Sup3rnality

It bugs me that I don't write all that often anymore. If it was just here, it would not be so much of a problem, since this is only a mere medium to place screams that I would not otherwise vocalize. But the disurbing thought is that I don't even write in journals anymore; and I haven't for the past several years. Yes, I've jotted down thoughts here and there, but nothing subtantial or consistent enough to be called a journal. This bugs me.

If there's one thing I fear (besides the fear of Allah SWT, that is), is dying without having recorded all the thoughts and ideas that have run through my head. It scares me thinking that I could die tomorrow (again, yes, besides the fear of Allah SWT and doing enough rights in this world) and not leave behind all the words that went unspoken. I say more things in my head than in a voice that could be heard, and while I may not want the people around me to hear it at the time, I think there should be a record of what I really thought of the situation and for them to read what really went through my mind.

It may not be much, these things in my head; I have no delusions of being a philosopher of anything, but I do feel that there must be something to show for my existence, and this is how I do it. I find that my strength lies in how I put what I think into words, the way I think it and my point of view; and if I can't leave my mark that way, then I am just as well non-existent.

I hope I find in myself to write more than just when the urge strikes me. I hope my hand is never devoid of a pen to hurry along blue ink against my canvas to create blue swirls of words. I hope that there is incessant tapping on this keyboard daily to have proof of my living and existing.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes things get so crazed that I don't see the path in front of me. I can't see the things staring at me in the face. I cannot see where all of this is going. Where this will be ten years down the line. Where I'll be. What I'll do. I'm so blinded. Sometimes I cannot really see what I want.

And I'm sorry for comparing. I'm sorry I opened only a small space in my heart for fear of hurt. For fear that again I'd spiral down this long, lonely slope again and forget who I am. I'm sorry that I forgot I have a heart big enough to accomodate the world. I'm sorry I forgot. I'm sorry you found me at the wrong time. I'm sorry I never took long enough to get to know you, my defences were built too high up for you then.

It lies heavy in me this emptiness. A burden that is hollow. And I seem to have forgotten what fits there. I've forgotten what fills the spaces when I'm on my own. Sometimes I knock on occupied homes just to know someone's in there. And when they come to the door, I don't know what to say. I smile at them and wish I had the words that makes up the particles of myself, but I can't. And this is your doing. No, sorry, I won't put the blame on you. It is my doing, because of losing you. And you, too. And oh yes, you.

And I wish things were different. But I know I can say it a thousand times over, hell, I have said it a thousand times over; and I'll still be in the middle of this hollow room. But I would, you know; I would have done the things I should have. Then you wouldn't have been left out in the cold. You would't have needed to try. I would have already been there before you say anything.

And again and again, these words would only remain as words. Horses don't ride in these space of thoughts. And even if they did, they'd have nowhere to go. No reason to run. They'd be all at a standstill.

And time is at a standstill. There'd still be this vacuum even as the seconds tick by. Waiting for a moment. Waiting. And I'd leave this door open for you. This door will always be open for you.

Love, Lin~

P/s: And all that you think you know, isn't necessarily what is.

And maybe it is not for naught. I believe again. Well, for the moment...

Yours, Lin~

And again I think we've dropped it along the way. Or maybe we didn't. Maybe we dragged it along with us, heavy in our hands that it tore open and spilled out whatever was left inside. And all we have now is the handles in our hands and nothing to hold up. Nothing. Or are the handles still something?

Who's to say? I may not know how to sew. Well, not well enough to hold the weight for long, that is. Maybe for a little while I can. But if this gets too heavy again, we'll find them scattered all over the floor. We should learn to patch it up. Learn to sew things together and make it hold a little stronger. May not be the same, but I guess that don't matter. At least we've learned how to sew. At least we know how heavy this can be and we'd know how to mend it.

I ain't complaining. We can leave this here and not look at it again. But that's just it. Can we leave it be and not turn around and decide to just take it and keep it? I for one am always sentimental, holding on to things that have long lost its life just for its sentimental value. So can we really let this lie here forgotten? Lying in the dust, among the fallen leaves? No one will ever find it and
that's how it would stay.

