Sup3rnality

I know the words I've been saying don't make the slightest of sense as of late. I know that I've been spinning webs so loose that you'd fall right through and not grasp a single strand. And I know it's hard to fathom something that is too much surface that it hardly causes a scratch on the, well, surface.

It might be the reason why you find it difficult to comprehend the words I say is because these are not meant for you. And no, before you think it, I'm not meaning that you cannot read what I say, nor am I saying to you to mind your own business. I am well aware of this being a public domain and anything I write here is open for general consumption, for all to see. And this here is my point: While I am no recluse, I am no socialite either. I like my privacy, but I also need to connect. I don't say all that is in me (although I do say more than I mean, spill more secrets than I should, bare more than is appropriate...What can I say? I speak before I really think sometimes), for fear of many things. I am afraid of scrutiny, afraid of judgment, afraid of jinxing my hopes, afraid of having sense knocked into dreams... So I don't say many things.

I don't say things, but I have to. Some of feelings are almost cancerous, eating from the inside out. And yet, letting it out bare like that allows for eyes to see the flaws without its manual and explanation. And so I spin truths into riddles to take the away the edge off the sharp knife. And at the very heart is all what I feel in me in its barest form.

And so, it is not for you but for me. It is for my sanity that I write the way I write. I find the comfort I need in being able to give voice to my thoughts, in this medium and yet still be able to ensure they remain as mine alone.

And if you understand them, then perhaps it is for you. Or a person you might know. Or the other person. Or the other. But if you don't, you need not try to. Chances are you've stumbled upon myself trying to comfort myself in my words of my written thoughts.

Love, Lin~

And I'm not saying that I'll hold on too long, too strong that come a time, if ever, I won't be able to bow out gracefully. I'm just saying, well, if ever, while even on this high, I'd know how to fall; and while I know how to land on two feet, I won't exactly be whole or unscathed. But that's alright, you know, cos I know what I'm doing.

Although, truth is, I really don't. You see me still lingering in shadows, not haunting, but still a stalwart shadow. And while I hope you don't see this vestige of my self, I hope my presence is felt. And while I understand the reason for my stay, I don't know why I don't check out from having being on a too long waiting list...that is, if I'm even on it.

And sometimes, I don't know what I'm saying, and I don't know why I say all this; but nonetheless, I understand every word. Like the things I do, it makes sense now, and it might not in the future. And yet I say it anyways, for in its public existence, I find a connection that I would otherwise lack in its opposite.

And this is what I do: being a ghost seeking a ghost. Clutching at straws, at things that I want but don't see. And I know that I can't see far enough, but I can see the now; and maybe that's enough for now.

Yours, Lin~

I have been harbouring some fears lately about my involvement in the Explore UK program. Yes, I am elated beyond anything I could possibly explain at the thought of being able to visit the one place that holds much fascination to me. But at the same time, I feel some sort of apprehension at being a part of this.

For those not in the know, I got myself a place among a select few who'll be able to visit UK on a Literature field trip/humanitarian program. There was a poster on the notice board of my faculty, and decided to sign up and see what it was about. After an interview, myself along with 7 others got chosen for this trip; accompanied by some committee members and two lecturers.

The catch, though, is to get sponsors to finance our trip; and that is something we're lacking. And since the proposed trip would be from the 1st to the 7th of May 2008, we have about half a year to look for sponsors. And that is where my fear lies.

Contrary to what you may be thinking now, I am not comtemplating pulling myself out for fear that I am unable to commit. That's not it at all. I feel like I am in my element and I would not pass up this oppurtunity for anything. But what I'm really worried about is that with my hopes sky high, I might fall harder if something does not go right.

I wonder whether we would get enough sponsors in time for the trip. Without sponsors, we would have to bear the expenses on our own, and that would include airfare, accomodations, food on top of the personal expenses. And in the even that this happens, I doubt I'd be able to afford the trip.

It's not that I don't have faith that we won't find any financial support for this trip; it's just that I'm voicing out the one thing that is hindering me from leaping for joy that I'd be able to see UK sometime in the future. It's just this one fear that is hanging at the back of my mind.

I'm sure we'd find enough sponsors in time. I pray for it. And I have faith in myself and this team. I don't want to begin to ponder just how hard it would be to give up what I got and see others go without my being able to be part of it. I can handle rejection well enough, but it doesn't mean it won't hurt.

So here's to hoping that I'd find sponsors who'd be interested in financing a bunch of college kids who'd love literature so much they'd love to see the places where the writers took their inspiration from; walk the streets they walked, see the sights they saw; be in the same space where they once existed and created their brand of art... It would be something of a dream.

Love, Lin~

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~