Broken Hearts, Brokened Me

I see me in him, a mirrored self a couple of months ago. Brokened and despaired, casted away by the love we held so close. Eschewed by the very people we once considered dearest. The only thoughts that circumvents within has became nothing but an intoxicating venom. A poison that chokes the very life out of us, rendering us emotionless and loveless. This poison feeds our very subsistence, surrogating necessities into the very air we breath... We became nothing but zombies... Zombies that crave not blood, but the acceleration of relativity...

Nothing became an interest anymore, and time seemed like a merciless reminder that keeps her in my head. Words like “There are other trees in the forest”, “You will find someone better” and metaphors alike became the tagline of many others. Yet now I could not bring myself to say such hypocrisies. For I am not god... I can’t say if the other tree would be there, I can’t say if there would be anybody else far better than who he ever had.

All I could do, was only to drown myself upon the pain we shared. Along the same boat adrift, I just hope I am the rain... A rain that will bring respite along the battles we fought within. But I wondered...

If I were the rain that binds together the earth and the sky, whom in all eternity would never mingle. Would I really be able to bind 2 hearts together...

The Battle Within

With every step and muscle flexed, shrouds of pain and fatigue engulf me. Fighting between the basic mental responses of giving up and pressing on, my mind fought the battle within. And as my will finally overcame my mortal shell, pain became nothing but an anesthetized sting. The legs continue on their own, obeying only to the biological signals programmed from the mind… When was the last time I was sliced by a pain so intense and perpetual yet numb and deaden?

When my flesh surpassed its threshold of pain, a familiar sensation overcame me… In the disparate distance between pain and sorrow, is that void of emptiness. The hollowed numbness equated by the zilch of mathematical equations. Amidst this vacuumed space she has left behind, I look for all sorts of things to fill it up again… But like a bottomless black hole, nothing seemed to suffice the kind of feeling she made me felt. Not even pain, perhaps not even death… But I just keep on trying, keep on finding. The alternate ways, the alternate people, my alternate providence… Superfluous and meaningless, but that is what keeps me going…

It’s funny how we humans work… There are things we do even though we know it is pointless. No matter how senseless it is we must do it in order to collect ourselves. Even if it is a useless waste of energy the action will be repeated, until the mind could finally find a reason to stop. A reason which explains that everything is ok… That the end is something you can’t change - and that particular something you can’t change, has became a matter of fact…

I Have To Keep Breathing

I'm spending more and more time not writing what comes into my head. All the bizarre, sinister yet melancholic psychosis that I’m afraid to share with anyone. Not to anybody, and to a certain extent - not even with myself. Like all the nightmares you don't want to believe you had or were ever capable of having.

I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not... And i don't have to keep telling myself that right? A poignant rendition of a loveless life. Is it better when you stop asking or is it better that you still ask? Is it worse to be worried about these things all the time than it is to rush through feral thoughts without consideration?

I keep feeling the need to retract. To not go as far as I do. To be critical of the random excentricities of thought. To remember that normal people, whoever or whatever they are, don't do that. They don't go into places that scare themselves, they don't dwell around broken thoughts and try to piece them one by one... They don’t stop by graveyards in the midst of the night to find quietude.

Normal people don't feel themselves pressed against the countenance of now. The rush of personal history crushing them against the present moment. The overwhelming force of it all spreading them impossibly thin.

Normal people don't chill at the thought of opening up like a door and having something else step through and out into their lives. Into the space they occupied. However briefly. However badly. Something clear of purpose and place, perfect and righteous and free of all the tethers and chains that hold me down here in the dark.

Something I don't think I will like very much.

I guess normal people don't have to worry about becoming normal.

Angels and Demons

The loss of self is often the real tragedy of a traumatic brain injury, yet I experience it on a daily basis without the physical impairment. The loss of direction, the loss of hope and piteous supplications. This loss is so profound that only some understood… Some took days, some took weeks, some others – Months and years – In a bide to retain and cling on to something called sanity.

This loss is a soul shattering experience, passionate and intimate. It is so intimate that society as a whole averts its eyes and closes its ears to the pain and despair of such a naked soul. It is a soul bedeviled by infantile demons, the very stuff from which neurosis and psychosis is made. We apply strange and frightening remedies, trying to mend what’s broken into something not. In the vain attempts to effect a cure for a pain that doesn’t exists in the medical books, we perform modern rites of exorcism to rid us of such demons…

These demons are the very angels that made us love in the first place. Without wings, and only a broken heart, they transmogrify into the very darkness that made us do and feel what we did and felt. Perhaps the only thing that’s left of this flightless self would be our instincts. The instinct of survival, the instinct to find love, and to love again…

I wonder if mine are still intact… Or perhaps, they are buried somewhere, under the denial that I desire no love, incapacitated by the fear of falling from such heights again…

