Tonight, my fear was that the memories of how it felt—every sensation: the hearing and the speaking to every exchanged word, the sights of your features, fingers running through the hair—fading away over time.
The certainty, as convinced as ever—in fact, as I have never been before—becoming unfamiliar.
The chemistry, although inexplainable, turning into nothing but part of the past, part of the temporary, part of the non-existence in the future.
You want to know the key? The key is timing. Everything depends on timing.
Time is our friend, who fixes everything. It is great company, but everybody for himself, time is just another tool of fate, of Plans.
What if this is the chance and we missed it? What if, in the future, we have regrets because by then there is nothing we can do about it. That is the worst position to be in, a situation where there is nothing you can do about it.
What if we were the lucky ones this time? No? Are grand romantic beliefs so much rejected and frowned upon as to no exceptions allowed at all?
Can one stay hopeful and believe one-sided without looking, or being, a fool, but to be genuinely admired, or even to be rewarded?
The act of falling for someone, when not responded to, will gradually and eventually (also hopefully) change to helplessly and inevitably the needly mandatory act of getting back up; an image of falling on your knees, then with effort standing back up on your feet.
Usually, I feel hopeful for this “recovery”, but at this moment although it has not occurred yet, I fear it. For the reason that I simply want to believe and don’t want to forget.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Suddenly, I don't want to think.
Don’t you sometimes just want to let time go by without a sense of guilt or resentment? It is real guilty pleasure.
Get cozy on your couch (I would not suggest going to your bed because then you are just bound to fall asleep), wrap yourself in a blanket, put some soft music on, and drink a cup of... whatever you like.
Read, write, do whatever you like in the meanwhile, or not do anything. Comme tu veux. The Italians have a term for this, they call it “dolce far niente”: the art of doing nothing. Nothingness is often regarded as empty, miserable, and lonely. Somehow though, at this moment, it’s very comforting to me.
Sometimes you got to lose sight of what you’ve been fixing your focus on, just to breathe and reboot. We, humans, have this mad tendency of making something out of nothing—to make a meaning out of everything just for the sake of having something that gives us a sense of ground—putting so much effort into making things count while knowing that at the end, nothing really counts. We come to the world naked and we will leave with nothing with us. That being said, the nothingness is in a very physical sense. Contribution to the world or to one’s soul is obviously important, such as learning and experiencing, then giving back to the society, to the world. We spend lots of time doing things, but not enough on thinking why we do things. No, we indeed think a lot of why we do things. Perhaps the truth is then, we do not spend enough time to figure out solid answers as to why.
“I actually really like this photo, it’s really relaxing for some reason. Not like I want to smoke and relax like him, but when you look at the photo, it just makes you think, ‘why do you have to worry about that?’ you know?” said my German friend, talking about a poster on his wall. It is of an album cover of the band Arctic Monkeys’, whose lyrics give an impression of as if the band members simply sit down and observe what goes on around them. Berlin here is my friend’s home, a city full of life. Him being a mathematics major once told me his biggest fear of becoming literally insane because all he does is maths. “I’m actually afraid that I will go crazy one day” said he. While he was pausing for a second from his studies and staring out the window, his back profile reminded me of our conversation of his fear of going crazy. It also projected to me a perspective of the “another way of thinking” that he mentioned about what requires one to do maths. Merely the picture of his back profile seems to have brought me to another world for a blink of an eye. How nice it is to be swept off the ground like that and be taken to another level of consciousness, another stage of knowledge where I get inspired through grasping an observation of others, while they have no specific intention in their action. What do I know after all? At moments like these, it feels as if making observations as such then being thrown into another dimension of thoughts, and as if nothingness—doing, chasing after, and worrying about nothing for just mere moments—are sufficient for my knowledge.
Why not pause, if affordable, a day or such to turn off your thoughts and take a break from running after whatever you are running after. You need it. Plus, you will appreciate it. Afterwards you might find that after all you do not give two shits about it, or you might see why it means so much to you.
Get cozy on your couch (I would not suggest going to your bed because then you are just bound to fall asleep), wrap yourself in a blanket, put some soft music on, and drink a cup of... whatever you like.
Read, write, do whatever you like in the meanwhile, or not do anything. Comme tu veux. The Italians have a term for this, they call it “dolce far niente”: the art of doing nothing. Nothingness is often regarded as empty, miserable, and lonely. Somehow though, at this moment, it’s very comforting to me.
Sometimes you got to lose sight of what you’ve been fixing your focus on, just to breathe and reboot. We, humans, have this mad tendency of making something out of nothing—to make a meaning out of everything just for the sake of having something that gives us a sense of ground—putting so much effort into making things count while knowing that at the end, nothing really counts. We come to the world naked and we will leave with nothing with us. That being said, the nothingness is in a very physical sense. Contribution to the world or to one’s soul is obviously important, such as learning and experiencing, then giving back to the society, to the world. We spend lots of time doing things, but not enough on thinking why we do things. No, we indeed think a lot of why we do things. Perhaps the truth is then, we do not spend enough time to figure out solid answers as to why.
