Speechless and overwhelmed

The closest thing to living twice is knowing that your death and your happiness is also another person’s.

Of all the foreign new feelings, it is taking me the longest to adjust to feeling loved. To be pulled to stay another 30 minutes, to hug and kiss one more time, I don’t think words provide a better expression of love. I remembered a picture that I saw in a video game a few years ago. It showed a guy being pulled by a girl, as he tried to put down his glass of wine. I remembered feeling bitter sadness. What I mean is sadness that is caused not only by deprivation but by jealousy as well.

It feels as if I passed a long test of patience, and I was finally rewarded. Not just since being a teenager, but since being a kid when my parents felt as adversaries most of the time. As if all the cheesy repetitive words of encouragement became true all at once. The same words of encouragement that I criticized in-depth and rejected for being generic, inaccurate, and insincere.

I overthink every date: what to say, and more importantly, what to wait much much later before saying. Yet, every time it seems to go in the best direction regardless of my plans. I am not often speechless. But I write today for the same reasons that I started the blog: having too many thoughts and feelings. Maybe the only reason my writing improved over the years is that I understood what I felt as time went by.

These days, my feelings are new and foreign. I struggle, as I did a few years ago, to express them. I feel numb for a few days after we meet. I remember and I feel, but I struggle to conjure up more than the generic “I love her”. It is overwhelming, and I grieve for the day it stops being so.

Painting-World-2
Image source: Braid (a video game)
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In an airplane, again

For the first time in as long as I remember, I boarded the plane with something to lose. This time, my fear of planes was magnified by real consequences. This time, I wasn’t undecided about whether it would be bad if my fear came true.

I did have something to lose. It was that someone would cry if I died, not because death is sad but because they would miss me. She would miss what I used to say and what I used to do. That was the treasure that I didn’t want to lose.

I looked at children and the elderly, and I felt relieved. I don’t know why it’s always easier for me to expect God’s mercy on others, but not on myself. Ascending to the plane alone would be like descending into a tomb. And I feel safer if the plane is full with more reasons for God to guard the plane.

My growth is always more noticeable when I fly. Every time I rise above the clouds I see my life as a distant neutral observer who’s aggregating evaluations of my life. I feel empty, and sad just by noticing the empty feeling.

I am fully convinced that traveling the world is not one of my goals in life. I want my life to be one, not the aggregation of many smaller lives. I want to stay home, especially now that home is pleasant.
I have something to lose, and it’s my life at home.

To you, my treasure.
To you, although you don’t read this: I love you.

A vivid description of a special night

Of all the memories of that perfect night, I loved when she smiled as I switched looking from her left eye to the other.
Her smile answered what I didn’t dare to ask, at a night where she couldn’t look prettier, and I couldn’t be more into her.
My own eyes were so full of her, and I only looked away to surprise myself when I look at her again.
The mirror in the room was well-placed, it provided distraction. It gave a natural reason to break the eye-contact once in a while. 

I felt lucky, and though I try to earn what I have, she was a gift. As she blushed and smiled, as I saw on her body the effects of what she felt for me, I felt a foreign feeling.
As I alternated between staring and looking away, I also alternated between staring because I enjoyed seeing her eyes and staring purposefully.

I felt a foreign feeling of sufficiency and gratitude. Sufficiency in knowing that what I have is all I need to be happy. Gratitude in knowing that what I have was not always earned, but sometimes given.
I don’t want to label what we have, and verify if we meet that label or not. But she makes me happy to live today, and excited to be happy tomorrow.
It felt as if that moment alone could suffice to explain why life is good, despite the many terrible things. In fact, it seemed that terrible things, like death, are only terrible because they prevent moments like that one.

As I look over the pictures, I feel happy especially because I seem to make her happy (her unforgettable smile as she wore the ring).

My dear, I say to you in your absence what I have already said to you in your presence:

You’re perfect,
I am lucky to have you,
may we live long together.

 

Another ultimatum

I don’t have anything more to say. I’ve written many drafts but I quickly noticed how they add nothing to what I’ve written before.
It’s another piece of evidence that I have been thinking the same way for the last few years.

The first major independent decision I made in my life I regretted. The most crucial of the things I’ve lost was my confidence.
I remember wanting to be at school just because I hated home, and wanting to be at home because I hated school. At the age of 18, after many years of thinking, I traveled to study abroad. That didn’t solve anything. In fact, it made my problems feel inescapable; I couldn’t “leave” my problems and travel away.

