Kindness is Not Weakness

She looked at me with insecurity in her eyes, as if pleading for sympathy.

I couldn’t.

Much as I tried to muster up a shred of compassion, she had used up the last ounce left in me. Used it up on some medial triviality that was, if anything,  inconsequential to the matter at hand.

For years, I had done my best to understand the root of the issue. For years, I had given a part of myself to her — my ears, heart, time, energy. I had been sympathetic towards experiences far out of my scope. My arms were always open for embrace, my head was always open to another perspective, but my soul was guarding my heart from digesting more than I could stomach.

Then it happened.

One day, I opened my eyes and realized that she was a living, breathing reminder of everything I had already overcome. She had the demeanor of a human, but the behaviour of what used to be my undefeated demons.

I was at the end of my tether, a tether I didn’t even know existed — perhaps very few people had ever dared reach it. Even fewer lacked the cognizance to know where my line lay.

But she, I suppose, fell into that category of “one of the fewer”.

I confronted her, of course, regarding the levels of disrespect radiating like Venus’ sulfuric acid — she didn’t “mean to”, she just couldn’t “help it”. Apparently it was my fault for letting her speak in that manner, for not defending myself.

Well my apologies for choosing to rise above the need to be unnecessarily defensive.

I took her advice, nonetheless, to prove a point. I “defended myself” by not taking blame for other people’s transgressions. This was, incidentally, viewed as “interrupting” and “not letting the other person finish speaking.” (Rambling, honestly).

Well my apologies for having self-respect and guiding a conversation instead of enabling validation. 

My tether.

How did I even let it go on so long?

Simple.

I’ve been there before.

I’ve been in her shoes before. Those juvenile, self-centered, self-indulged, narcissistic, insecure, egotistic, defensive, over-analytical, paranoid, anxious shoes.

I’ve worn something like that.

Many moons ago, but in those shoes I’ve tread those paths — climbed the mountains and rolled down cliffs, drowned in lakes and washed up on shore, broken my bones and worn them casts.

But I am not there now. Nor do I want to go back to any of it.

So when I say that I am out of sympathy, it is not selfish or uncaring. It is not callous or heartless.

It is that I will no longer allow anyone to twist something beautiful into their distorted versions of reality. I cannot fill the voids she won’t admit exist, and will not validate insecurities that are hers — not mine — to fight.

My darling, if you ever read this, I’m sorry that I’d ever let you mistake my kindness for weakness, but I’m walking away because of the strength I’ve mustered up after recovering from this battle. I can’t let you interpret my words to your advantage simply to justify the mistakes of mine you continuously repeat instead of move past. I cannot keep being the buoy you cling to when you get stranded at sea, repeatedly. It’s time for you to pull your own weight — I’ve left you with enough care packages and tools to sift through, but it’s up to you to figure out how to use them. 

You’re on your own, darling, but in a way that you need right now. 

I’ll see you on the other side.
Hope you make it out alive.

Signed with the kind of love you’ve yet to understand, 


MG

Greatness

My dearest darling,

For the longest time I have kept you sheltered and kept you protected. I have hidden you in the crevices deep below the depths, beyond where even I myself dare not reach.

But I have listened to the echoes within the silence, riveting from your soul and out of my hands. I have heard your yearn for greatness, your desire, your push, your drive, your motivation. You want to leave a legacy.

I tell you, my dearest, what it is that makes you great.

Your “greatness” was never about you. What makes you great, is that you have those who stand behind you, who stand beside you, who stand with you through thick and thin, sun and rain. What makes you great, is that you are merely a reflection, an embodiment, of those you have chosen to place in your life.

You encompass all that they are, and in turn, envelop them with the love you have received. My dearest, you do not take more than you are willing to give; and you do not give more than you get.

I know you — you knew me once, but I…I know…you

My dearest, you are destined to be great, and remember… that it is never about you, rather it is about how you reflect all that has been instilled in you. Your influences are what make…you.

Remember this, darling, remember…you…

that continuous memory legacy in the making.

