An Undeniable Sadness

I don't know whether he will ever read this emotional catharsis. But it doesn't matter.  The fact is, that may be the last time I will be able to see him.

My friends would say that I am over-reacting at a major scale. How can someone you barely meet up have so much meaning in the reckless decisions you make? The only word for it would be regret.

I have never had any conversation much like the one I had with him. During the times of loneliness layered under a thick sense of optimism, he was the very few that caught my attention. Arrogant, pompous and downright haughty, he is the embodiment of everything I despise. However, there is one quality that could neutralise such acidic personality; selflessness. it is okay I guess for you to own an inordinate amount of self confidence so long as your belief or rather fight for something that is noble.

Because in life, as we mature, the vices that we own are removed from our system and the virtues that have shaped our whole being becomes purer and better. And that's what happened. Over the span of one year, this man has found heaven in hell on Earth. I met with him very few during the year. He has always been a recluse. Though I was privileged enough to actually have part of my heart stolen and finally the whole chunk of it. Because though our meetings were scarce, it showed me the saddening beauty of mankind. People change. The reason is that we learn to accept new things and let go of old ones. Soon, I will become old and just like an outdated form of technology, I will be replaced with a newer form that is capable of propelling him to another platform.

But I shouldn't be sad. As an advocate for education and the ability to develop one self, I need to be able to face the faults in my belief. That change, inevitable, should be an acceptable form of loss. And I did. Did I felt it was enough? No. Did any words that I say or any gestures I would do would ever suffice? No. Because no matter how much you plan on purging those emotions, it will never be enough. And I guess, it is better this way. To be left wanting.

His flight would be making its way to the runway now. I haven't even bought him a single gift. All those empty promises made at the terminal will now forever just be as it is. Empty.

And towards the end, just as I am about to give him one last hug, I held it tighter than I ever had. Because the person I saw before me right ta that very instance will forever be gone. And there is no way I could ever see the same person ever again. I will have to start over.

We weren't the closest of friends. He didn't know an awful lot and so did I. But we knew enough. We knew that we had to do something in this society. We knew that we need to think better. We knew that good people are hard to find in this world. We knew that we should always listen twice as much as we speak. And we know how we should help best each other.

He was grateful that I came to the airport. I was grateful he even acknowledged my entire existence. And as I faced a crossroad whereby our paths have diverged, I just have to properly send you off in order for me to find solace and closure. At least, trying to.

Thanks Irvin. May you be safe throughout this journey.

Hopefully, closing a chapter

Currently, I have seven drafts waiting to be completed, edited and published. However some how, I couldn't due to the fact of lacking real emotions lately. From fluttering infatuations and unreasoned hatred, I have felt more and more juvenile lately. I thought of posting a perspective article, but I feel that such will only be interpreted in the worst possible light by the readers.

And then I realized one thing that is causing this block. How can one reflect on things done when one does not do things?

So over the weekend, I have engaged in a volunteer session. I thought it would be a closing of the chapter of my exchange whereby everything became full circle again.

Unfortunately it left with even more questions still unresolved. And to make matters worse, I became very worrisome. I wished I could check up on them. I wished I could be the single person to say that it's going to be okay. However they don't need me. They only needed themselves.

I have become so intimate that it sound so ridiculous to be caring so much for the kids that I barely remember their names. It wouldn't be enough for me to just merely wish them well or even pray that they will turn out fine. But that is all I could muster at this hour.

I don't want them to suffer as much. I don't them to be lost. And I don't want them to feel alone. However, by saying all those things, it means that I don't want them to grow. And that is certainly unacceptable.

I can tell you a few things though, the eyes carry a lot of weight in the stories they told. They hide a thousand stories, yet afraid to be brought upon daylight due to judgement, fear and ego. Because I still have those eyes. Tired, deep and sunken.

People assume. They don't admit it. But they do. But it is not all bad. It's just that you will only realize your assumption is wrong when everything is too late. You realized that the person you thought you once knew drifting away from you were merely assumptions. The kid that you have fostered for 18 years but slowly misunderstanding his point? Assumptions again. The only way to assume right is to have perfect knowledge of the past and future. And how wonderful our situation is to be lacking both criteria?

