Be kind, be meek.
(related — “Kindness is Not Weakness” by MG )
Be kind, be meek.
(related — “Kindness is Not Weakness” by MG )
(This ramble rambles on a little, beware.)
So what that I used to be more extroverted and now I’m more introverted? So what that I used to care about the material world and now I care about the metaphysical one? So what that my room is chaotic when the wars in my head have finally subsided?
Yes, I know that every day is a blessing and a stepping stone towards the future. I know that what happened in the past is a reflection of what I once thought was important. I know that history is a representation of how large our complacent, arrogant egos measured compared to each new tomorrow.
And I know that the future is only influenced by what we do today, but it is in no way defined or determined.
Destiny is never “one goal” but a series of different choices we make in order to arrive at a destination we gear towards — most of the time, anyway.
Yes, unexpected occurrences are a part of life, things change and those inconsistencies sometimes affect our rhythms. But I suppose growing up is merely a compilation of learning how to account for differences — knowing how to mold ourselves into situations that are out of our control.
We can’t change reality, but we can change how we respond to it. We can’t always get what we want, but we can generally strive for our needs. “Wants” and desires are preferences, they are nothing more than what we’ve been feeding our egos this whole time. Needs, on the other hand, are the aspects that keep us physically and mentally in check. The rest falls into place as long as these aspects are regulated.
With all these regimented policies I’ve made for myself, committing to them has led to a freedom I was always fighting for but had no idea what it looked like until I attained it.
Yes, I’m freer than I was but not as free as I can be.
Freedom to me? Free of anxiety, of anger, of rage, of pain. Free of impulsivity, of disparity within myself. Free of unnecessary desire, of irrational delusions. Free, but still with a few remnants to de-clutter. I mean, if I did it all at once, there’d be nothing left to do. So why the rush? It’s not like I’m trying to prove anything to anyone, so why be impulsive about it?
I used to be in a rush to grow-up, but now that I’m a little bit more “grown’, one thing I learned along the way is that you can’t rush growth.
What you can rush though, is getting your work done before the due dates and paying bills on time. Other than that… there is really… no…….. r..u….sh……………
A letter to you, darling,
Since your mysterious disappearance, a lot has happened and changed. Not just externally, those are almost expected, but intrinsic transformation beyond even my wildest of imaginations.
It has been a year of adventure, of exploration, of growth. A few days ago, these words came to me and many unanswered questions finally found their resting places.
While I’ve always known that ego has been my greatest challenge in life, meeting you is what taught me to stop leaning on it. To stop leaning on my own understanding and perception of reality. You and I had a few brief and deep conversations, we connected on a level that not many can do so naturally. There was definitely a form of chemistry between us, yet neither of us seemed to know what to do about it.
I battled myself for months, deliberating whether or not to make a move or contact you. I wanted to, each and every day.
But I knew that what you deserved, what you needed, and the type of understanding that you required was beyond my capabilities at the time. Much as I wanted to be strong enough for you emotionally, much as I wanted to give you the space you needed to grow, I couldn’t…
…because space is not a luxury I’ve been blessed with until more recently, and thus could not give what I did not have.
For this, I apologize, sincerely. I am sorry that I couldn’t give you what you asked for, that I couldn’t be who you needed me to be, and that I couldn’t see what it was you were trying to show.
Having come to terms with a neurological condition in recent years, learning how to integrate in an overwhelmingly temporary world, and moving past a series of repeated traumas in a few years whilst refusing to be victimized is honestly not an easy feat. Not easy, but still possible.
When we met, I was coming out of a dark hole, still crawling back to life. You met me when I was battered and bruised, torn and tethered. When I was nothing but a shriveled up patient in recovery who had just taken off a cast and had yet to relearn the functionality of those decayed muscles.
When we met, I was still in metaphorical rags.
I can understand why you left; I must’ve looked like a zombie coming after your brains. Maybe I was, figuratively speaking…
It was your soul.
It was your beautiful soul that drew me to you in the first place. I’d been living without one for so long that your radiance was an inevitable magnet to me; that bright light you see as you leave the tunnel of darkness.
I followed the light. I followed you…
By the time I’d finally made it out of the tunnel, you were gone!
Lost and displaced I was for a while, calling out to you and reaching out, not knowing why you’d disappeared.
Until now, I never figured it out. But I do love you, in the way you asked me to…
You wanted to be loved like the sun: from a distance, your light is lasting and appreciated. Up close, your passion burns so hot that you accidentally hurt those who overstep those boundaries. You pull away to protect the ones you love, not because you’re avoiding them, but because you want to keep them safe.
You, more than anyone, know your passions like no one else.
For that reason, you live your life the way you do, nomadic as a passenger. You don’t want to burden others because you know you can’t take on theirs either, yet you want to be loved nonetheless.
You deserve to be loved.
It has taken us this much distance for me to finally understand that. To understand how you want to be loved.
That, darling, is the love I can give you, because I don’t love anyone with the intention of ever “getting over” the person.
If I choose to love, then that love lasts; it doesn’t disappear, it merely transforms.
I do love you in the way you asked; it may not be what I had expected of myself, but it is what it is.
From the soul,
(Creative writing: May 2009 – when it all began)
Perhaps there was nothing wrong with her to begin with, and she was just as normal as everyone else. But maybe it was her honesty that landed her where she was now—a rut. All that she once represented, all that she once was, the person she used to be, all left behind with the rest of her past. Her memories are what they are—memories. None of it the reality of now, rather a fragment of the past she carries around with caution.
No one can explain her, no one understands her. No one can love her to the capacity she does. She’s alone, but not. Thrown into this place she couldn’t comprehend, this place she could never absorb, she sits in wonder. She watches as the cars go by, as people fall into the deep abyss of love. She watches as people don’t realize they’re being watched.
Life, the one big controversy waiting to erupt. Or maybe, just maybe, it already has. Maybe this rut she’s in is the result of being swept away by lava carrying to this state of confusion.
She watches everyone around her—no one is normal. No one conforms. No one can fully blend in with the scene. So what was she doing here on her own? Was there even an “answer” to such a question?
Tears started forming in her eyes as she unraveled the memories of her past. She wanted things to go back to the way they were. She would give up all emotions, even happiness, just so that she would never feel pain again. A long time ago, she was never happy; but a long time ago, she was whole and complete. A long time ago, she was never broken.
She had to fight back the liquidized demons they called “emotions” that were beginning to fall from her face. No, she couldn’t be weak. She couldn’t let society win. But society itself had an advantage over her. It was closing in tightly around her, entrapping her, blocking her from herself.
Outside this cage was a mirror.
Inside this mirror stood a girl with a distorted smile. She was pretty, and she was smiling. The eyes in the mirror told a story, a happy story. But as she studied this intriguing person, she realized that her hands were tied. She had no means of breaking free, but she was happy. The person in the mirror sighed. A tear drop trickled down her cheek, fell to the ground, but didn’t break. A single teardrop, so small and fragile, yet so strong it did not shatter as it hit the floor.
This girl looked away. She couldn’t bear the image of a teardrop. Looking down, she found a pool of clear water on her shoulder. She looked away. These teardrops were her memories melting, liquidizing. She couldn’t fight it anymore. She looked back at the mirror once more, at the girl who smiled and hid her tears. The girl whose hands were bound, yet didn’t struggle to break free. The girl, who could be happy.
She blinked, and turned around.
On and on she ran, looking away from anything which fueled her memories, her emotions.
Those memories, no matter how close they were to her heart…were unfinished.