MG

Be not afraid of greatness.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness,
and others have greatness thrust upon them.
~William Shakespeare~

Advice to My Younger Self

Dear younger self,

I am going to write this from the perspective of an older self that you have only recently come to understand.

There was a time you thought you knew it all, m’dear, you thought you had it all figured out. Much of it owed to what those around you allowed you to believe; they put you on that pedestal you never asked for, gave you the attention you never felt you deserved, treated you with their version of “respect”.

Young self, you must understand one thing, not everyone is like you. Yes, you’re self-indulged, but they, m’dear, they are self-absorbed. They’re too caught up in the busyness of their own lives to appreciate all you have to offer. So hold onto some of it, dear, don’t give all of it away.

You invite them into your world, but you have yet to discover the galaxies inside of you. They know not of these universes that you, too, are unaware of at this moment, but they see the light shine through and are drawn to it.

You can welcome them, m’dear, you were born to be hospitable. You were born with arms longer than the average human, arms that reach around the world and embrace the souls that are in genuine need of touching. It’s what you do, because of the kindness, grace, and mercy that has gotten you this far. So don’t take it for granted, m’dear. Hold onto that.

One day, you will reach a realization that you can choose who to let in — yes. everyone who enters deserves respect and sincerity, but not everyone will choose to stay. And for that reason, my young self, know your boundaries and accept your limits. Know your role in their lives, and accept that you can’t be a saviour to your entire world.

Sometimes, transformation does begin by letting go, by pushing yourself off the cliff that was once your comfort zone, your nest.

One day, m’dear, you will meet someone who can and will do for you all that you’ve done for others. Someone who will look at you, appreciate you, and not want to let you go. Someone who not only has that desire, but also that willpower.

So for now, m’dear, do not rush. Don’t be that impulsive naive self that got you into the wreck in the first place. The wreck was so long ago anyway, it may as well be a divers’ hub by now. Swim away, m’dear. There’s nothing more you can do than you’ve already done to atone for the atrocities of your past.

I am that future you never dared to dream of, m’dear. That future is now present.

Embrace it, love. It’s time to stop surviving the storm and start thriving from what the waves have washed ashore.

Now that you’ve learned to shield yourself from waves and breathe underwater, how about moving on up and learn to ride that wave?

 

 

MG

 

 

 

 

Time

To you,

I write this because I can articulate with my hands better than the occasional eloquence that springs from these lips of mine.

Alas, I shall get straight to what I want to say.

You.

You entered my life unexpectedly, into my (unbeknown to me) open doors. That spark, that chemistry, that depth felt in an instant.

I knew.

But I thought that perception was jaded and one-sided.

So time went by as the seconds passed, the globe spun circles around the sun, and the calendar slowly lost its weight as the pages gently dropped.

Time, that strange essence combining both everything and nothing, a unity of dissonance and resonance. Distance and resistance.

Time, a best friend and a worst enemy. ‘Tis time that mends, but also breaks. ‘Tis time that yearns, but also contains.

Time.

Much like snowflakes in the middle of summer, or the ray of sunshine on a cold winters’ day; a rarity, a phenomena.

Time was all that was needed. My love, haven’t you heard? Time is infinite… you have it yet you don’t… because, my love…time does not exist.

All that matter-ializes within time is reality, when dreams and reality meet, and all that was once mundane suddenly encompasses new sensations.

That, m’dear, that is the beauty of it all.

You.

MG

I Love Vous: On Polyamory

I thought I could reign it in and unify all of it, write to you, and be able to say, “Yes, it’s you.”

It’s always you, isn’t it? And yet…it never is. But the French had it right all along…I love…vous. (English equivalent: “yous”)

To you, my darling,
I miss you. It started as a simple “I enjoy your company, and you mine, why not get together and have a great time…” But it’s become a bit more that. Just a bit. Not to say I feel incomplete or inadequate without you. Not even the memories or history. I miss the possibilities. I miss when our innocence wasn’t jaded by fragments of whatever future we thought we had to stress over, when we made plans that felt more like dreams than setting concrete.
I miss when you wanted me…enough to actually show it. I miss when “making an effort” for me was never “effort”, when I was a desire not an obligation. I miss…the possibility of us.

