It was anger that took over me. The moment I found out that I couldn't have what I really wanted. It was that moment that I felt how vulnerable and insecure I really am. I am angry because I thought I was stronger, because I was well convinced that life is great, because I was told that everything will be alright.
I'm used to always getting what I want, but that wasn't the case this time. I hate the feeling of wanting something so badly but all I can do is just to sit there helplessly watching it drifts away from me. I'm not sure if whether that is the worst feeling in the world but for all i know, it isn't pleasant. Sometimes I feel as if I am lost between imagination and reality. Yes, I am a dreamer. I dream of what would happen, what will happen, and what never can happen. I derive pleasure from having my own little perception of what I want reality to be.
I've always been extremely self-conscious. I spent more time looking at my reflection off of others' eyes rather than perusing my own self. Lesson learned.
Life is full of surprises, I must say.
I often wonder what happiness is. Is it the smile on a child's face when he is given candy? Is it the look in the lover's eyes when he looks at this other half and tells her he loves her? Or is it the feeling one has when he realizes that regardless of what will happen, he will be just fine? I don't know what happiness is, but indeed I know what happiness isn't. It isn't the disappointment in the child's face when he gets his candy taken away; it isn't the desperate pain in the lover's eyes when his other half walks away; nor is it the feeling when he finally realizes that life isn't how he imagines it to be, the agony of a broken heart longing to be, once again, unbroken.
I often find myself listening to melancholy tunes in the midst of the stillness of the night. I enjoy the silence, it gives me a chance to take a closer look at myself, at what I'm going through, and at everything that is going on around me.
I found myself doing the same thing a few nights ago. It was then, that i saw myself not as vulnerable and helpless, but rather strong and independent. I found my way back into life, to the reality that I kept running from.
The night.
The music.
The rain.
The storm.
In the midst of all, I found peace. It wasn't the peace of knowing everything will be alright nor was it the feeling of being secured. It was the peace I have made with myself, with the past, the things that had happened, or those that never did. I stopped myself just before I took that step over the thin line between hope and denial.
Now, that doesn't mean that I am done with what's passed. It merely means that I am able to stand up and walk all by myself. Sure I will often look back into memorial lane, not to grieve upon regrets, but rather to take a moment and witness what I have gone through, and from which I will gather more strength.
I seemed to have lost my faith in love, life, and everything in between. But then I found it again, a thousand times better. It wasn't love or life that i doubted, it was everything in between- hope, denial, happiness, sadness, bitterness, pain... the list goes on. I just didn't know what was real and what wasn't. But now I do. Till this day, I still enjoy the pleasure derived from daydreaming; but I no longer find myself lost between my imagination and reality.
Still, who knows, someday, my imagination will be reality.
I'm used to always getting what I want, but that wasn't the case this time. I hate the feeling of wanting something so badly but all I can do is just to sit there helplessly watching it drifts away from me. I'm not sure if whether that is the worst feeling in the world but for all i know, it isn't pleasant. Sometimes I feel as if I am lost between imagination and reality. Yes, I am a dreamer. I dream of what would happen, what will happen, and what never can happen. I derive pleasure from having my own little perception of what I want reality to be.
I've always been extremely self-conscious. I spent more time looking at my reflection off of others' eyes rather than perusing my own self. Lesson learned.
Life is full of surprises, I must say.
I often wonder what happiness is. Is it the smile on a child's face when he is given candy? Is it the look in the lover's eyes when he looks at this other half and tells her he loves her? Or is it the feeling one has when he realizes that regardless of what will happen, he will be just fine? I don't know what happiness is, but indeed I know what happiness isn't. It isn't the disappointment in the child's face when he gets his candy taken away; it isn't the desperate pain in the lover's eyes when his other half walks away; nor is it the feeling when he finally realizes that life isn't how he imagines it to be, the agony of a broken heart longing to be, once again, unbroken.
No, time does not heal the pain. At least not when that same arduous pain comes back in the middle of the night, presses down on your chest. You become unable to breath, the weight of stress and despondency took over your world; you suddenly feel a sharp blade excruciatingly penetrates down your chest and slit it open. You no longer believe that things will be alright, because they won't. Not when you are like this.
"Time does not heal the wound; however, it does, in its most merciful way, blunt the edge ever so slightly."
I often find myself listening to melancholy tunes in the midst of the stillness of the night. I enjoy the silence, it gives me a chance to take a closer look at myself, at what I'm going through, and at everything that is going on around me.
I found myself doing the same thing a few nights ago. It was then, that i saw myself not as vulnerable and helpless, but rather strong and independent. I found my way back into life, to the reality that I kept running from.
The night.
The music.
The rain.
The storm.
In the midst of all, I found peace. It wasn't the peace of knowing everything will be alright nor was it the feeling of being secured. It was the peace I have made with myself, with the past, the things that had happened, or those that never did. I stopped myself just before I took that step over the thin line between hope and denial.
Now, that doesn't mean that I am done with what's passed. It merely means that I am able to stand up and walk all by myself. Sure I will often look back into memorial lane, not to grieve upon regrets, but rather to take a moment and witness what I have gone through, and from which I will gather more strength.
I seemed to have lost my faith in love, life, and everything in between. But then I found it again, a thousand times better. It wasn't love or life that i doubted, it was everything in between- hope, denial, happiness, sadness, bitterness, pain... the list goes on. I just didn't know what was real and what wasn't. But now I do. Till this day, I still enjoy the pleasure derived from daydreaming; but I no longer find myself lost between my imagination and reality.
Still, who knows, someday, my imagination will be reality.
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