feet as i walk, wondering what made me walk alone that day. not trying to connect, not trying to seek out any louder minds. i found comfort in my patterned movement. the same swifts, same regrets in the midst of doubt and certainty all side to side. seeking out louder minds seems to be a set failure an attempt to go further back towards the starting line.
my dad was right about most of what he said. but was wrong about one thing; my fault was not in hiding away from people. my fault was exposing my independence to people. people indulge in the fact that their needed by others. it justifies their existence. they need justification to live properly. to draw out a map with directions. i haven’t given them any. yet i have given them directions without a map. and so they drew me a question mark and left.
i can’t wake up from my coma and ask where did all people go. they went where their needed. the world fits more clearly now into the image of a Lego game where every piece is installed in it’s set place. where it’s needed!
and it’s okay. some software are made with a glitch, and i either need someone to fix me or continue to be a question mark.
I reminisced and reminisced the day i get to be me again. I contemplated and contemplated my old glory. It came in a still night, on a very calm night. The winds shifting from autumn to winter. I saw a shadow, a one of myself; black as night, sure as dawn. It looked back at me or i looked back at me. There is no you it said. There is no me to get back to.
a shape which lost it’s shapeness , a dream with no vividness , a sky that is skyless, a right that is not so right. it’s unusual but is it wrong ?
i like things and objects when it’s quite unshaped or out of shape. when the uneven sharp edges dents the surface of my hands when i don’t dream but recreate a reality out of a vision, when i look into the sky and it has no clouds but it’s limitless, raw and uncovered. i like the wrong that’s of value, despise the right that’s said to be so.
i scribble the straight lines into a chaos of endless motion and an origin with no start, a scribble that is different among the many of people.
and i don’t quite like to call people ”people” but there is just no other word that is palpable, they are herds of seamless thinking. ripples of ignorance in continuum, who will break the vibration?, the transmittance?. and who threw the rock?
i have been busy with the world, observing those vibrations. sitting in any empty space within sight with my cup of coffee whether at home or outside, my feet drifts me towards emptiness only just so i can travel to another world, to break the continuum, to detach from the world’s essence, to travel to another world, a world with no sky nor ground, to be suspended in mid air feeling nothing. a complete numbness is what i desire. every step i take in this world is heavy. my feet are light and i walk abnormally fast that most of my friends complain of not being able to catch up to me thus my feet are not heavy what’s heavy is my mind so i thought. my mind felt heavy i begged through my eyes for someone to understand the torment in such peculiarity. there were cords connected to every part of my body bringing the world to me. to feel the whole world inside of me, every little aspect of every little thing is continuously being processed. the wind it’s speed and texture, how the leaves changes as the winds does, the falling dead leaves and flowers, the crawling endless variety of bugs and insects. how can a such world exists separate from us, yet so connected to the point our daily activity and life choices effects them and to the worse odds end them. this stream of thoughts goes on until a weird form of life in flesh and bones shows up as the faces of creatures called humans and blocks that image. then instantly their eyes start speaking before their mouths, the wrinkles their lips make through their faces as they move, how their hands lifts up jumping right and left in completion to what the mouth speaks and what the eyes hide. but at that very moment the two images fuses into one. the two worlds shapes a single gigantic jigsaw. all the data is fed into me all at once. so a single encounter of a friend or stranger can keep my cords hooked in alert, in such connection that the winds and the trees doesn’t fall far from the humans in front of me.
these two worlds made into one inside of me keeps my head heavy, i keep walking fast head down trying shutting everything out yet failing. i have been angry at the world needing to split the connection. so focused on filling every minute of my day, when i realized that everything is connected to my soul rather than my brain and there is no way to split and travel to any other imaginative world no matter how bad i long for it. because this connection will always be within my soul. what i carried as a burden god meant for it to be a gift. an illustration of gods presence within each one of us. the strength to lift my heavy soul and raise my head up, to take in all the worlds there in i’m afraid is not given by god, because if it was it will never be realized. it can only be gained through pain and suffering so much that you have no choice but to sit and understand it, embrace it and instead of rising up to it, let pain be your best friend. let pain lift your character to the level of your gift. because failure is disguised as a gift with no character.
Sometimes we wish for a certain thing so much that we swim against the tide.
We strive for the sun so much we lose sense of it’s burning light.
We search for a warmer spot so inclined we tackle the winds.