To you, my love,
I love you. But I’ll never tell you that, at least, not sober. I love you, not in the cliche “I want to spend the rest of my life with you” kind of way — I’m not romantically idealistic.
But I love you. The you I had gotten to know, however briefly, however endless that  fickle moment seemed…but the you I love…is…unbeknown to anyone but myself. The you I love, only I have seen. No one knows you…except you and I. That “you”, that’s who I love. It is also why I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life with you…much as I adore you, the combination of us would simply explode. We’re just… too much together.
I’ll love you anyway, but I’m not going to do anything about it.

To you, my sweetheart,
You’re very likeable. I hope you know that. Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. You’re that flux between enjoying the attention but hating the repercussions. You want me to commit, but you don’t want to reciprocate. You want to commit, but you’re scared I’ll walk away. So you cling to them instead, the others who don’t seem to like each other very much…well…they probably wouldn’t, if they’d known about each other. But they don’t. And I do. Out of all of us, I’m the only one actually loving you being you. Selflessly entertained by the life you lead, knowing that simply being the desirable part of it is all I’d ever wanted. Keep being you, sweetheart, you’re amazing.

To you, my dearest,
I don’t know how you made it in. No, I don’t know why I let you in. All I know is that I made room for you, and then you disappeared. Then reappeared, wriggled your way in, got comfortable, and disappeared again. You’ve taught me not to see it as a game, to embrace it as your reality, the way you do things. It’s your “expression”. You create an illusion — for us, for them.
Never knowing where you stand, jumping on and off the pedestal they placed you on — “just because you can“, might I add — but, my dear, you do it, for all of us who wish we could.  Your absence leaves behind a presence, my dearest, and it’s one that manages to mesmerize, even from a distance. That’s you, dear, and I get it…it’s you who has yet to understand you

To you, my beloved,
We need to talk.

I love vous.

MG

(Creative writing: Polyamory)

Memory, or Dream?

To You:

I never did get around to telling you why I was disappointed, did I? I suppose you never stuck around long enough to realize I actually am capable of emotions. At least, I seem to have discovered this capacity to be true.

You did ask what it was I wanted. I wanted to see you write, to be a part of the process and not apart from it. I didn’t want to merely be the “muse” that inspired your creations, I wanted to be the brush you dipped into the ink.

I watched as you traded your soul for your body; your writing for your running. One could only hope you were merely creating the experiences you would later on depict. I realized, perhaps whatever we were was that experience you never knew existed…

But, I was disappointed, nonetheless, for you were so fixated on being a result that you skipped the entire process of us.

Pain, that’s inevitable. It’s part of life. Not the only part, of course, just the part that motivates people like you to write. Your projection of me was the pain you sought; loving me was the provocation you were looking for since you discovered your wellspring of creativity. It was the darkness you needed after being in the sun too long. Somehow along the way, you lost your torch, so you ran ‘soon as the shadows moved with the winds.

Anger, however, that was on me. That was my storm. I was looking for that provocation, knowing that your childlike desire for a utopian creation would most definitely invoke my rage. Why? Because for me, growing up was never a choice. My innocence was stripped from me the moment I could put two syllables together and figure out what words were.

Believe me, innocence of the mind is not something of which I am familiar. Innocence of the heart, perhaps, but mind? Nay.

And there you were, a physical representation of all that I had left behind, a version of my younger self that you had chosen to portray in my present. A self I thought was history. There you stood.

Still, I write this now, after all this time, because being both blessed and cursed with an infallible experiential memory renders you an experience I cannot forget.

Cannot, and also choose not to try.

While I do miss the memories we only halfway created, darling, I find it hard to miss you. What disappoints me, love, is that…

…I never knew you.

Not the way I wanted to anyway, you never let me. You feared me more than you loved me, and ran though there was nothing to fear. By the time you discovered I’m actually harmless, your shoes were so worn and torn that you wondered if it was even worth coming back. To me.