Knowing me, I'll never. Too weak, too sentimental, too.... I don't know. But that's how it is for me. I'd keep it. I'd keep my side of the handle. You can leave yours, but I'll hold mine. It's important for me to have a piece of something of I've owned. I need to have a memory of it kept close and dear. Reminds me that my mind is not as screwed up as I thought it was....

So, here's to this heavy luggage. I can't hold it up, it's too heavy. But I'm proud of it, won't change it for anything. Do you want yours? Can you sew?

Yours, Lin~

It's all about timing. The counting of space of time from one step to the other. Determining the time to strike, seizing the moment. Carpe diem. Carpe noctem. Crap.

There is no time. No such thing. Time is a false god that has you watching the clock for a miracle to happen when all that is happening is your watching your life passing you by. It does not grant you the wisdom. There is nothing to know about from the ticking of the seconds. There is nothing in the calculation of the slow passing of time. All there is, is the now of the moment.

Counting the seconds between the sounds of thunder. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand... And you can keep on counting. But it's for certain that that thunder will keep on coming. The time between them counts for nothing. Seize the time in between. There is only the now. Take it.

And then I think, we are of course, only human. If not, then, playing a charade, a masquerade that requires a human visage even if you doubt it in yourself. And we play these games, looking every so often in the direction of the clock hanging high above. Afraid of it striking 12, finding that weakening significance in those two digits in time. It has a meaning. It makes us count the hours. It makes us fear time, waiting for it. Waiting on it.

We wait for that precious second in time. That one-second window that for an instant gives you a chance to act. And there is no time to think of the consequences; all there is time for is the action itself. But we, being human, hesitate. And we find that window closing itself shut. Gone is that space in time when all else gives way to you to act upon that wish.

And can we blame ourselves? We are human anyway. How could we be anything else when we are still cowardly even in the face of that long awaited moment? Time still conquers us when it holds power over us, making us wait on it instead of our acting regardless of it. And what is more? We cannot even find that piece of strength we need to seize the moment of moments. Even the Cowardly Lion had the will to find courage.

So in dreams we find ourselves doing the things that should have been done. Dreaming out the maybes and should-have-beens. But in dreams, time is irrelevant. The passing of time could be seconds in what must have felt like hours, or the other way around. In the absence of that oh so powerful time, anything happens. But even then, things might not just be the way you want it.

So this is how it is. It is all about timing. Seize the day. Seize the night. Seize the gorram moment.

You may not have that much time left. But bloody hell. You see, I'm still human.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes I think it is all for naught. And deep down I know that falling could be a possibility, so I might as well stand at the edge. You can either pull me back, or you can just finish the job and push me over. Do what you see fit. I am constantly putting one foot out the door anyway.

But there are times when I reel myself back in. Seems like there's a pull somewhere in the depths. I can't see it, hell, it's murky this mess we're in. But I could swear I felt it. Or maybe that's just me wishing that it was.

I cast my eyes downwards most of the time. Too scared to look up. Scared of a truth I might not want to see glaring at me. Scared of a flicker that might be the beginning of something stronger than What I know. This is me. It's always been this way. Maybe always will.

Maybe I'll keep on running. Peer into the distance and see the road stretching way beyond and decide to run. See how far my feet could take me. Maybe stop every now and then to enjoy the view, maybe turn around and see if not far behind I see... well, see if the school bus I was outrunning is still behind me. Heck, inside it are the things that make me feel small like a child.

But I can also sit down and rest my feet and transit on to the next bus travelling on. And I can't make up my mind. I still have one foot out the door.

Convince me. Convince me this way. Or convince me the other way. Guessing games are getting a bit old. Let me know.

Pull me down. I'll let it pull me down. Sink or swim, I don't know and I don't care. We'll see.

I'm still a boat without a paddle. If you still have another place on your boat, then maybe we both can row.

Yours, Lin~