“…to be part of that writing…”

It was an unusually quiet day, and I mean unusually quiet in the sense of both inner peace and external silence. It was not a disconnect nor dissociation from reality, rather a reconnection to a passion and inspiration that echoed melodiously in the stillness.

In the stillness, there is no noise— no hustle and bustle of traffic or sirens, no beats that drown out the violence, no shouting over conversations; but there is music — the music of birds chirping, of the water fountain trickling, of heartbeats thumping to each breath taken.

It’s a surreal stillness, but not unfamiliar. Surreal, because it’s a part of myself that I had put on hold for a while just to survive job routine of responsibilities. Surreal, because it is a stillness and a sense of comfort that I had been reminded of not so long ago one sober afternoon in spring when we were wrapped up in the sheets. Surreal, because those moments, with you, I know are actually my real.

I share that with you, yet in sharing with you, I also recall it in myself. When peace embraces passion and ignites inspiration, when reveling and raveling in the silence of each moment, when relaxing is refreshing and life is worth living – when the surreal and the real share the same breath of oxygen.

I knew from that moment that’s what I want – to be real – and so that’s what I’d set out to do. It had taken weeks though, to get to that, and along the way I’d masked my stillness with a persona of recklessness. Was I afraid? No. Was I unwilling? No. But was I ready? Also no.

If anything, I was readying myself, readying… steadying… 

T’was the timing of knowing what I want but also acknowledging that I’d need a few days to make the adjustment. But along the way, I’d momentarily hid from us both that part I was merely trying to protect. From what, though…?

From myself and my survival, because I knew which parts of my life I’d have to confront just to secure the time and place to be real again. I knew what it meant to survive, but I also know what it means to live rather than merely entertain the idea of it. 

You know this though, like I told you when we were in the living room and I was leaning against the kitchen counter, that I’d been running at such a high velocity I couldn’t keep up with it all – I was cooling down from burnout, the kind where I’d been masking, for months, with alcohol. It was not a burnout due to stress from work or studies, nor one from superficial anxieties and dissatisfaction of life, nay, it was a manic burnout from myself – from pushing beyond my limits and giving all I could then leaving very little for myself or anyone else, while still doing what I could to remain present and, to some extent, ‘force myself to look happy’ since I was working with people every day thus tried to be as amiable as possible. It was perhaps a persona of sorts, one that was required for surviving my life at the time, all the while knowing that I was masking or hiding myself and longing to break free from it.

Then came the holidays, when I finally had a moment to breathe and to be, a moment to be real and be sweet, be happy and be free, and to share that joy and freedom with you. Comfortably myself, that intricate balance between being free and being safe, between feeling alive and feeling life. Though still consumed by my own intensities, the trivial analyses of a life that I’d concocted seemed to dissipate into the silhouette of a horizon as the sun rose and rays slid their fingers through the windows and curtains.

What I share with you in each moment is what I already have with myself in the silence – that gentle touch and warm embrace, the wordplay that puts a smile on your face, the sense of trust and feeling safe, the understanding and acceptance, that sincerity of each experience…

I remembered then that that is my real, and sharing it with you is entirely surreal…


You asked me what I want, and though transitions in life have been somewhat turbulent, my answer to that question remains consistent.

Yes, it did take me some time to change my schedule, to assess where I’m at in life, to make space on my plate and also in my head, and to bloom with a sense of belonging and a sense of becoming.

It’s knowing that while I can easily keep it to myself, I do embrace within me that yearning… to share that freedom, my real, a sense of being and becoming… and not just with any random person, but with the part of you that desires and appreciates that in yourself as well…

I miss you, and I’ve missed myself, so much, too. I’ve missed that self I so naturally share with you and the self you share, too.



Intimacy… one cannot simply describe the shape of its experience,
yet it is… intrinsically… the experience of it that shapes us…

(Scheduled post — written some days ago)

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