A Momentary Get Together

Along the predicaments of schedules and work, we gathered at a much smaller and protracted scale. Though if fate permits, there might be times of congregation… Yet the matter of fact remains, that everyone has an ever expanding sphere of influence. That over time, we slowly drift apart into the waves of destiny, scattered amongst the eternal sea of humanity…

We interact with beings of other kinds, in places we least expect or imagine. Like a molecule of water amid fellow molecules and other particles, eventually to be brought to another state or form. We spread across boundaries, into various states, through different catalyst and dispersed to locations guided by the winds of fate. There we convene with a different group of people, only to be washed away by the ravages of time… We are in a constantly changing milieu, and as circumstances change, so does the place and people… In this ever changing world, along the contour of evolution, are the people we leave behind… Lost friends, broken hearts, acquaintances that drop by along the way…

At times, a momentary get together is all it takes, to let people you cherish know – You still remember them…

Photography

Time frozen, stilled between the speed of light and the electric modulation of digital visual. I found a way to stop time, to freeze what I saw into files and bytes, to take perspectives in angles anonymous to most. I manipulate the luminosity of the 7 colours to capture beauty no matter how fleeting it may be, and I found it all through my latest obsession – Photography.

After beauty has left, I started seeking a way to turn back time, but the closest I ever gotten, is only stopping it… Freezing time along the spectrums of light, I could only find a way to capture the present but not the past. I wanted to take a picture of her again… I wanted to capture beauty in it’s purest esscence. Even though it may be just a memory, even though it may fade to black and yellow in times to come. All I ever wanted was something tangible for a memory, not an ethereal depiction of thoughts, just so that I can remember it somewhere along the future. – That I had loved before…

It’s amazing how this art, like writing, has far eluded me for so long. The ability to stop, freeze and capture splendor with the click of a button. The momentous seizure of time, with the transposition of a millisecond to an eternal form; If anything that could describe visuals as a silhouette of perfection. This is it…

The human eye is so shallow, like how men are drawn to pretty women, like how I am drawn to women, that always breaks my heart…

Line Of Thought

Ever thought if there is this line running through your mind, out of your door, through the roads and onto the streets. To places where you have traversed, countries you’ve seen, to the café where you first sat heartbroken and all alone… Shedding the very human emotions through tears that accord to your condition. This line rewinds the hands of time and brings you back full circle to the person you once held dearly. These mangled lines got entangled with the people that we used to call in present tense. Now, only to be converted past the thin line of life and death. And along with those are some others who had passed away in our hearts…

I’ve always thread on these tapestry of thoughts, trying to recall and reminisce the failed relationships I’ve been in. The sensation of being in love; the care and concern from an opposite sex that deliquesce any negative emotions of the human condition. Love is something so spuriously real, yet we still yearn for such prevaricated social adulation. We indulge in this astigmatism; like melted visions, like melted hearts, only to awake with nothing at the end of each revelation except the chastened pain of our credulity. Perhaps everything just melted, evanesced into oblivion, or perhaps the other just robbed us of everything when we are blinded by their affections…

This line that brings me back to her, the very line that rives and shattered my heart. Tugging the very heartstrings that I wanted to cut off someway, somehow… To break off from the thoughts of her and the feelings attached, to sever myself from the very human emotions that made me weak. This line of thought still lingers round the circumference of her… For even after so long, the picture of us is still facing the wall…

I’ve always wondered how it felt to be a player, to be someone who could give and take emotions frivolously... To be someone who could fall in and out of love within the span of a day or a week. But the social stigma seemed to have gotten the best of me… For I am just a mortal, strung together by something so tenuous such as memories…

Identity Diffusion

Our names and job titles are not our definite identity, it never has been and never will be. For something so basal such as words and language could never truly deflect the veracity of our existence. Our names are just alphabets, chronicled under the Registrar of birth and death, tabularized into the perpetual list of historical records. Passport sized photos, signatures, thumb prints and all our genetic data; they are just registering our presence in this transitory stay of Life.

My identities vacillate round the spectrum of circumstances, each alter ego, siphoned and surrogated by another as contiguous events unfold. Most of the time, I am just a slave to this country, bonded by the legal servitude along the civil sector… My freedom, coerced by the pecuniary motivation of financial freedom yet enslaved by the cardinal significance of working hours… At night, in front of this window to this sea of knowledge, I became the author of this place, a philosopher of thoughts and an investor when I login to trade.

I take on different identities and titles along this ephemeral timeline. With the switch of each persona, I dwell into a different realm of thought, only to grow stronger by failing spectacularly. Transcending through the banality of everyday living, I feel myself alive even after love have left. I am an environmentalist 30 meters underwater, a climber 50 feet above the sea line, an athlete along the course of sports and achievements… Even places dictate what I will and were to become, like how I’m a kid in a toy store, a geek in a computer shop, a gamer in an arcade and a writer in this blog.

Identity diffusion, a chronic malady that I live with to feel alive… After all I am just one of those mixed up person in this screwed up world…