lørdag, maj 20, 2006


Maybe I should start going for jogs in the evenings; maybe I should stop being so pessimistic; maybe I should stop being so insecure and paranoid and over-sensitive; stop allowing shadows of doubt and frailty to haunt me relentlessly at nights when I'm on my own; stop being such a wallflower, an anti-social loner; maybe I should learn how to be happy.

I love reading; writing (though I can't write well); listening to soul-stirring music which always makes me feel that I could die immediately, right there and then; which always makes me feel my own life slowly slipping away, my soul reduced to a weightless entity, floating around endlessly and aimlessly in the vast realms of myriads of galaxies. I love keeping to myself and I love milking poetry and prose out of everything seemingly philosophical while realizing at the same time that there is no all-encompassing metaphor for life no matter how promising it sounds. I often misplace my own writings, but it does not really matter to me because those are only words of fleeting and hurried thoughts; and words are cheap. And out of so many things I love, I love pretending that I am alright, although it doesn't make me happy.

I don't understand why people tell me they are sorry when it does not have to be that way; and why people always say things without realizing themselves that they do not actually mean it. This is why I don't believe in things which are too much of a promise; I don't believe in words which are inspired by circumstances because they don't usually stay true.

I lose many people and many things along the way, but I don't bid farewell because an end does not necessarily have to be marked by a 'goodbye'. Sometimes it is better to just watch them from behind; watch their silhouettes disappearing into the mist, vanishing into the forgotten gaps of one's memory. Sometimes I prefer an abrupt end to anything else.

People say I'm cold. Some think that I look melancholic. I think I'm just lonely.

Love is too heavy a weight. 'Love' is a word that has been frequently abused; our lives are so inundated with it that it simply doesn't mean anything anymore. Talk is easy. But we shouldn't dismiss it just because it's been over-used because it isn't Love's fault; it's our own fault that it has been robbed of its meaning. Love is like wine - its fragrance grows stronger with the passing of time; but when you're truly in love, time is nothing. Isn't it? The years do not matter; you're still as much in love as you were at the beginning of time. It is sheer pleasure to sip wine with silent slowness as you indulge in its aged sweetness with the one you love. But love; love is too heavy a weight and it is too difficult to keep. "Like love we don't know where or why,/ Like love we can't compel or fly,/ Like love we often weep,/ Like love we seldom keep." Love is an emotion invented to transcend reason; only the human mind can come up with something as insipid as Love.

Somewhere, someone is suffering from insomnia; lying alone on his bed in his dark room, feeling lonely, staring at the barren ceiling, thinking of someone else.

I will always try to evade questions which include the word 'always'.

Forever is too much of a promise. Forever is a really long time. Forever is too beautiful to be true. Idealists yearn for forever; optimists believe in it; and pessimists react to it with a sad laugh.

I never wanted to lose myself so easily.

I think the current US President should read Sun Tzu's Art of War. Seriously.

When I wake up in the morning I indulge in the surreal transient state which exists between sleep and full consciousness. So mystical that it sends an enigmatic rush through me.

My past was akin to a real-life soap opera.

I get annoyed when I try too hard to be happy because I always end up feeling more miserable and devastated than I initially was; and when I pretend that I'm alright because I end up suffering even more.

Parties are for people who are able to lose themselves effortlessly in the boisterousness of crowds, and who are unable to find themselves in quiet solitude.

Kisses are the best when your partner doesn't smell like an ashtray; when all parties sharing the kisses are in the mood; when the other person hasn't eaten garlic or ginger or anything equally horrifying in the last twenty-four hours; and when your partner is hygienic.

Tomorrow is another usual day. Tomorrow I'm going to be OK.

I really want someone to understand. Nobody said it was easy.

I have low tolerance for people who are devoid of common sense. Surprisingly common sense is not really common these days.

1 kommentar:

Blog in English, auf Deutsch sagde ...

At hard moments, it looks highly desperate if you try to persuade yourself believing "I am gonna be OK" alone.

Take a book on psychology and skim through passages you deem related to your present situation. Your analysis sounds really cold. A correct book can turn this coldness into objectiveness.

Your ex is not a mistake of you. It's just a happening. And you experienced it.