it's ironic, isn't it? how we aim to take care of other people who we probably do not know of, and be unable to take care of ourselves?
what is it, really, that matters? hours moved to decades of introspection and reflection. solitude doesn't help, then, i conclude. for after half a lifetime of blunder and self-query, theories of familial roles are the closest to a real answer that i had mustered.
whatever happened to my dreams of being a freelance (with a high chance of poverty) writer, boasting stories of everyday, telling tales i so proudly fabricate in a single swish of my wand?
or the musical passions so fiery when i was younger? ---these, today, gone. dried up. all abilities long forgotten. with memories of what had been to be all that's left. memories to pinch me long and painful, reminders of the cowardice to face life with nothing but a faithful dream.
i used to brag to those overhearing that this phase of my life is my "personal detour", a long-cut-road of what is yet to come. just a stepping stone towards what i really want to achieve. of what i want to be.
or is it?
had i been saying so because of truth and faith in my passions,
or are these made up lies to compensate for my inability to pursue what i was born to do?
...
a few days ago i broke down unexpectedly and the two dearest people to me had witnessed the feat. the walls i kept up infront of me, those which for years remained strong and tall and ready to mask out all my inner struggles---those walls.. all that kept me strong in the eyes of the people who need to see a strong me, yes---those walls, they failed me, expired as they might be, they were not able to keep on my defense.
tears cascaded and a voice broke.
it was the coldest moment of my life for so long.
"cannot you do it anymore?"
with sincere, however un-shown, intentions i was told.
and with the energy i was not able to find, i ended up whispering in my mind the wishes to say that i still can. my reply was silence and i let them leave with the assurance that i am okay and that all's fine.
that i can do this.
at least that was what i told them.
with a short dialogue, mostly led through verbal talk on their part, i learned that they actually believed that i like[d] nursing.
with that, rivers can never compare with the strangely familiar tears i feel. this time---stronger, more intense than those i've been petting for innumerable nights before.
as if they've always been there, lodged, waiting.
like a cloud.. waiting for rain to fill it up before pouring down.
020708.
what is it, really, that matters? hours moved to decades of introspection and reflection. solitude doesn't help, then, i conclude. for after half a lifetime of blunder and self-query, theories of familial roles are the closest to a real answer that i had mustered.
whatever happened to my dreams of being a freelance (with a high chance of poverty) writer, boasting stories of everyday, telling tales i so proudly fabricate in a single swish of my wand?
or the musical passions so fiery when i was younger? ---these, today, gone. dried up. all abilities long forgotten. with memories of what had been to be all that's left. memories to pinch me long and painful, reminders of the cowardice to face life with nothing but a faithful dream.
i used to brag to those overhearing that this phase of my life is my "personal detour", a long-cut-road of what is yet to come. just a stepping stone towards what i really want to achieve. of what i want to be.
or is it?
had i been saying so because of truth and faith in my passions,
or are these made up lies to compensate for my inability to pursue what i was born to do?
...
a few days ago i broke down unexpectedly and the two dearest people to me had witnessed the feat. the walls i kept up infront of me, those which for years remained strong and tall and ready to mask out all my inner struggles---those walls.. all that kept me strong in the eyes of the people who need to see a strong me, yes---those walls, they failed me, expired as they might be, they were not able to keep on my defense.
tears cascaded and a voice broke.
it was the coldest moment of my life for so long.
"cannot you do it anymore?"
with sincere, however un-shown, intentions i was told.
and with the energy i was not able to find, i ended up whispering in my mind the wishes to say that i still can. my reply was silence and i let them leave with the assurance that i am okay and that all's fine.
that i can do this.
at least that was what i told them.
with a short dialogue, mostly led through verbal talk on their part, i learned that they actually believed that i like[d] nursing.
with that, rivers can never compare with the strangely familiar tears i feel. this time---stronger, more intense than those i've been petting for innumerable nights before.
as if they've always been there, lodged, waiting.
like a cloud.. waiting for rain to fill it up before pouring down.
020708.
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