6/22/17

I no longer see a wall, but a horizon so vast and elaborate that I don’t know which to look at first. Speculations are made as to which direction I should walk; the destination at the end of the road. However now is when I close my eyes, spin full circles and go where my feet take me first. 

I’m afraid to stumble on my own two feet and fall face first. I’m afraid to come home with scratches and scars that will be deemed a failure by most. Though I’ll likely be given wrong directions by bystanders who I thought knew where they were going, but was as clueless as I am. Although I’m not lost, that’s my difference to them. I was lost behind the walls, but not anymore. I’m surrounded with beings of time, who like me are full of beginning and end.

I have just won a brawl behind the dark alleyways. Though I stagger, I still walk away. I don’t look back, afraid that my conscience will call me. My wounds will soon heal, but I will always carry the fear. 

I must walk on and journey to my purpose, the reason I gave myself to spark matches and light the fire. The same fire that burns inside my chest while I soldier on. 

This journey is one I must take alone. However I cross paths with travelers on their own journey and I must be careful never to ask to come along with them. Though if anyone asks to come along mine, must I heed their request?

I’m no longer tired, but eager to arrive where the wind takes me —to where I want to be; where my roots will run deep and my stem stand tall, surrounded by time beings who have heard the same call. 

This is where I will begin my beginning and end.

Endeavor

Just wait and see,

Tomorrow will be better,

Patience is key,

Hold on a little longer.

Breathe and let go;

Release water from the dams,

Let the snow thaw,

From the warmth of both your hands.

Navigating The Wind

I‘ve always been different. Whether in a good or bad way, I’m not quite sure. I always find myself set aside from everyone else. I feel out of place most of the time. I put extra effort into socializing and often fail nonetheless. 

I’m told it’s because I’m special. I thought differently compared to others my age. Not to mention I handle responsibilities beyond my reach.

I’m full of envy. That in turn leads me to questions. What would it be like to lead a normal life? Be ordinary. Inconspicuous. What would it be like to be carefree and reckless? Would my heart beat frantically, my cheeks flush from excitement? Would I make gleeful squeals that would put smiles on anyone who hears me?

I’m full of pity. Pity for all the chances I let slip. For all the time I wasted, what a pity. If only I was brave enough to swallow the pain of fresh bruises. Perhaps I’d feel the pride of showing off my scars and reliving stories of adventures.

On top of all this, I feel the need to blame only myself. For not trying to change the course of the wind. For merely accepting and letting it carry me wherever it wanted me to go. It’s just the wind, after all.

My Happy Place

I’ve been having nightmares for the past few nights. So naturally, I turned to my most trusted bff –Google. You’d never believe how many possible illnesses nightmares could be a symptom of. Anyway, it mentioned possible reasons like caffeine. I won’t bother to go through other possible reasons as I’m in a denial phase right now.

Anyway! I decided to cut back on my caffeine intake. From my normal 3 cups, I successfully cut it down to only a cup a day –which of course was not easy. It did get me quite off-balance. In any case, you can take a good guess that no, it did not work. This was not the source of my nightmares.

Fast-forward to possible solutions to stopping nightmares, Google told me to think of my happy place. And I was just stuck as to where that is, or if it even exists.

I can try to think of a place I was happiest to be in when I was still a child, but those places have thus been tainted by bitter memories. So I suppose I have no choice but to imagine a fictitious place.

Perhaps it would be somewhere quiet so I can read a good book with the soft warmth of the sun brushing my toes, the smell of dew and flowers keeping me in a trance, the summer wind brushing my hair off my face, and when I close my eyes I can breathe in and tell myself “ah, this is the life!”

I was supposed to hold this imagination in my head while I kept my eyes closed. But when I tried this, while I was in my room and it was dark, and I was alone, my mind couldn’t focus enough to draw this beautiful picture inside my head and keep it there while I slept.

So naturally, I still had nightmares night after night. But eventually, they went away. I suppose not really, but I’ve successfully tired myself out to even remember or to worry about nightmares. But as I write this, my happy place seems to me like paradise. And it’s truly not asking for much, is it?

I hope to live there forever. I hope to read all the books I want. I hope to be surrounded by beauty and serenity.

If Only…

Growing up, I always asked for a dog. Instead I got an aquarium filled with colorful fishes that either ate one another, banged their head on the glass too much, or didn’t have sufficient oxygen. Either way, they all died one after another. So much so that I lost count how many times they were secretly replaced without my knowing –fearing I’d cry my eyeballs out as soon as I found out. I was a peculiar little girl. I would often pretend to be oblivious –perhaps because they always expected me to be, given my young and innocent age.

Going back to wanting a dog, I’d beg and beg, and even throw tantrums. I simply wanted a dog –a cute little puppy I could care for. But the adults thought I was not capable of caring for one if I could not even care for a bunch of fishes. Holds a bit of truth, somewhat. But to be fair, I didn’t want fishes, I wanted a puppy. And clearly, this is excuse enough.

Soon after, I gave up asking for a dog. Although to this day, I still feel a twinge of envy every time my friends would go on and on about their dogs. I am very much convinced that if only I was allowed to have a puppy like I asked for, I would truly be more of a “normal” kid –as far as that goes. I wouldn’t say it would make me more empathetic as I’d like to think I already am. But perhaps a dog would’ve taught me how love –for all that it’s worth, feels like. Perhaps I wouldn’t have been so lonely as a child who had no one to play with. Perhaps I’d be more of an extrovert now. A lot could have been a lot better if only I had a dog.

Animal

Burnt Bridges

The only way to cross from here to there,
Has been burnt and lost,
There’s no way across,
We’re both too aware.

Perhaps you’d dare to swim,
Through cold waters,
Tell me, would you really bother
Only to be gone so swift?

Don’t cross the imaginary bridge,
Stay where you are,
Stay very far,
I can very well manage.

Remember you held the torch,
While I watched the bridge burn,
Never a way to return,
What is now just marks of scorch.

I’ll Stop Writing When My Heart Stops Beating

I fear for the day, I’d be forced to stop writing poetry. When my life becomes too bland and too much like everyone else’s that I wouldn’t know what to write about, or perhaps I’ll be too tired from work and there won’t be any room for creativity or inspiration or hope, or even a room to be me.

I wouldn’t want that day to come. But as life would permit it, I see it right around the corner, waiting to pounce. That will be a dreadful day and I’d much rather die than stop writing poems that are gasps of air I breathe every now and then.

The path that I am walking is getting a whole lot narrow with every day that passes by. There is little hope and little inspiration to spare, let alone to share. Perhaps in the next five years, I’ve lose my touch and words won’t obey my commands. I’ll be lost in my own mind, trapped and maybe even gone. But I feel better when I think about all the poems I wrote. When the time comes I leave this world, and someone misses me or even thinks of me –they’ll have my poems. Pieces of me I left behind for when they come and look for me, for when they realize I’m not the person they thought I was. And maybe they’ll be surprised by how my mind works in such a dark, maybe even scary way. And I start to wonder if they’ll take the time to decipher what I meant, how I felt, and who I dedicate my poems full of all my heartaches.