I Was Thinking
I haven't done one of those very personal entries that I've been known to do in the past for quite a while. Here's one to make up for it:
The approaching holidays, the imminent reappearance of home, makes me realize that I’m sick of this life for right now. I want to go back somewhere familiar, a time when I was unborn and innocent, before the world stained me with experience, when the only dirt on me was just a playful spot of soot on my forehead that could be easily rubbed off with a lick of my mother’s thumb. But every time I reach for that fantasy found in the golden cast of nostalgia, I’m smacked back to reality as quickly as that moment became mere memory.
Back in the horribly honest real world, I am living, but I’m just killing time. I’ve tried my best to find satisfaction, but I just can’t get none. Could this be one of those times when you have to stop searching in order to find what you’ve been looking for all along? That’s quite a leap of faith. That’s almost like believing in God, and I don’t think I’m brave enough to honestly give up searching yet, to have faith in fate.
Besides, people tend to only believe in fate when it makes a story prettier to tell. Like how you and the current love of your life where just “meant to be.” Destiny must be attractive. Plan, order, and symmetry must be beautiful. People like to call it fate when they’ve somehow beaten the odds and found beauty in a seemingly chaotic existence. However, by giving up responsibility for their actions to a higher power, people overlook the real beauty in the personal struggle and strength it takes to get through a tough time because, well, according to fate, it was going to end up that way anyway, no matter how much you fought. So maybe I’m just fated not to believe in fate, maybe that’s the only way I can follow fate’s path without resistance. But not believing just makes me want to turn around on whatever path there might be and go live in the past.
The future is just the result of the chaotic choices made by millions today. So what’s the matter if I just forsake the future and live in the past? It won’t make tomorrow any less unpredictable.
Really I’m just afraid of what’s in store because it could just hold more of this yearning to sink into the past. On the other hand, it could be beautiful.
The approaching holidays, the imminent reappearance of home, makes me realize that I’m sick of this life for right now. I want to go back somewhere familiar, a time when I was unborn and innocent, before the world stained me with experience, when the only dirt on me was just a playful spot of soot on my forehead that could be easily rubbed off with a lick of my mother’s thumb. But every time I reach for that fantasy found in the golden cast of nostalgia, I’m smacked back to reality as quickly as that moment became mere memory.
Back in the horribly honest real world, I am living, but I’m just killing time. I’ve tried my best to find satisfaction, but I just can’t get none. Could this be one of those times when you have to stop searching in order to find what you’ve been looking for all along? That’s quite a leap of faith. That’s almost like believing in God, and I don’t think I’m brave enough to honestly give up searching yet, to have faith in fate.
Besides, people tend to only believe in fate when it makes a story prettier to tell. Like how you and the current love of your life where just “meant to be.” Destiny must be attractive. Plan, order, and symmetry must be beautiful. People like to call it fate when they’ve somehow beaten the odds and found beauty in a seemingly chaotic existence. However, by giving up responsibility for their actions to a higher power, people overlook the real beauty in the personal struggle and strength it takes to get through a tough time because, well, according to fate, it was going to end up that way anyway, no matter how much you fought. So maybe I’m just fated not to believe in fate, maybe that’s the only way I can follow fate’s path without resistance. But not believing just makes me want to turn around on whatever path there might be and go live in the past.
The future is just the result of the chaotic choices made by millions today. So what’s the matter if I just forsake the future and live in the past? It won’t make tomorrow any less unpredictable.
Really I’m just afraid of what’s in store because it could just hold more of this yearning to sink into the past. On the other hand, it could be beautiful.