A Reflection

painting by solar-sisters


Looking back, there is so much story to tell these days. I could never be fluent at expressing feeling, but I hope this little blog can contain some of these jumbled thoughts. Maybe some of you would feel this is so fucking sentimental, but that's who I am.


I am very grateful. Somehow in the middle of the night I'm still trying to contemplate this life I am currently living right now into a poem, sketches, or even blog post like this; but it is so hard to capture this nebulous minds, -- or thoughts, you can say -- into something tangible that I used to do few years ago.  This leads to my conclusion that what I'm thinking right now is very, very abstract. I barely wrote poem every two weeks like when I was in high school, or even read books and novels, listened to Sara Bareilles and felt the same way, it is so different. I know something is happening inside there, but somehow my subconscious keep telling me that there is nothing to worry about.

What I did every other night was doing paperwork, studying, and procrastinate my brains out. Fuck that. Even by writing this blog I feel guilty. I miss the sleepless nights where I wrote for my guilty pleasure, not the other way around. But the strange thing is, I feel the urge to it (the thing that I partially hate). Like the invisible forces, I am driven to do that.

No, I won't insert any physics-related metaphor here.

But the thing is, I feel like I am being divided into two constituents. Both, they are living and breathing -- with the same passion and confidence to face anything. Sooner or later, I need to choose one of them. And I don't know the reason why.

People say that you should criticize yourself once in a while. Let your standpoint 'stands' outside your perception. But every now and then, it becomes a cancer. It becomes something which is too personified. And it haunts me every day, every night in my sleep. And I keep saying too myself that there is always tomorrow, but honestly who knows with certain what is tomorrow?

From a book from a close friend, I read the exposition (and arguable proof) that time does not flow. It is our conscience that flows through time. Imagine walking on a frozen river -- the expression 'as the time goes by' become useless. It is right in our head that determines which direction we are going. It is right in our consciousness that illuminates every slice of the time.

And I hope my consciousness is walking in the right way.




2015
"i am
afraid
that if
i open
myself
i will not stop
pouring. (why do i fear becoming
a river. what mountain
gave me such shame.)"
—Erosion, Jamie Oliveira


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