Thursday, January 23


Sometimes during the night, when the world is heavy with sleep, my mind plays tricks on me. It paralyses me with exaggerated fears. It replays a picture, a sentence, a doubt over and over, just like the movie trailers played in a loop in the background at Blockbuster, narrated by a woman's overly enthusiastic voice.

"He then begins to shrivel slowly, his body decomposing in the cold dirt" she might say about a movie, with a sickly joyful voice. I would not like to have her job. But I suppose, somehow, we all play her part.

We veil uncertainty and sorrow with a perky, everything-will-be-okay facade.


Crying, exfoliating, writing to rid oneself is not accepted by society.


Some days, I resent that all the steps that I'm painstakingly taking have already been climbed. The stone is tired and smooth with use.
There have been so many people before me (think about all those to come!).
I feel as if I cannot stay above the surface of the pull (ocean-like) of fear.

It is not the fear that the only life we have to live will always be overshadowed by people who have done bigger, better (because I've grown used to climbing behind them)

When I'll fall in love (because they tell me I will), I do not fear that all that I will feel will have already been felt by strangers and will have already been transformed into creations - poems, songs, bottle-cap creations (because I've been contemplating their work for some time now)

It is the fear that I will lead a nice, quaint life and at the end of it (sigh of relief), I will be classified as one who, just like everyone else, tried to be different, and just like everyone else, failed.

Lorde once said: "I don't even think about death. It's OK if you do. It's fine" Through her songs, I like to think about the universe, and the balance between my knees and the ground and the knots in my stomach when everything in my life is perfect. Why do I feel so messy and tired?

1 thoughts:

  1. I understand the feeling. I write something that I think is halfway decent, and then I read a book by a truly great author and lapse into discouraged apathy. I have to remind myself that there are more important things than being different or great. Even if my name manages to catch onto the current of history for a little while, the history itself will be forgotten someday. I don't think our trepidation about death will dissolve until we believe there is something beyond death.

    Our psyches don't always coordinate with our situations...I'm often the stormiest inside when everything in my external life is smooth sailing. I believe we were crafted for more than this decaying physical world has to offer.

    Curious for your thoughts :)


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