Someday they will realize it, just have I. They will realize that they have grown so much. Some even more rapid than I could possibly imagined. They will constantly question their beliefs to the point on being a cynic. They will adapt. They will thrive; becoming better individuals who are stronger and wiser. And one fine morning, they will come across yet another crossroad; either to go back to the glorious days of the past, or move on down to the uncertainty of the future whereby the possibility of the world remain limitless.

I don't envy your position. However, we are all treading a similar path with different destinations. One thing I would say is this. Consistently remain sanguine despite the arduous and onerous path that you are taking. Hope is the only evil that remains in Pandora's Box. It prolongs pain and suffering. Hope can only be released with permission, thus ending one's suffering. But know that despite all of that, Hope is the only thing that could drive you out from the desolate place you are in.

And as I rest uneasy to ponder on the fate of my 'adik', I realized that I was in turn closing a chapter of my life.

However, the thing about chapters is that for you to go to the next page, the newer chapter can't help but to be related to the previous ones. This will definitely not be the last time I will see them. But when our paths crossed once again, I hope it would be the privilege of you teaching me the knowledge you have gained from when we last part.

When Life Imitates Art

Throughout my stressful ordeal, I have found comfort in actually solving crimes. That is to say I have spent a large partition of my time watching Sherlock rather than actually doing actual work that could have just easily lessen my burden for the week.

However, this post is not to discus how my defence mechanism is acting up again. This post is something more. It's about John Watson.

I think the secret of making a successful series is that there is this sort of relatedness between a character and the wonderful architecture of the story arch. It makes as though the viewers are living in that amazing story as well.

However, I can't help but feel a sense of attachment to him. There were so many 'Sherlock' that took up huge amounts of my time. Right now, I'm questioning why I ever did so. Was it because I was indeed lonely? Was I trying to run away? Because in the end, I've always moved away. Not because no one cared. I mean for goodness sake, I'd be dead right now if I haven't got any. However, maybe perhaps it's just I wanted to be cared in another form. One I have yet to discover.

Anyway, bottom line was that I need to rediscover myself (I've always had this fixation to applicate art into reality). I need to find my Sherlock.

Why now? Other than the fact that I finished the series, today marks the birth of two people I have grown fond before. Another one was in January. But yes, this is to commemorate those people who have filled my hours before. To prevent me from thinking too much on my own. This is to you. And if you're reading this, I want to say that I am irrevocably in debt to you for bearing with me sometimes.

Thank you for the years and happy birthday.

Under the Red, White and Blue

“I was within and without. Simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” – The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald

Unlike the book, my beginning came about in the midst of winter; cold and silent. But let’s not waste any time on the first few days of integration to a new timezone whereby I feel asleep in the most peculiar of places and times. It all started the moment where I first set foot on the stage.

The school that I was attending was doing the Great Gatsby. Little did I know how this book rings so well with the tumulus feelings that I would be going on in my life. How every character in it had been personified by the society that I lived in.

I was still in this euphoric stage of actually finding a place where I actually fit in. And though it may still be just the outer surface of the iceberg, the vast diversity in the minds of the people that I have met, though their features are just the same, in the same room is something so different than the likes that I have experienced before. For you see, though we may have different cultures, our goals and virtues in life are just about the same. It wasn’t the case of America.

And then finally, I met Gatsby. Young and beautiful, he saw me like the way I wanted to see myself. Those descriptions in the book about Gatsby could be used just as well as you could actually feel yourself floating in pure happiness from the way that smile and charm was directed at you. And what’s more was the hope that he had in himself. Pure and true.

As the days passed on I met aspiring performers, devoted Christians, homosexuals, jocks and people from the higher pedigree of the social class in high school. All of them in one tiny room behind the stage. I’ve come to finally be assimilated into the groups. Handshakes became hugs, the jokes finally becoming more and more understandable, and those inside stories becoming more and more relatable.