And yet here we are, after all this time, still writing, still breathing the same air, still sharing the same city space — that unrefined space of a place you know I can only call home. Here we are, after months, and all my unspoken feelings and untold truths spill like word vomit, time and time again. Here we are; here I am, still writing. Still thinking of you. Still loving you.

Still wondering…if your existence is a memory or a dream…

I miss…the you I never knew.

MG

P.S. HB, R.

Write Truth with Love

“Write it with love,” I kept telling myself as I nervously tried to muster up the words. Writing from the heart was never hard until I realized how much there is to say, and yet so few words to convey. Perhaps that’s why I resort to poetry, it’s the direct link to the heart, to the unfiltered emotion, without the facade and masquerade of human conditioned behaviour. Socially appropriated responses, as they call it nowadays. Nonetheless, here I sit past sunset, wondering how to best express the wondrous and astounding experience I have been having since the day our eyes met. It seems so simple, when I pen it in rhyme, but why, oh why, do words evade when I want to say more than just…I love you…

Dear Darling,

I write this to you only hoping, praying, that you read this, at some point. Preferably soon would be nice. Our journey together is one of the most beautiful paths I’ve ever taken, especially because it’s with you. I’m not there physically, don’t quite consciously know why, yet somehow emotionally understand. Somehow, I am there, always, in the way that you need me to be, want me to be. I love you for that, for letting me love you. Remember that conversation we had, about “of the many ways to say I love you”? I remember that. I remember all our conversations.

But of all the ways to say “I love you”, you said it best. You said it in your words, in your actions, in your presence as well as in your silence. I only ever wanted to show you that, but became so tangled up in everything else that was going on; all the excitement, the transitions, the thrill and exhilaration of being in your company. I was careless, many times, I slipped up, and I made mistakes. I am sorry for that, truly, for the tears I’ve caused, for the pain from which I only ever wanted to shelter you. You’ve told me how happy you are now, how much you love yourself, how much you’ve grown and continue to grow. It’s like I’m seeing you see in yourself what I saw in you from the moment our eyes met. We lost and found each other amidst our chaos.

I know you find it hard to believe, almost impossible, but I knew from the start. There was something about you, when you sat opposite me, hearing the words come out of your mouth echoing my thoughts and personal reflections? Your words were/are a splittin’ image of my journey; it was uncanny. You had me hooked from the moment you let me get distracted by the tint in your eye. That flawless spark concealing worlds of words, galaxies of comets, stars falling and swirling around planets. Even writing this, I’m taken back to that universe of yours, teleporting through all of it…

Deep down, my love, I understand you, more than you realize. More than I show, sometimes. Emotions are not my forte, I did mention that, but I’m always learning. It’s me, darling, and you have taught me so much. Simply by being who you are, by being here with me, you have taught me lessons in life that I have only ever dreamed of learning. You have given me patience and self-discipline. Two lessons most around me have spend years trying to drill into me. But that’s all you, darling, you inspired me to breathe, to slow down in a way that I didn’t even realize I could. In a way that I very much needed.

You showed me a side of myself I had long since forgotten, a gentle compassion in me that you’d managed to silently resurrect.

My love, you are so much more to me than you realize. Your presence in my life, however you choose it to be, has been one of the reasons I’ve managed to shake of the cocoon that was jading my vision for the past few years. You, simply by showing me that you exist, have worked miracles in my life. It is for this reason that I want to thank you, for growing me, for pushing me into a new realm where you and I can coexist simultaneously while still physically living our human realities. I don’t know how you do it, and suppose a magician never reveals a secret.

I’m no magician, but I do have a secret. A secret that I would happily REveAL if you want.

Truthfully, darling, I hope you realize that it has always been you.

Just you.

What you and I have…this is beyond love. It’s something deeper. I know you know that. I love you, and so much more than just love…You are amazing. We are amazing. This journey; us.

Us…The story that writes itself…

M.G.

Dear Skye

Hi all,

I’ve been working on a short-story series called Dear Skye. It is a compilation of fictional letters and poems from Ash to Skye, two characters, one of whom may or may not still be around. It is open to readers’ interpretation. Enjoy!

Click here to read Dear Skye on Wattpad

 

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