There were many ultimatums I have given myself. I wrote: “I will do my best effort, but if I don’t achieve X in Y days then I’ll have to make big changes.” Most ultimatums weren’t met, and I learned to save myself the paperwork.
There’s one thing I was always ashamed to admit. I tried not to say it or write, because as long as its only in my mind it could be untrue. I always wonder how different my life would have been if I was born in another random place. I can’t help but think my life would have been better.

The last few months I have been trying to slowly rebuild my confidence. The first step I took was to not think about the past. In that spirit, I believe I must stop writing in this blog. Because as soon as open the page, I get a heavy feeling as I remember the past all at once. I hoped I could write something very good as a final post, but I couldn’t. I really had nothing more to say.

There maybe some unpublished drafts that I will polish and publish, but I hope to focus more on the future.

An end before the end

I came to the conclusion that I have to try something else that’s different from what I have been doing for the last few years. But in order to make a great effort, I believe it is necessary to put an end to this blog. At least to symbolize my focus on the future, not the past.

There isn’t a single moment in my past that I wish I could relive. Though this sounds exaggerated, I assure you that I have thought excessively before saying that. Between the things I wrote here, and the things that happened before the blog, there are enough reasons to aim for something different in the future.

The best thing that could happen is that I would forget about the blog and everything that happened. I would have too many new memories to remember everything. Then, when I’m old, I will look it up and read it. Hopefully, in comparison with my better memories, everything in the blog would seem so distant. Hopefully, it would seem as if this blog was written by someone I don’t know but I sympathize with.

The worst thing that could happen is that everything will repeat, and I will just start another blog. I have an uncle that I respect who doesn’t seem to be living a good life. I see almost everyone in the family patronizing him and agreeing with whatever he says. Sometimes they would whisper to me after he leaves that he’s lost it. But he seems sane to me whenever I talk to him, and I always tell them that I don’t get it. I fear that one day they would treat me the same way they treat him (maybe it has happened already).

I am becoming 25 years old; I had to think for a bit to calculate how old I should be. I think I’ll write a few more posts. There are a few things I want to bury in this blog, and hopefully leave here forever. I’ll end the blog with the post I’ll write on my upcoming birthday.

I believe all is well

It is convenient to have a fear of flying when you can’t travel anyway.
All that I will tell myself (and remember in the future) is that I’m not leaving. There will be no major reason; I couldn’t and I (possibly) wouldn’t want to if I could.

It feels familiar. That’s how I spent most of my young life: watching movies, and reading about other places. Yet when I realized I couldn’t travel abroad as a teenager, I began to take note of what would repulse me about what happens “over there”.

I am little uneasy that I am growing into my older self. Growth isn’t supposed to be in circles. You’re supposed to learn and learn until you know almost everything you need to know. So by the time you’re old, everything would seem repetitive and boring because you know everything.

A few days ago, I woke up feeling terrible. I knew I had bad dreams, but I didn’t remember anything. It was helpless misery, and for the whole day I was feeling terrible for nothing that I have committed. It was one of the worst feelings.

I promised myself that I will stop my old habit of believing in the least optimistic view on things. I planned to do it, at least just to show that I’m growing in the traditional sense; growth by not being your past self.
But I’m starting to form an explanation that ties everything together.

There will be many “maybe”s in the next sentences. I don’t want to break my promise, so I’ll just express doubts that I don’t fully believe.

I couldn’t study abroad, that’s the fact.
Maybe my fear of flight is a tool I used to not feel helpless misery. Maybe in those terrible unknown dreams I was just traveling the world. Maybe I haven’t grown in all those years. Maybe I don’t know how to handle this failure better than my 15 year old self.

Becoming wiser

 

I think wise people are all the same, and I think anyone with that many experiences will converge to the same wisdom. An averaged-out boring template of a person. An indifference by knowing happiness will be followed by misery. A calmness by knowing misery will be followed by happiness. But the greatest wisdom is that little evil overcomes great good, and there always is little evil in the world. There is an atom of depression in every wise person.

I am too old to lie to myself, but young enough to reject others’ lies. Most of the potential is gone. I have acquired some wisdom, if only by the sheer number of my unsuccessful attempts. But can an old man push a boulder he couldn’t push in his youth?

