Call of the void.

I do not remember the last time I felt safe. Even in moments of pure joy, a lunatic impulse to rouse the corpses out of their graves overwhelms. A fear seeps into the cracks, reminding me not to let my guard down. Yet, I welcome it.

Perhaps this is both my delight and my folly — wherever the void’s hands moved, my body is as yielding as water. Submerged in the rapture of the deep – hundreds of fathoms down and still sinking – the fumes of the bog still faintly cling to my nostrils. The air escapes my lungs, but the effervescence of my fears keeps the heart beating.

I am perpetually on top of a skyscraper that has seen better days — every inch of its vertical space occupied by chaos and dust. Malice overcomes the rose-colored haven in my mind. I let it. Thick and heavy, I feel every quiver of its breathing.

Atop this high place, the void beckons and I come alive. For every paramour or friend weighed and found wanting, my knees numb and a coldness creeps under my skin, eventually making its way into my spine. Yet again, I come alive. In the humid stillness of noons, when my reserves deplete, I bask in my viscous humanness and I come alive.

Heaven is the opium for the credulous and the afraid, uncertainty is mine. Neither herb nor alcohol comes close. So, when the void calls, I jump.

Secret hopes.

I’m someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be.

― Nick Miller

Heartbeat.

There comes a time in every life when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you’d better learn to know the sound of it. Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying.

— Sarah Dessen

Better choices.

I’m convinced that this anxiety running through my life is the tension between what I “should be” and what I am. My anxiety doesn’t come from thinking about the future but from wanting to control it. It seems to begin whenever I smuggle into my mind an expectation about how I or others should be. It is the tension between my desire to control the world and the recognition that I can’t. “I will be what I will be” – where is the anxiety in that? Anxiety is the recognition that I might not reach the rung on the opinion ladder I have just set for my self. I fear death most when I am about to exceed what I believe others think of me; then death threatens to cut me off from myself, because “myself” is not yet.

― Hugh Prather

It’s never going to end, is it? One frustration will pave the way to another and before you know it, you’re spiraling into depression. Many times I have come to the brink, the almost-end. I’ve never been suicidal, no. Death seems too final. Maybe it’s the optimist in me that’s holding out hope for better things to come. They always make an entrance somehow — some grand, others discreet. Breathe in, dig deep, and learn from the reality of it all. Be grateful.

Humanity’s downfall, I have come to realize, is believing in a grand plan. There is no such thing. I suspect that the reason why it is so difficult for us to grasp that nothing is predetermined is the fact that we all desperately need to believe in something, even in fallacies such as destiny and fate, to keep us from unraveling.

In truth, I am a fool. But I have grown wiser through the years. A little older, a little more astute. I now know that our lives are the outcomes of the choices that we make. If you keep making bad choices, then you are bound to live a horrible existence. Make the right ones and you’ll have a life ripe for your full enjoyment. I realize that there is a sense of haughtiness to the idea now that I’ve read the words on digital paper. Believe me, I am no better. I have had my fair share of not-so-proud moments. In the end of most of them, I was left to fend for myself. These experiences have shaped who I am today. I love who I am, my incipient misanthropy included for it has served me well in some cases. It taught me to never give out trust right away. Keep your walls up, keep your walls high until you meet people willing to scale them. Because even if they hurt you (unintentionally, of course), they’re worth bleeding for.

I hope to keep choosing to see the light and drink every ray of sunshine in my veins. Easier said than done, I suppose. But if I don’t accept who I was, who I am, and who I become, then who’s going to do it for me?

I will be what I will be.

Mr. Snow White & the cat-haters.

My neighbors hate cats with a passion. They hate them so much that they pour boiling water over the poor little things to make them go away. You know, you could just stop throwing leftovers in your backyard garbage can. That’d do the trick. You could do better things than wait around for that water to boil with the full intention of inflicting pain on a helpless animal. If you actually relished the idea, then that’s a whole new level of premeditated sh*t and you’re actually worse than I thought. Take a look at my dad. He loves animals. He’s like a male Snow White! He even talks to the newly hatched birds on our front porch. Bless him.

Happy Father’s day to all the dads out there!

Loss and Grief.

Life is finite. We all want to leave a mark in this world before our time ends. We all want to be remembered for selfish reasons, usually. But what we fail to fathom is how deep a wound we inflict on the ones we leave behind.

The thought of other people out there who are at the mercy of losing someone who mattered to them and the grief that that loss inflicts makes one think of how unfair life can be, and how beautiful a story it can tell.

As we celebrate the lives well-lived of all the loved ones that passed, we should do well to remember that losing them does not define our present, or our future.

The bitter-sweetness of loss is yet another flavor this life will offer – one we can sink our teeth into.

Soul mates.

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates,
or love at first sight.
But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life,
if you were lucky,
you might meet someone who was exactly right for you.
Not because he was perfect,
or because you were,
but because your combined flaws
were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings
to hinge together.

― Lisa Kleypas

The new “normal”.

You walk around downtown and spot people’s quirks from a mile away. But can you really call them oddities, peculiarities just because they don’t speak for your brand of norm? When has the human condition been confined to templates? And more importantly, who comes up with them?

Normal, there is no such thing – a mere fallacy created by society to promote uniformity and absolute truths, if there are such things; to abolish anarchy, keeping all of humanity’s ducks in a row; to create a sense of belonging as it is, after all, a human need.

 

I tell you it is just that.

Long preface short, your kind of normal is utterly okay. No need to see that shrink, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Give the person who called you weird the mighty finger, and then some. As long as you mean no harm to yourself or to others, you’re stellar.

 

Marvelous day to you!

Nostalgia in the city.

We walk through old familiar roads and find bits and pieces of ourselves we left behind. Many times you travel a path, the same path every single day, and never really looked. Most of the things we do in life to survive has rendered us numb from feeling, seeing, being. We’ve resigned ourselves to merely existing that we forget how profound the little things we take for granted can be at the end of the day.

You lived in the same city for most of your life but you never really saw how the light on that street post next to your favorite coffee shop flickers three times, stops, and then flickers again, this time with maddening frequency. You never truly tasted how decadent the local street food is since the time Hepatitis A plagued the news. You never fully comprehended how homeless children can laugh their days away, with all the poverty that cursed their existence. You never even looked up as the last of the sun’s rays hit your lover’s face at just the right spot.

The way I see it, what sets humanity apart is that fleeting sense of either contentment or restlessness for the life one has lived, regardless of how one lived it. Maybe we have the answer, maybe we don’t. One thing is certain, life – mine, yours, his, and hers – goes on and ends despite the trivialities. Do yourself the courtesy to make it count.