Fear

And looking down upon my being,

I see mine own hand

covering mine own face.

And I see

that it was -

Fear lifting my elbows

       Fear weighing down my eyelids

                Fear crumpling my back

                         Fear crippling my soul

And I see

that it was fear,

holding me down,

                             all along.

Stop being bogged down by where you are, and look towards where you're going, and if you realise you don't know where you're going, then maybe that's the problem.

Alana Kingrose

Visualization

Dear Sis,

Sis, I just had a special moment  (with myself) and I had to share it with someone (you). Back in middle school (when things were pretty tough) I fell in love with two songs and had them on my MP4 (you had one too!) One song of which is this one, "Way back into Love". And I never figured where it came from, or bothered to find the source. Today, after giving in to my urge not to watch Netflix, I found "Music & Lyrics" from 2007 new to Netflix, I watched it, and there my song was. And as songs do, the memories came flooding back. And it feels like... it feels like -  It feels like a beautiful kind of sadness :')

I feel a bit like giving myself a high five for sorting my life so efficiently, and a bit like bursting into tears.

My (not so) Perfect Life by Sophie Kinsella

Me when something actually goes well in life.

Stop Forgetting

Old Coats

We wear these scars upon us like tattered old woolen coats filled with holes and sporting dark blotches of stained sleeves that have no hope of being washed out. We wear it not proudly, no. Nor for any conceivable purpose or gain. But each day our mind crawls unwillingly from the respite of slumber, and in preparation to face the day, drape upon ourselves this moth-eaten coat, as surely as we refuse to forgive ourselves our deluge of imperfections. In this way we each in our coats of old memories move through this world.

Unworthy

I dreamed my dreams again, after a reluctant day of living, I went to bed and dreamed again.

I dreamed dark dreams. Dark dreams of exams and repetition, of failure and negativity, of uncontrollability of my own being. Of lies upon lies, fears upon fears, my worst fears bundled up in a crazy ball of a nightmare. Not bad enough to wake up, not good enough to not be bad.

The dream was in a dusty, musty, cold and foreign world of my own imaginings, made up of the broken and eclectic pieces of my perceived reality. An amalgam of my experiences in a life I have lived without living. Thus indeed, it was no wonder at the cold in-reality of the place I dreamed of- with it's sky-reaching and twisted black towers, rusty rails and moss-covered gray walls of archaic sandstone. In it, the dream-me perceived a return to true unworthiness. I had lost my place in this degree. I had lost all knowledge of the years I had spent in undergrad. I had even lost all that I had learned in high school and middle school. I was nothing, worse than nothing, because I knew nothing. My life was no life, a mess, a chaotic free-falling, tumbling, mess.

And so I followed the line upon lines of other unworthy people, sat at their tables, and read their lines, their textbooks, followed their rules.

Always followed the rules. 

I know it's not exactly good practice, but sometimes it's easier to breath when I hide from the truth, just for a little while.

The world around me is bright, but my thoughts are dark.

Something like this..

Because this explains so much.

Anxiety Augmented.

But there is no alternative - Only onwards.

My breath will not come.

The ache in my chest tightens.

the most beautiful moment in life, part one x the pain, the hurt, the confusion (1/3) wallpaper_edit_(4/?) 

edited: typo (father > farther)

Dark Side #1

Perspective is everything. I've long known that. Yet I am unable to restrain myself from being pessimistic and withdrawn due to fear. This is a fear of many things, some of which I cannot even name. I am unknown to myself. These words repeatedly rise, and crest, and fold over me in waves of alternating worry and acceptance, anxiety and relaxation, realizations and precipitous contentions.

Conflicts, Confusion and Growth

On this path of life, we continue onwards: Me, Myself and I. The many facets of who I was, who I am, and who I will be accompanying me on this one-way journey. In mirrors I see these multitudes of my 'Self' reflected back at me, displaying iridescent personalities and thoughts, ideas and ideals; emotions and moral notions. Harmoniously, chaotically, I listened: This was the sound of my 'Being', the melody of all that is me - and so I embraced it; the beautiful and the ugly, the lucid and the obscure - accepting who 'Me' was, I reached to the very farthest and darkest corners of my physical and mental existence.