Maybe this is the start of my acceptance; this is admittance. With an amount of honesty that only a wise person can have, I say that I cannot look in the mirror and say, even unconfidently, that there is much potential left.

 

“Everything in its right place”

It took only a few days, a couple of days to be exact, for everything to be back the way it used. The phrase I hoped to avoid using is that everything is back to its right place.

I don’t where the feeling that I shouldn’t be alive comes from, but I’ve had it for as long as I remember. Even if it went away, I wouldn’t know how to live otherwise.

It amazes me how I can have the slightest amount of confidence. Maybe that is how confidence works: you are confident as long as you are certain. It doesn’t matter what you are certain of.

It gets annoying to realize the right response only after the window for it has passed. But it is nothing compared to the helplessness of thinking that it has always been out of my hands. The very core of my identity is flawed, and it has always been that way.

It feels more helpless to see that flaw in the eyes of others. When your mistakes are immediately forgiven, and when you are not expected to be any better. I sometimes wonder how many people who know me looked at me and thought to themselves: “I have so much to be grateful for” in the same way that statement is said when looking at terminally ill people.

It’s me against them, everyday. Even the closest people to me seem so distant at times. Like everything else that’s flawed in me, I notice my flaw but I cannot fix it. At times, I wish I wasn’t even able to tell when I’m doing something wrong. But I’m paranoid, and I can’t stop it.
Because I believe that the moment I stop being paranoid would be the moment I am most vulnerable for those who are plotting against me.

My mind is going away. I don’t know the medical term, but I know what I feel.

Everything good in my life I sought because I knew I had nothing else. It was one-dimensional; transcripts, awards, and any physical evidence I could find that I was good. Almost every time I am mentioned, the evidence is mentioned too. As if to balance out everything else about me. An average of two extremes.
Everything good in my life was the compensation I offered for my identity.

What I fear is that my mind will go before I have more evidence. Everything is in its right  ugly place now. But in a few years it might not be.

Thoughts of my little voice

The little voice, the slightly evil one, is speaking.
Though it’s late there’s still time. And it’s better to leave wondering about how great the future could have been, than to leave bitter about how terrible the past was.


The little voice is a young man now, and I don’t know if I can beat him in his prime and in my disciplined apathy.
I used to be a better debater. My most sensible argument was that difficulty is the price of greatness. Suffer now to rest later, and it’s better to have the last laugh.

But the voice is telling me a different narrative.
A man eating pebbles, and saving the cake he has for the end of the year. He wanted to earn the cake and be deserving of it. By the time he earned it, his stomach was so hardened; it craved nothing but pebbles. The cake, it was rotten and filled with bugs by then.

The plug is pulled on those who can’t experience life, but what about those who experience the worst of life?
No, they must live to preserve others. To give happiness, something they don’t have, to those who have hope. They spend the rest of their existence like that, mere objects.
The plug isn’t pulled when the patient is ready to die, but when the decision-maker feels less bothered by it.

The brave ones are in a better place, the cowardly keep waiting for something unknown at a time unknown.

If I die a miserable bitter old man, heaven will have to exist just before I die.

Airplanes, the worst of me, and the best of others

I have a developed a technique for overcoming my fear of airplanes. I look at the laughing children. I look the elderly. I look at the lovers and the loved ones. I conclude that no good force would allow this plane to fall, not even as a punishment for my inherent evilness.
I conclude that even if the plane did fall, I would grieve the people who had more to lose than myself.

Maybe what I fear isn’t the physical part of flying, but the memories I have in airplanes. It seems every crucial moment in my life involved leaving someone or something.
I remember the tears that forced themselves out of the face I held calm, as I left home back to college. I pretended to be sick and asked my older brother to stop at a clinic on our way to the airport. I wished they would say I had cancer, so that I could quit school and stay home without feeling like a failure.
I remember the interview with the big company. I remember saying to myself as they showed us around their building: “If everything I’ve been through was the price to get here, then I’ll gladly accept it.” The captain flew over the city and away, and my final share of that place was seeing it from afar. Nothing professional about a man with a crumbled suit and crushed pride.

But, for what it’s worth, I’ve never cried over the same cause twice. Leaving familiar places get less upsetting after a while. This is what the optimistic would call grit and perseverance. I think that’s exactly what I fear; not death, but the loss of life. With every flight I take, part of me is lost. The unfortunate way to become strong is to leave the weaker parts behind forever.