“I actually really like this photo, it’s really relaxing for some reason. Not like I want to smoke and relax like him, but when you look at the photo, it just makes you think, ‘why do you have to worry about that?’ you know?” said my German friend, talking about a poster on his wall. It is of an album cover of the band Arctic Monkeys’, whose lyrics give an impression of as if the band members simply sit down and observe what goes on around them. Berlin here is my friend’s home, a city full of life. Him being a mathematics major once told me his biggest fear of becoming literally insane because all he does is maths. “I’m actually afraid that I will go crazy one day” said he. While he was pausing for a second from his studies and staring out the window, his back profile reminded me of our conversation of his fear of going crazy. It also projected to me a perspective of the “another way of thinking” that he mentioned about what requires one to do maths. Merely the picture of his back profile seems to have brought me to another world for a blink of an eye. How nice it is to be swept off the ground like that and be taken to another level of consciousness, another stage of knowledge where I get inspired through grasping an observation of others, while they have no specific intention in their action. What do I know after all? At moments like these, it feels as if making observations as such then being thrown into another dimension of thoughts, and as if nothingness—doing, chasing after, and worrying about nothing for just mere moments—are sufficient for my knowledge.
Why not pause, if affordable, a day or such to turn off your thoughts and take a break from running after whatever you are running after. You need it. Plus, you will appreciate it. Afterwards you might find that after all you do not give two shits about it, or you might see why it means so much to you.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Confession of a Cynic
Last night, I was so sad because I realized how much of a cynic I have become.
Why do I want to vomit when I hear my friend struggling through poor reception to talk on the phone with her boyfriend, saying “Honey? Can you hear me, honey” repeatedly?
Why is it so striking that she would tell me (someone other than her boyfriend himself) how much she misses him when he is only gone for a few weeks?
Why do I say things like “that is such bullshit” when he tells her that it doesn’t matter what she wears out tonight because she looks beautiful anyway? (By the way, she gets offended and I have to tell her, “don’t listen to anything that I say when you know I’m the one who doesn’t believe in anything.”)
When I see her parents, a pair obviously still very much (and probably forever will be) in love, why does it raise so many doubtful thoughts in my head, put me in so much awe and surprise? Not to mention how difficult it is for me to imagine being their children, who have the privilege of witnessing them being so close after many years of being with each other, everyday. My friend once told me: “I have never seen my parents, for once, not show respect or not pay attention to each other.”
I was lying in bed next to my friend. We were going to sleep.
“You know you still have your glasses on, right?” she says to me.
“Yeah, I know.”
And, why can’t I stand love songs anymore?
“No... it’s okay, just go have fun.” she calls her boyfriend again, “I’m going to sleep, baby. Just wanted to say good night.” Then, I further realized, I don’t have the urge or desire of a girlfriend’s to either do or receive the gesture of “just called to say ‘I love you’ or ‘good night’”, nor do I need to “just hear your voice”.
I felt like I physically lost something. Something that I’m not sure how, if ever, I will gain back.
I was lying there, shocked from this realization, as if I was looking into the mirror and seeing myself in the reflection for the first time in ten years; as if a medical professional came over and told me that I had cancer.
I continued to lie there, with my glasses on, looking into the darkness before me for a while longer—thinking, reflecting.
Is this normal? How long does it usually take cynics to realize how severe they have fallen to be, if at all?
How do I live otherwise, when I find the acts of reliance and affection so appalling and dangerous?
Is it curable? Can I die alone from this?
Why do I want to vomit when I hear my friend struggling through poor reception to talk on the phone with her boyfriend, saying “Honey? Can you hear me, honey” repeatedly?
Why is it so striking that she would tell me (someone other than her boyfriend himself) how much she misses him when he is only gone for a few weeks?
Why do I say things like “that is such bullshit” when he tells her that it doesn’t matter what she wears out tonight because she looks beautiful anyway? (By the way, she gets offended and I have to tell her, “don’t listen to anything that I say when you know I’m the one who doesn’t believe in anything.”)
When I see her parents, a pair obviously still very much (and probably forever will be) in love, why does it raise so many doubtful thoughts in my head, put me in so much awe and surprise? Not to mention how difficult it is for me to imagine being their children, who have the privilege of witnessing them being so close after many years of being with each other, everyday. My friend once told me: “I have never seen my parents, for once, not show respect or not pay attention to each other.”
I was lying in bed next to my friend. We were going to sleep.
“You know you still have your glasses on, right?” she says to me.
“Yeah, I know.”
And, why can’t I stand love songs anymore?
“No... it’s okay, just go have fun.” she calls her boyfriend again, “I’m going to sleep, baby. Just wanted to say good night.” Then, I further realized, I don’t have the urge or desire of a girlfriend’s to either do or receive the gesture of “just called to say ‘I love you’ or ‘good night’”, nor do I need to “just hear your voice”.
I felt like I physically lost something. Something that I’m not sure how, if ever, I will gain back.
I was lying there, shocked from this realization, as if I was looking into the mirror and seeing myself in the reflection for the first time in ten years; as if a medical professional came over and told me that I had cancer.
I continued to lie there, with my glasses on, looking into the darkness before me for a while longer—thinking, reflecting.
Is this normal? How long does it usually take cynics to realize how severe they have fallen to be, if at all?
How do I live otherwise, when I find the acts of reliance and affection so appalling and dangerous?
Is it curable? Can I die alone from this?
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