brief
It has been months since the last proper update. Very often, in the hush of the night, I would sidle along the edge of the bed, create a thin triangle with the wall and a litter of pillows, and nearly, very nearly, capture the urge to write something. Then, just like that, a yawn would heave its full-bodied throatiness, and poof, my eyelids would fall as heavy curtains, and another sun rises, soars into the midday heat, and I would wake, ruing the fact that half the day has gone by. It has been quite lovely actually, this lifestyle for the past three months, staggering out of the room into sunlight and my grandmother, ironing placidly, or pattering excitedly towards to the strident ring of a telephone. The hours stretched out, limitless in potential and endless in liberty: I could do that, or not at all. I would lounge around till the evening, and head out for training or dinner or movie: okay. Return home, and stumble upon a heartwarming film classic: okay. Finish my day up with 3am texts and cat videos: perfect. Each day was a study of easy enjoyment, each week a haze of simple pleasures, and each month, a blur of contentment. It does worry me though, now, that time has begun to meld and fold into each other, that I have not pegged down the exact hue of emotions; I have yet to sketch out the rose gardens to walk in my earliest memories of/with you, and flowers only last for so long! All I have are vague notes about where I had been, what I had done, who I had been with, and I have done this before, years ago, with different places, different activities, different people, and they have been rendered into mere words, descriptions that clatter loudly in empty rooms. Lately, I don't remember what I have felt in the past, even the events that I had written down- I'm not sure if it's an inability, or simply, the inertia to scrounge through the depths. So, what then about the events that I have yet to record? I have lost sight of the purpose behind this journal. Today, I hid behind the laptop and purchased four books with one click of a button. As if reading would help me write! (Actually, it probably would..) I scroll through the dashboard, chin propped upon fat palm, and reblog posts with vacant eyes. I stare at the date and think to myself, "June already!?", "July already!?", "August soon!?". It is almost scary, how time slid by so quickly, and how the year appears to be a checklist of momentous milestones, nothing more and feels much less.
The thing is, this is the happiest that I have ever been. Every day, I awake with a smile, and every night, I fall asleep to the orchestra of a humming heart. Yet, happiness is always accompanied with a quiet panic, a manic insecurity that this cannot be the state of affairs, that this has to be temporary, that this is me taunting fate by building castles upon cobwebs of time. I give thanks, I feel blessed, I try my best to be kind: to me, happiness seems to be founded on an exchange system, and so, the calculation and fortification for rainy weather is absolutely necessary. But this year, I have done this, achieved that; tried for this, gotten that, -I have been so, so fortunate, and I'm petrified that my luck is running out, because I haven't prepared at all. Would saying it aloud nix its manifestation? Haha. It is easy to fluctuate between beliefs, for the sole purpose of telling one's self, "I told me so". We will see. Liberty time is running out, and I really should write things down more, instead of grinning foolishly at calendars and shivering at the warmth of hugs. Heee. Coherence comes with practice; articulation with rehearsal.
The thing is, this is the happiest that I have ever been. Every day, I awake with a smile, and every night, I fall asleep to the orchestra of a humming heart. Yet, happiness is always accompanied with a quiet panic, a manic insecurity that this cannot be the state of affairs, that this has to be temporary, that this is me taunting fate by building castles upon cobwebs of time. I give thanks, I feel blessed, I try my best to be kind: to me, happiness seems to be founded on an exchange system, and so, the calculation and fortification for rainy weather is absolutely necessary. But this year, I have done this, achieved that; tried for this, gotten that, -I have been so, so fortunate, and I'm petrified that my luck is running out, because I haven't prepared at all. Would saying it aloud nix its manifestation? Haha. It is easy to fluctuate between beliefs, for the sole purpose of telling one's self, "I told me so". We will see. Liberty time is running out, and I really should write things down more, instead of grinning foolishly at calendars and shivering at the warmth of hugs. Heee. Coherence comes with practice; articulation with rehearsal.