feeling like the sunset

An orange/red Sunset viewed from Verbier, Swit...
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This one was written to a tune. I’ll let the words speak for themselves for now. I just miss the feeling of the sunset.

feel the breeze
as the wind
catches your hair
on the warm sandy beach
sometimes memories stay

but like the sunset
spelling beauty
orange red
on the surface
of the blue ocean drifting
into the night

some things were meant to stay
some things were meant to go away
goodbyes are like the sunlight fading
but only a while
for the dawn
will embrace
your face…

Regret and “the Route not Taken.”

What if everything had gone rightly if I had taken another route or for that matter, decisions? Would all the complexities now be disintegrated in thin air and disappear? Would everything sail smoothly? Are the storms happening now the result of not taking the route proposed as the “if” factor?

These are just reflections whenever I think about the present and a space in time where I could have chosen a different route rather than the one I am in now. Sometimes we all come to a point where we reminiscent about this “space in time where one could have chosen a different route.” While we infuse that route not taken with possibilities, it is logical that we defuse any form of optimism in the present road we are living in.

But why do we do that?

Why is it tolerable to believe in being optimistic about “what if”? And not the present?

It’s probably because we decide to create a landscape that is free from probabilities or mishaps, as if that “route not taken,” would have been the perfect place where negativity ceases to exist and only good things come and follow.

But that is to create an imaginary world where fiction becomes a perverted dimension of an over-realized realm where reality becomes an idea that the mind takes control of. In other words, we become gods of that realm I called “the route not taken” whenever we think of “if only we took a different route, this will not happen and everything would have been OK.”

And because of this, we wallow in regret about the present reality we live in. We become slaves to the imaginary heaven we though existed in the “route not taken.”

That imaginary dimension, if we laden it with the colors of reality, we would open it up to a realistic outlook. Sure, the present might be flawed and whatever that is bad, had happened, by one taking the present route. But that does not mean the imaginary dimension which we base our regrets on has no form of probabilities of the negative. If we play by realistic expectations, it is possible that even if one had taken the other route, both the possibility of the positive and negative still exists, anything can happen. For we cannot control the landscape of reality. Although we have the power of making decisions, whatever it is, we have to be open to both the possibility of bad and good. Shit happens, shit also does not happen.

So, whether we mope and regret of why we chose this road and not that, the important thing to note is that, we can only imagine a dim light of how reality looks the the space of “the road not taken.” Because  that is all we can conjure from it. The important thing for us to focus on is the present, thinking about the possibilities of how we are to live and survive in the present, the now.

We should gather most of our imaginations and refocus it on the now, because we cannot salvage anything from the past, the things that time has erased to be lived in physical existence, but we still can salvage some form of the present and the future.

 

If I asked a woman

If I asked a woman to be my wife
We might be a year or so in our relationship
I’m sure there were times I made her cry
And sometimes I wouldn’t know why

She would be like the feel of being trapped in a mystical field
Blooming bright in the night
A light tower
Calling my name
Amid the storm

The thought of blurting out the question
And forking out money for the perfect circle
Laced in gold
In the thought of her imaginary rejection
Why would I murder myself with this type of reflection?

It’s probably the old ghost whispering
Making known the grave with my name
It’s probably knives I forgot to pull out
Old wounds in the heart

If I ever ask a woman to be my wife
We might be a year of so in our relationship
It would be good for her sake
to put my old self to sleep.

remembering rightly

We cannot change what others think about us, but we can change what we think about ourselves.

We cannot steal another’s memories about us, but we can try to remember others differently.

As much as we’d like to erase the past, we are wired to remember, and the past will always be there, coming and reminding us in flashbacks.

But it’s better to not let the past rule our future. Let the past be cemented in flashbacks, but not embodied realities that determine whatever may come next. Like when the past tells us about our destiny.

To remember rightly the past, is to know that time is something fluid and moving, and whatever was is now buried, we mourn it’s passing and move on.

We cherish it’s short blessing and make toasts to what made our lives once filled with joys. We hurt whenever we think about how painful some ordeals were. The fact is that the past is not just filled with one form of narrative, or one theme. It’s mixed with both good times and bad. To remember rightly is to hold both these tensions together. Not everything in the past was a mistake, made by us or others. We redeem some form of the past by remembering that some were indeed good. And whatever was that hurt become goads that help us change into better people.

 

Whisper me

Whisper me…
words that would uplift the sordid state I’m in

Whisper me…
blue skies and not the storms reminding me on the places I’ve been

Whisper me…
a light that would peer a path away from darkness

Whisper me…
away from enslavement that states its residence in the room i pathetically call an apartment

But whisper me,
more that just vain romanticized hope,
sugar coated words
that would drive me to the slope…

now whisper me tomorrow
and maybe a new day
to peer away all that was before
To smell again the the dew of the morning
and look to see what the new it has in store.

Note: I wrote this on the 7th of September 2009. Thought I would post it here today.

Another way of talking about “the end”

I hide my self in words that are projected on the side of being intellectual. As much as I love the discipline of writing, I have to confess sometimes that it is the mask I’m wearing now to hide away scars that seem too difficult to hide. I immerse myself in words constructed, not saying I’m good but, I push myself to reach a certain stage where I can pride myself at something I’ve created or made right from the top of my head. But as soon as the euphoria subsides, I’m left reeling in a woeful state of my own self deception. I dream of people applauding, and nodding, resonate with what I’ve written. But when I’m all alone and come back to my senses that emptiness in me is like a ghost haunting, when I’m left alone with my thoughts.

I have to say that love and relationships just makes me scratch my head. I know people might come up to me and say that there are still plenty of fish out there but they don’t understand my hurt. Some tell me to just get over it, you can, and God can. Though they mean well in some ways but hey, please understand that emotional stuff when met with insensitive ‘encouragements’ like that are voices from hell. I just tell them it will take time. You can’t fast forward the night time so it turns day. If in reality it takes some hours to welcome the sun to shine, what more when it happens inside someone?

It doesn’t mean that I’m in the state of depression 24/7. It comes and it goes as it likes. It helps when I’m writing to mend bridges of emotions that won’t go away and color them in poetry. I just wish sometimes that emotions we keep inside would just stay stuck on platforms we write on. Not for them to well up inside. But I get this feeling that I depend too much in writing and thinking and reading that they become like stuff I need to repress what’s inside. If at times what you read becomes brilliant, it ever goes in that direction, it’s never written by someone who has everything all worked out in their life. I’ll always have this scar to deal with. Call me a wimp when it comes to emotional struggles, but regardless of how we think we can overcome them, the truth of the matter is they will always be there, however we try to deny the fact that we have buried them.

I struggle with pain, but I have to remind myself that, it does not spell “the end.”

Hope

This is a beautiful haunting parable of hope. Sometimes stories and parables lead us to shores of happy ending but this one has an ending that rings true to how in real life we face suffering and death and find comfort for our loss. The ending of the parable does not depict the mother gaining back her son but knowing that pain is not her’s alone to bear. But I’ll leave the thoughts of how this parable speaks to you on it’s own.