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.

 

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.

Describe to me the taste of honey

Describe to me the taste of honey,
offered by the hand of your lover,
when the night is just beginning,
and the moon is just listening,
when that night is all there was and all there will be.

Describe to me the feeling of the wind,
as it moves through your lover’s hair,
as it slows and as it moves faster,
as you inhale and exhale,
as the sight of of your lover’s waving hair expresses more life than your dearest breath.

I’ll describe to you my drink, and my moonless night.

200ml of poison, that’s enough to swim in pain, but not drown.
Enough to remember, acknowledge, and forget.
And on another indeterminate night, we shall recall again.
“We will pay the price of those memories as if it has never been paid before” (1).

200ml of poison, as I remember and forget.
Human when my mind reproaches, and human when it forgives.
My utmost expression of life is enough poison to remind me that I feel.
Have I told you the worst of all things?

Doesn’t it make you a little bit sad to know that we will be dead and forgotten?
That our dead bodies offer no home for memories?
Isn’t it more crushing to those with memories of sipping honey from sweeter hands?
The grounds that we walked on will welcome others. We will lie beneath them, passed and irrelevant. The memories will live neither above the ground nor below it.

Give me a sip of honey, so that I might live miserably by choice.
The tally is many bitter moonless nights,
and it cannot be repaid, not in one life nor in many.

Even the flood can’t save a yellow plant, and even the honey can’t soften a bitter heart.
The lesser pain is in knowing what wasn’t, the greater is in knowing what won’t be.
But the consolation, the weakest consolation, is that the happy and the miserable are equal after death.

 

(1) Source: The idea of repaying the price of memories as if they haven’t been paid before is something Shakespeare mentioned in “The sonnets and a lover’s complaint”

Good things don’t happen to us, and we don’t deserve them

Today, 10 years from today, and 100 years from today are all the same.

You are only an actor in a play, what is yours is to play the assigned part well, not to choose the part (1). That’s what someone said hundreds of years ago. I find it curious that he was a slave; that he was assigned a terrible role in this play.

Really, why would a happy person bother with roles and plays?

It is curious that his quote is needed only by those with terrible parts. If I believed him, then I might as well believe that there is a special place in heaven for me. Where everything will be compensated.

I might as well believe that incredible patience is the best of qualities. I might also believe I will live forever in heaven, never bored of having everything everyone could want at all times with no purpose but being happy.

I wonder if habitants of heaven are allowed to be sad, or if they are relegated to hell if they ever feel sad. How ungrateful! How especially ungrateful to feel sad despite God’s best offering!

Maybe people with great parts can be equally miserable. But I am unsure if I only believe it because I’m clueless. Clueless of what how it feels to be happy; to be sufficient in what you have and not searching for something unknown.

Even if God offered me the choice between heaven and hell, I wouldn’t know what to choose. It would be unbearable to go to heaven, and to have every possible pleasure, but to still be miserable. It would mean that I could never even begin to comprehend happiness.
But it would be unbearable as well to go to hell. At some point, there will be a confrontation. I will have to explain to myself that after incredible patience comes infinite patience; acceptance, submission, and surrender. I will have to wonder about the possibility that I was one of those who enjoyed their lives, or one of those who went to heaven and remained happy.

It is too much to ask, even of God. It is audacious to refuse the best and the worst, and to ask for something unknown. Something that is either better than the best, worse than the worst, or something in-between.

 

(1) Source: Manual of Epictetus