When the director finally casted me in the story, I didn’t have to dance, I didn’t have to read a lot of lines and I didn’t have so much time on screen. I was the butler. A friend of mine was afraid that I would be offended of such a role but it didn’t. For when the others are practicing dancing, I had the privilege of seeing the other actors understanding their roles, the crew assembling props with such detail and seeing people from afar. I saw Gatsby, Daisy, Jordan and all of them not just on stage but also portrayed in reality. And no one realised that but me. Hence, I was within and without. I assume that this event very rarely came, so I only had good thoughts of where this is all leading.

It was when I started to become integrated that I realised that as you believe in the true benevolence of God, you have to believe in the existence of the vices of the Impure. I came to know how with every optimistic ‘Hi!’ was a pessimistic outlook on one’s future and how every ‘I love you,’ was an abhorring to another person. And soon, the thoughts that I have fully constructed in my subconscious mind have been reformed to include the harsher types of people.

Though, I was still blind; believing that people are able to overcome their demons. And so came the part of me that wanted to make things right. Walking became a thing for me. I have walked in the snow, under the sun and through cold fronts. And little did I know how that might have hardened me through this journey. I was tired of not being able to do anything to make things right. And I guess this exchange allowed me to do something that could fix that. But you can only fix so much. Gatsby became such a rare event that whenever I see him I would in turn hug him really tightly as I would never know when would be the last time I would see him. I started to lose grip on myself as I have become more and more invested with Gatsby. It had become an addiction when I suddenly realised that even when I’m having a good time, I couldn’t help but to think of him.

And as the play ended, I found that the group dissipated easily. There was no unifying factor. My world became more and more toxic with more hours devoted to my journal to really relinquish those feelings. I slowly became detached and tried to cling on a few things I still believe in. I didn’t realise that I was in denial of what had just happened. The people I thought who were nice to each other became cold to the others. And as stories of elatedness decreased, stories that just slowly chipped into my belief in good faith and confidence became more and more frequent.

And then it hit me. I have become Nick Carraway and towards the end of my exchange my Gatsby had died. The hope that I harboured in others slowly evaporating. The place has truly become haunted in some ways for me. I cannot bear to see anymore destruction of the things that I held dear most. All of those characters were inside all of them. And seeing all of them unfolding was not an easy task. And as summer came, with so many unresolved conflicts, with so much unknown in this world, I have to leave the place that I have grown to love and despise. It was definitely hard to leave not because I had so much memories in there but rather I was afraid that if I were ever to return, things would change so much to the point that I wouldn’t be able to recognise any of it. I’m afraid that the things that were left unsaid would turn against me.

I don’t know what’s worse, the idea that you can never change the outcome of the wreck that is bound to happen or rather that the idea that things could change so much to the point that things that you have once been acquainted with, are only remnants of what used to be.

However, just as I know that he was gone, I was again happy to know that at the very last moment before I left, I have told my story to Gatsby and how I’ve felt. Though he had became a part of the toxic world that I would live in, he was the one that made my exchange ever so meaningful.

This exchange has hardened me and exposed my vulnerability in the cruelest of ways, in the eyes of hope. I have recovered for most of the parts but there would always be that one thought in my head that would keep me from actually moving on.

Here's to a start!

Lately, I've realized that there is this depressing tone in all of my composition. And when you think you're going to be stuck at this runt, something happens. It could be a movie, a song, a book or even the words that people say on that particular moment.

If I might as well run, I'll run straight to the problem this time. Not away. Call it fate or schedules made by the media, but today was definitely rehabilitation. I've given up so easily. But I am getting back out from that bind. I have a killer set list to get me through the day.

And I'm going to start this New Year with an a apology. An apology to myself for not being able to forgive myself. An apology to the world for shunning them out. An apology to those undeserved silence and mistrust.

I can feel that this year, I'm going to need all the strength I could get. Spend a few minutes hearing really good music, being alone and being together.

This time, if the opportunity comes, I'll grab it. Sure, I'll contemplate on the decision a lot, but hey at least I'm giving it a shot.