A Broken Mirror

Its so weird when you say something and you hear someone say it the same way or almost the same way and they shamelessly pretend they were the one who said it originally, and they say it to someone in front of you knowing they heard it first from you.

They say imitation is the best form of flattery. For me, I find it annoying.

Here are a lot of de javus:

Me: I will get married in May 8, 2008 (so its all eight).
You: I will get married in July 7, 2007 (that is a day after you heard me.)

Me: Please lock the (car) doors, I have a frightening thought I would jump out knowing the doors are open.
You: Please lock the doors, I am scared. (Just about 2 trips after)

(I will write more when I remember them all)

I know its difficult to make your brain work, but please, have mercy on me. I find it totally vexing the way you echo back what I say.

My love blog...... My thoughts.... My world... My essence.... The Real Me.....

A Nihilistic Approach

We will get to this.....

This is good....

I found him... or her.. Seshat... the goddess of writing... She came to me at a particular time when I was unaware.. She touched me, poked me to scribble... and write my thoughts. And they are in abundance... Flooding, I have to keep them, write them. Publish them. Amazing, such wondrous thoughts, they give me goosebumps, they make me cry, they make me want to love and love. Embrace me, and be with me. I will take you into a beautiful world of endless emotions..

Love is a beautiful thing, but writing is my love, so what do you call it? Writing takes me to places where there are no emotions. Where there is nothing but space, not empty, but not filled, spaces devoid of anything, and writing teaches me to fill it with love, fill it with longing, fill it with epical desires to pursue what is left of nothing. To start building a foundation of something tangible but unseen, something heavy but has no weight, something that touches us, that moves us. Just something powerful.

It is a magnificent gift to be able to write, to be able to discern and be confused with what we feel and in turn to make it into a ceremony of epicyclic miracles of seeking and finding what we are made of.

And so, what are we made of? You might ask. In the social world, we are so different from each other that we ask where is someone from, why someone is like that, why she seems so distinct, aloof, too kind, too gullible, too nice, the list goes on. But in my truth, I think we are all the same, it is only our powers, our wills, our desires, our longings and our environment that changes us into something acceptable. The society will claim us to be part of her if we cramble to be better, some of us becomes stronger once society has accepted what we have molded ourselves to become. Only few of us accept to be separate and they are the lucky ones. Are we them? Are we one of them? We only know individually. Secretly. Fugitively.

We.... You and me....

We each live in a limbo of confusion, amazement, wondering whether love is a feeling or a fact, a figment of emotion or something that we conjure to make us become better persons or better friends, better lovers, better than what we are. My thoughts are mainly an offspring of my search for truth, whether in pain or in joy, in lie or in honesty, I still seek. Somewhere out there, someone understands, someone feels, someone is real. Just as I am. I know you are too.

My Thoughts

Are we by nature chameleons? We acquire the same colors as we go through people and form relationships with them? What about our emotions? Do they blend in and merge with the opposite feeler in a relationship? How often do we do this? How long do we keep practicing this until we truly become what we really are and what we really seek to be with someone. Does everyone do the same? I often wonder… These are my thoughts…..

And so...

In the most remote of all senses, you dwell, in me, unknowingly good. By far, the most sensitive parts of me know that you exist and that we will meet again. I am merely warding off what was before for fear of what may be. Come as you go and leave like strangers in a ship out to a battle of unawares, we linger still, hoping to return and be together with what our hearts truly claim. How often would memories try to arouse us as we lie longing like fools yet falling in love like gods of the Grecian myth.

One

One

Love is a conspiracy, an endless battle for the shrewd, the sly wins, the true remains.It is a game of tug and war, someone asks you to fall and you have not even thought of it. Then you become aware of the thought, then you get enticed, and when you really leap to make a fall, they run away. You are left in mid-air, hoping everything would stand still and the pain would go away. They plead you to hold on, tighter and when you do and get tranquility seeping in, they let go, leaving you hurting, wanting.

The irony of it all is that we are in an apocalypse of recycling, reusing our emotions. Over and over again we feel the same things and always the same emotions. One cannot comprehend the dream from the real, the past from the present, all the heart takes heed of is the moment. The moments which might never come, the moment which may never was, the moments which might just have been an illusion of something we dreamed of.In this labyrinth of transitory heart-beatings, we rely on what we know best, to give and let it all out. But what do you do if you are faced with a wall? You do not even know if it hears, if it listens, if it understands, or if it feels anything. Ahh senses, what misery this glory brings. In a quagmire, one loses, one let’s go. One cannot understand which one is better- to be in a pool of apathy or to be in a love where only one feels? How long must ephemeral emotions be? They say this is just a phase, another stage I have to go through. It will pass, it will pass. But for how long I have to endure it, one can never know. If angels cry for every heart beat, they would be weeping over mine. Mine is dead but hurting. How can the dead be hurting? Only the heart can answer.

The day of reckoning comes when we let go of something we can never live without. We have to sustain and nurture our spirits with the verity of losing what we love the most. For if we keep holding on and not know what we are holding on or why we keep holding on, we will learn the art of taking life for granted and not truly be alive but simply live. A thing which I fear the most.

If time was the beginning of the end, I would choose to start again, leaving another dimension, leaving another life for a better one. For what would my essence be if I were simply to wait till what my heart desires arrives when I know that there is nothing more to something? I must be a fool, a gallant fool, recklessly enjoying something which no longer has meaning.Love exists in the connection between two souls. One feels it to the bones, to the marrows, to the toes. One senses through a glance, sways in every stance. One would always want to dance. Tears weeping, glowing, they used to have meaning but they don’t feel anymore too. They just flow, in the night when there is silence and memories come shimmering like pieces of dreams.

Is love supposed to fade away? Is it why people get married so even when the love is not there the legal bond is there to tie them together till death do they part? Love should be stronger than anything. It should be only bond which ties two people into keeping hold of each other yet letting each other fly away. It should resist all persistence of animosities. It should be languid as anything, it should win every battle. But maybe love takes time, love waits, love prays. But what do you do when love is not there at all?

Love is love. It is there when it is there, not when it is not. One does not have to wait till it grows, because it is not a plant, not a seed, it is an emotion that lingers and allows us to sing. If one must wait till the hair grows gray, you think love will bloom? They say love starts when sex ends. Haha. What a funny idea. Sometimes funny things are real.

The most incorrect statement of all time is that all is fair in love. All is never fair in love. There has to be an imbalance. One always loves the other one much more than one does to the other. But this is not an equation of fairness when summed up. There is always a higher love among two. However, those who love the most must feel the most right? As a sign of gratitude, one feels more yes, one radiates more, but being humans, the other who is loved more always gets the better edge. Not because love is a competition,but because it always feels nice when you are loved.Love is supposed to be a metamorphosis of traits, a merging of two beings, a union of two souls, a complexity of a simply over-used emotion. Not a reflection of strength or weakness or a symbol of one’s feat. Love is love by definition itself.

I was asked, have I ever felt the greatest love? Among men? I replied I don’t know. Aghast with my reply, I didn’t leave them with a longer span of confusion. My reason is, every love I have I consider the greatest the moment I feel it. Not because I am sentimentally tactful but simply because the love I gave away at that particular moment of my love-life was then the grandest at that time. No one can disprove that, not even me. This is by far the truest statement I have said about my emotions. The silence was all I needed to hear as an assured positive reaction to my heart-felt affirmation.

I want my life to be consumed by love no matter how fleeting. It is much better than hatred and exceedingly blissful than apathy. At least in love even if I get hurt, I feel alive. I lose something but I gain so much.

Don’t you like to fall in love sometimes?

18 August 2003 4:15pm a.n.h.