We are left broken in a battle not our own.
We curse the tides, the sun and the wind for what they have done but a mere detachment of what’s to come.
I see them falling and I’m falling too.
I see them crying and I’m crying too.
I see them but not them me.
They wait for a salvation, for a king and crown. They wait to be made Queens.
I wait not for a salvation.
I wipe my own tears. Batch my own pieces.
For i am not a princess nor a queen.
a warrior. Yes! A one like no other.
I am a pessimistic in the eyes of those who know my view on all matters of life. It’s true I am! What I can’t fathom about myself is my strong attachment to hope; I hold on to hope as it slips with the very tips of my fingers as if I was hanging from the cliff of Ronda of Spain that as much as I enjoy the view I am not very keen on letting go. This kind of attachment shouldn’t be naturally attributed within a pessimistic person. So what am I? Am I a hopeful pessimistic? Or am I an optimistic in disguise?
I don’t think there should be a single definition of pessimism, in fact it should be sub-defined into structured pessimism and pure pessimism.
Pure pessimism is where sadness and disappointment over wins the soul in whole. Which makes the body follows and stop moving for anything and for anyone and when I say the body I include the heart and lungs too, where your whole chest feels empty and heavy at the same time.
Structured pessimism is all what said about the pure one but applies to those who have learned to live with a soul over won by sadness. Those who adapted to moving with heavy yet empty chest, who sufficed to breathing shallow and to hearts beating too much and too rapidly for their own capacity. Those who are content to laughing partially and to enjoying only to their extent.
Only so they can still cling to hope, because on the contrary to what they lost, hope is the only entity still not over won; a seed that spread too much into soil it can never be fully cut out.
A pessimistic person who has structured his sadness is one who builds a virtue out of a sin but can’t tell the difference.
One who enjoys the drop of rain and the sting of the sun just the same but still thinks the sun is only there because of the rain not the opposite.
A one who never fails to remind oneself that battles of self are fought alone. Battles of self are won alone. Battles of self are in fact self-created and self-realized and so no one and nothing can interfere and nothing can be done but to hope and build a rose out of the little wet soil at the side of the road nurtured by the tears of sky and hoped by the sun that dry.
A structured pessimist is one of the strain of the wild daisies. In the eyes of that pessimist is not so strange that spring comes after winter and is not strange that he enjoys both just the same.
Only those who enjoys the rain can see the beauty of a wild rose at the side of the road.
so what am i? i am a structured pessimist.
“My mother likes you, she sends her congrats for passing your subjects” my friend said as we exchanged our enthusiasm towards passing two of the hardest subjects of this semester, my reaction to her mother’s regards were the same as my reaction to every sweet talk i ever got: with cherry pink cheeks and “oh really?” and so i replied “she thinks your the strongest and most resilient of all of us” my friend noted at the end of our conversation. I was left wondering staring at the ceiling and the LED lights hung unplugged. Why do people see in me what i can’t see in myself? Suddenly all the remarks made about my personality from friends, family, acquaintances and most shockingly those who i didn’t even recognize but do recognize me. I remember a girl i barely knew once asking me ” are you the oldest in your family? ” i shook my head in denial as she added “because your a leader and people find it comforting to follow you instead of following themselves”
I wish i could pause time when ever someone praise me for my strength, leadership or whatever they think they see and i don’t, whatever they think i have and they don’t. I’d like to claim my weakness, to claim my fragile state, and to stick to the black and white picture i see of myself. I have stood in corners observing people searching for the proper explanation of their psychology on life, their beliefs and theories. I have forgotten they can see me standing alone where if the wind picked me up I’d not fall but rise and where if it rained i would not run as they do in fact that’s when linger. They observed and waited for something to tangle me with in all of that knowing that because i stand alone no one will come to help me. They observed and i stayed. Unknowingly i was drawing a painting of scribbled lines and wavy circles they haven’t seen before, i was a musician who played so randomly well striking the piano tiles with the full strength of utter self content. What ever is the image i shaped bottom line was that they saw what i didn’t see in me.
I have watched the full moon coming to full illumination through every moon cycle. I have watched and failed to see the moon is ever so intriguing, ever so beautiful ever and forever rises alone but does the moon know how strong it looks when it rises alone as the stars gather and watchs from far?
I don’t know of the full moon but i know of what now have become the full me. The doubt will turn to strength and i will see in myself what stars see in a full moon.