We're All Waiting
A year and a half. Almost two.
So long since I've been keeping up with this thing, caught up in the midst of countless changes, ups and downs, and perhaps too self-centered to think about opening up again.
For me it felt like the days that passed were all the same yet I somehow end up today in a place that is worlds away from where I was, from who I was. It's funny how I never take the time to stop and appreciate what's around me until it's gone and nothing but a fading memory. As I was moving last year to start settling, I actually took a moment to watch out the window one last time and noticed how great the view was. That's when I realized that I have spent two years in that place and never got to fully appreciate the surroundings or to absorb completely what it felt just to be there.
Learning to be, to me feels like trying to heal.
As I go through life, like everybody else, it seems that the smallest reminders of having to, one day, not be anymore is of a greater concern than most. I don't consider myself as being afraid of death, but the anxiety of when it's bound to happen is constant. Somehow a lot of moments when I should feel alive, and nothing else, are a little shaded by the thought that it's not going to be permanent and that, one day, conscience fades and so do memories.
I envy those who believe.
I am writing this as a way out, hoping to learn to be alive without worrying about its closure. I hope to soon be able to say that I feel like the rest of the world. Because people don't live as if they were to die tomorrow; they live as if they would never die.
So long since I've been keeping up with this thing, caught up in the midst of countless changes, ups and downs, and perhaps too self-centered to think about opening up again.
For me it felt like the days that passed were all the same yet I somehow end up today in a place that is worlds away from where I was, from who I was. It's funny how I never take the time to stop and appreciate what's around me until it's gone and nothing but a fading memory. As I was moving last year to start settling, I actually took a moment to watch out the window one last time and noticed how great the view was. That's when I realized that I have spent two years in that place and never got to fully appreciate the surroundings or to absorb completely what it felt just to be there.
Learning to be, to me feels like trying to heal.
As I go through life, like everybody else, it seems that the smallest reminders of having to, one day, not be anymore is of a greater concern than most. I don't consider myself as being afraid of death, but the anxiety of when it's bound to happen is constant. Somehow a lot of moments when I should feel alive, and nothing else, are a little shaded by the thought that it's not going to be permanent and that, one day, conscience fades and so do memories.
I envy those who believe.
I am writing this as a way out, hoping to learn to be alive without worrying about its closure. I hope to soon be able to say that I feel like the rest of the world. Because people don't live as if they were to die tomorrow; they live as if they would never die.