Reverberating Dissonance

 There is a question that has plagued me all my life, one I have read books and listened to wise and seasoned thinkers to for an answer, yet I have found none. It is the question of the kindness of God.

The one who got away

One day I will close these windows, and it will be the last time I ever shut them.

I will stare at the moon all night long with a glass of wine in my hands, as I usually do, with my bags packed, knowing deep in my heart that the moon will not see me in this position, on this bed, by these windows ever again.

I will listen to my neighbor’s dog bark, and for the first time, it will sing to me like a melody, cradling me to peace. The clock will tick loudly tonight, each second more intense than the last, even though the gear train was never fixed. It will make a melody that sounds something like Vienna or a bit like Matilda, or maybe that was just that old little music player that has reverberated in these walls for more years than I have lived, playing them on repeat--one that I must now leave behind.

In this hour, I can hear all the laughter that has painted this room, and the million tears that have soaked my bed. The walls carry whispers of many secrets that they must now bury, and the floors are patched with many first moments. I strain to listen, and I can hear my first heartbreak and my first love. My old guitar sits by the door, bidding me farewell, for I must go on without her.

The morning will come soon, and I find that I have sought a last-minute connection to this life that I must forsake. But there is no one here anymore, nothing that belongs to me. or maybe I do not want anything left to be for me--for in my mind, there is home everywhere but this little sanctuary that I do not crave.

So when the day breaks, if I live or not, I will be gone, with everything that was once mine.

When it comes, I will be the girl who got away.

Who cares my love?

Who cares my love? 

If you happen upon joy, give in to it. Do not question where it is coming from or how long you have to revel in it. For while joy should not be crumbs, the universe seeks to delay gratification, and it will bask in the idea of all you have missed.

Will you wait?

I like watching hunters hunt. The process before they make their prey — the milliseconds guarding silently before an attack, hands and paws ticking. 

You see it is the most beautiful display of patience I have ever come across; timed, concise, enduring, intentional  and extremely deliberate. 

To be true

I try to live without regrets. It is the singular thing that guides every decision I have to make. I tell myself, that millisecond before I take an action, “I must not regret this.”

Does it mean I have not done a lot of things that I should regret? No, of course not. In fact, you might find that I’ve done many things worth regretting by living this way.

However, one thing I always know is that every action I have taken has been my truth. And maybe that truth, to the world, was not the best one to live in — but it was, at the time, for me. And so I have nothing to nurse a broken heart for.

You will find that the majority of regret has come from external forces and the perception you have gained from the world you have interacted with. Every knowledge you gain will bring you one more thing to possibly look back on with melancholy, and if you choose to live life reacting to everything you know, what then is the joy or essence of just being?

It is, in fact, an irony that I am this way when the very essence of my truth is one single sentence: “Per rebus adversis cum benignitate.” Because you cannot be kind if you are selfish, and it would be dishonest of me to not acknowledge that the religion of no regret is inherently the most selfish thing anyone can believe in.

For to truly embody this, you must become liberated from the burden of care, and your thoughts will follow a singular form — void of the burden of anyone else.

If you are like me, you will struggle with this conflict for the longest time. But I tell you, if your truth is pure, some way, sometime, you will find balance between your kindness and the essence of your being.

But until then, you must live each day without regrets. Everything you do must be within your truth. And if days come where there is something you may regret, you must know that you were true to yourself — and that is all that truly counts.

Linear divisions

 I love. It is the only thing I really know how to do. Perhaps I am this way because I am fortuned to meet people who carry love with them. Like the stranger I met by the sea one day, reading a copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, her tan coming in but not quite yet—the one who helped me watch my large black knitted bag, protecting it from a poodle playing around. I never asked her to. In fact, we never had a conversation; we just smiled so brightly at each other as I arrived; silently, albeit very telepathically.

The only Hypocrite is the world

 

I am Standing on the edge of everything, Wealth and poverty, decadence and Morality,  Want and need, Joy and sadness, I could go on  with antonyms to truly represent the vibrancy of my hypocrisy but I refuse to, perhaps wanting the imagery of my apathy limited to these few.  Surely I am aware that conscious minds could paint greater pictures even with nothing to work with, like how I drove on my way back from dinner past the woman under the bridge staring at me with such empty eyes, as if I had taken everything from her, I was gripped with fear of a crime I knew i did not commit 

Stratis De Cepa ; Unpeeling Onions

 

If you asked me to explain how each breath I take feels,  I would start with the sadness. I would speak of the constant ache in my heart, one whose cause I can not trace,

All about the Olympic Opening ceremony!- and the gag

 From the arrival of our most Wicked duo  adorning contrasting green and pink, the appearance of Marie Antoinettes beheaded head -shocking we know- , Lady Gaga and her cabarets, the Drag-queen studded Fashion vignette, and finally unto the most incredible performance by Celine Dion- her first in a long while- and reminiscent of her time at an event of similar name in 1996,  the Paris 2024 opening ceremony was a total shock,  good one at that.

 

Dear Yeolnyeo,

 My virtuous woman, 

下一次，我希望以人的身分來見你，而不 一個女人.

Somewhere in your quest to obtain a medal with no merit but the words in the mouth of your jailers we lost you. Your smile and the way you positioned your being became news as old as time, like the Myth of Nuwa.

Sheer terror

 I did not know true fear until I had to lose you, till I watched you dance with the other world as I lost my breath in utter panic. The fear I knew prior to this was a test, a stir in the waters, to feel the pressure I could carry.

Fragments of us

 I submitted an article and the first question my reviewer had asked  was 

“where are your references?”

It was quite staggering to get asked that because far as I remember, this was all me, I hadn’t checked any other source or looked for ideas any other place. The words I put down were all initiatives of my mind, the conjunctions conjured from within me.

Should I have referenced my head as the source?

hold me, for i am no saint

 If there is one thing I have learnt in the short life i have lived, it's to never think I was infallible, incapable of making mistakes, And that was something I had to learn in more ways than one.  I was in fact capable of succumbing to emotions, picking escape over logic, and sometimes my carefulness was  not always as thought out as i had hoped.I was capable at doing the same thing of which i laid blame on others, very capable of waking up to a crippling realization that i had in fact succumbed to the thoughtless orbit of decisions.  I am no saint, that I have come to understand and I should not Be with a gavel,

The stories I wove for myself

When I was younger, I hyper fixated myself on a lot of things, perhaps to escape a burden with no form. They were never anything significant if I must say, well perhaps significant would not be the right word to explain it, I would say sometimes they weren't physical, no tangible presence, mostly in my head. 

My mind was even more creative in the sense that I would create stories for each new fixation, build a lore for it, I must say, despite the seventh sense in me insinuating that I probably was not so normal for my unbecoming antics, it did make me into the creative I am today.  

The Art of detachment

Sometimes there is a need to take a step back, into the shadows, for a moment just quiet and  time stilled. For Even the liveliest of beings, for as tiny as a millisecond feel the urge to not be seen. What more the Lots of men with crippling fear of sight on their skin, one that makes the hairs on their flesh possibly walk.