A Tremulous Departure

It was just another warm humid summer's day in the Taiwanese district of Clearwater. A small, quaint sea-side town that is her home. Home is where the heart is, they say; and for one such as her who holds so much love for her family within her small but strong frame, it was as simple as breathing to come to accept this realisation that this was what she felt, is what she felt, and there was no shame in it. Here she had dwelled for the past two-and-a-half years, and now she was leaving. Many memories had been made, many ups and downs, bellowing arguments and lulling laughter of pure happiness in the simplest moments. Thus, it was okay to be sad, okay to cry, ok to smile and laugh and reminisce. This was the perfectly right moment for tearful goodbyes and hopeful, wishful thoughts of a bright future. But she did none of that. Everything was pulled in, carefully controlled, worried about. Thought were mauled over again and again in endless ruminations like piles of fallen leaves in a desolate backyard. A desolate yard it was, but also isolated, and thus beyond the surface of her skin, she pretended to normality. She should be brimming with emotions right now - yet she wasn't. She should be smiling through tears as usual - but she couldn't. Let the past be the past, let the future be a surprise and let the present be so deeply imbued with your inner soul that you can feel its weight within with every breath, such that you never forget: The presence, of the present. Her thoughts though poetic, are, as always, easier thought than done. Afterall, she was an engineer, not a poet, and her life was a monochrome monotony, not iridescent poetry. But oh how she wished it were. To be the poet of her own life lived in the illustrious and boundless existence that is poetry. The ride to the airport was a horrible and quiet one. She had barely slept and knew she was in the negative slumps. As usual, her father and mother said nothing. She knew she detested it, but still, she did not know why, not now, and not then. Only that she did not want to leave on any sour note. Regardless, this early morning low on sleep and blood sugar, she was late, and plans were waived, new plans brought up in the blink of an eye, and suddenly mother was coming with them to the HSR terminal. Perhaps deep down, it was what she had wanted, but only a perhaps. So the 'good byes' were said, the 'thank yous' the hugs. She remembered hugging her mother once, twice in the car - not enough. Soft murmurs, worries, fears. The unknown was so scary to her she felt more 14 than 24 in years embarking on this trip to graduate studies. Then suddenly they had arrived. And it was time to say goodbye to her mother. The mother that loved her unconditionally, and would withstand anything bad with only silent acceptance. How she hated that, yet, it was too tiring to hate, so much easier to love. So she loved her. Loved her mother and cared for her as much as she could whilst she was by her side. And it was so wonderful, such a relief to know that she knew, that she really really knew, and that it mattered, and that it helped. And on this cloudy day, as she said good bye to her beloved mother, waving from the driver's seat on this gray cloudy day, she felt that she was the color leaving her life, leaving it in monochromes once again. Black and white and gray, yet she looked energetic sitting there as she smiled and waved, smiled and waved. Finally, she turned, and the girl and her father hastened away to catch the 7:05 HSR. The HSR trip was again a quiet one but scattered here and there with comfortable chatter reminiscent of the days when she has just arrived back in Taiwan. In recent days, some barrier had seemed to come between them. Her sense of incompetence and his demeanor of arrogance caused enough friction to start fires. So they talked less, a lot less, and she had spent that time mauling her thoughts alone. But this day, on this last day, something of a companionship had returned. He really was trying, she could see that; she could feel that. And so she tried too, and what they had, again took color. Too soon, they were at the airport. Too soon, she was checked in and they were exchanging their final words through shared air. Advice was given, 'good byes' and 'thank yous' again, said. Now it was time, truly time. A final hug. A final thank you. Then turning, she walked into the secured terminal, half turning her head to glimpse her father, but too awkward to turn enough to see anything at all really - and with visions blurred by crashing nerves, she walked on, knowing her father was watching her, watching her until she disappeared past the white pristine walls. But in that last moment, she turned again, a second time, neck stretched, back arched - and this time, she saw him: Already he was walking away. Back to his life, his work, his wife, his dreams. The white collared shirt, the faux-leather belt and loose suit pants over his small frame. Grayed hair dyed salon-black with a white star just peeking out from the roots. This was the image of her father, and unbeknownst to her, in that moment, the image of it burned into her brain like a vivid photograph; artistically blurred, emotions colored, beautiful in her overflowing gratitude and his unconditional responsibility, care, and yes, undoubtedly it had been there all along: Love.