Musing no. 25: Hello, Wordsmith.

Words. I’ve always fallen for those so good with words. I don’t know, maybe it’s because I love to talk so much, that when someone else speaks I prefer to listen. But that has never benefited me, to be honest.

I dislike when people say things they don’t mean. They say things you want to hear, claim to be honest, then if they fall through–and you did expect them to–they say you have no faith. Excuse me. If I listened in the first place, then I’d have lost my soul already.

We sometimes forget how our words affect others; the way we say things and what our words mean can be totally different. Some may claim to be pleased doing this, some may lie about it. Whatever. You’re in charge of what you do and say to others at this point.

 

There will always be disappointment. You’re literally surrounded by liars. Family, friends, lovers, what-have-you… They all lie to you regularly. Hell, you even lie to yourself regularly. No, Janet, those pants do NOT accentuate your bum.

But my point is, don’t lie to yourselves. When you lie–self-righteousness like “I’m not the same person I was… I only deserve the best… I have to become better for you” type of crap–you don’t like to the other person. You lie to yourself. No, you don’t deserve the best, you can barely handle a real relationship. No, you are not the same person, but that same person makes you who you are, and you can’t really escape it. No, you don’t have to become better for me, you need to become better for someone better than me, because in your eyes I was not enough and I was flawed. THERE. Isn’t being honest SOOO much easier? Jeez.

 

I can not wait until I find someone I can speak to with any thought–no matter how shocking or appalling, how wondrous and amazing, how insane and inane, how beautiful and awesome. Time will come. I shall wait. I shall speak, and I shall be honest.

 

And. So. Should. You.

Musing no. 22: Lullabies

When I was a toddler, my mom said I would pat my bum and lull myself to sleep, as if my parents were doing it. I needed that comfort of being able to sleep in a way that I am most comfortable with. I would even hum to myself, as if I were singing myself to sleep.

As a teenager, I remember singing myself to sleep while wishing I was back in my country the 2.5 years I spent outside of it. While crying.

As an adult, I rock and sing and cry myself to sleep, but doing these don’t work anymore. Do you think it matters that I can’t sleep? Yep.

But why am I wide awake at this time of night? Oh, it’s morning. 0401 to be exact. I wasn’t meant to be on this side of the planet. So the goal is to go back where I belong.

 

Sometimes Life gives you a giant reality check and hits you with all types of maladies in the different facets and connections in your life, and it just brings you to your knees. I respect life. I just wish things went well, for once.

If I passed away right now, what they’ll find are empty water bottles, clothes I haven’t folded, books I’ve been dying to read, photographs I’ve taken, letters I’ve written, things I’ve sketched, and my dead, naked body. I don’t know if that’s even of any concern. In fact, I doubt anyone I know knows.

Ugh no, I am not taking my own life. I just like to imagine life without me, and how easier it would be for other people if I weren’t around.

 

Maybe I’ll just move to a country where nobody knows me.

Maybe thinking of that will give me sleep. Sleeps are mini-deaths anyway.

Musing no. 21: Broken-hearted 

Oh the Broken-hearted.

Spent their time pouring affection onto people who don’t reciprocate, or recognize that their feelings are genuine; that they just want someone to pour their heart into and love. 

And now they’re stuck hurting because people can’t love them the same way they expect. They expect. Don’t expect. 

It’s difficult when you spend a lot of time letting people know you care, that you’re always there, that time will pass but your emotions will be the same. And now you’re slowly going insane. Because they can’t do what you’ve intended for them to do. It isn’t fair to them; is it, to you?

We break our own hearts by handing them to people who can’t do the same for us.

No wonder some of us numb ourselves. 

It’s so easy to say, “don’t give up, love will come.”

It won’t. It never will. Some have to pursue it, and other times it just stays still. 

So then those who are trapped with nothing end up hating. Being miserable. Projecting hate onto those who don’t understand why. And yet we all sigh, we all sigh. 

So I’m tired. I’ll just be still.

And I personally accept the fact that I should just watch idly by. And not pursue. And not wait. And not expect, and not hate. I don’t know if I was made to have a mate.

If I end up alone, I guess I’ll be fine. 

No one wants to end up with a crazy; no one wants to be just mine.

Musing no. 20: Emanating

Any emotion one feels emanates. 

You can see it in my eyes. You can see it on my smile. Whether it be joy, sadness, pain, or excitement, you feel it by observing.

And yet all I feel is a void that’s missing feeling. It’s numb. It lingers from inside your chest, out into your arms, your forearm, your wrist. It takes over your hand, and your fingers feel warm at the tips. I feel it, and I hate it. 

My dad was right. I need to stop being too happy because everything will be balanced out with pain. 

But now I can’t genuinely enjoy joy, or peace; I await the arrival of sadness and chaos. How morbid. Don’t be like me. 

I have 5 layers of blankets. It’s summer. It simulates a hug. Simulates comfort. An embrace that I may not ever find. By inanimate objects that can’t rewind. 

Don’t be stuck in my mind, it’s no fun there. Everyday is a struggle to have fun. Everyday is not a fairytale. Thanks for telling me that, &$)@. 

I’ll just go to sleep. Sleep usually fixes it. Usually. Fixes. It.

Musing no. 19: Freedom

What is freedom?

What does it entail? Does it mean you are genuinely free from that which enslaves you? Or is it just an illusion that keeps you in chains in a way that makes you think you’re in control?

Is freedom being by yourself, or having the ability to enjoy whatever state you’re in?

Is freedom being surrounded by people who feel the same, or being secure in your solitude?

Is freedom the ability to travel, when you could enjoy what’s around you without cost?

Is freedom your ability to speak without hindrance, or the ability to speak and not hurt anyone with your words?

 

What is it?

Is it defined by someone else telling you what you need to do to feel free, or is it defined by your ability to decipher that which benefits you most?

Is it a way for you to practice your “free-ness” by not being tied down to one person, and just jump from one to another on a whim?

Is it really freedom when you confine yourself in a belief solely yours?

I don’t know either.

 

I think true freedom is found when you have peace with what you do, and don’t hurt those around you; and yet find fortune in what’s within, what’s surrounding, those who are there, those who are everywhere. And you feel love and are able to love–without holding back. THAT is freedom.

 

 

Musing no. 11: Are you awake?

Hi, it’s me.

Today, I feel like I’ve lost my fight. It’s okay, I’ll finally have peace. I remember feeling this when I was 14. Nobody believed me, because he was blood. Relatives would never do that. Nope. Let’s still help him go to school. Let’s still feed him when he’s hungry. Let’s ignore the fact that our daughter is wanting to kill herself because this human-imposed “purity” was the basis of that of a fulfilling and honorable marriage. But let’s help the enemy instead.

I feel it again today, unfortunately. And this time, I’m by myself. No one listens to you anyway, so what’s the point in surrounding yourself with people who have no care except to promote their own well-being, when you’ve been selfless this whole time? When you’d drop everything in a heartbeat, travel to them in short notice, but you’re just a passing hobby that gets too complicated. So bye, “it’s not you, it’s me,” yet again. Laugh it out. It’s going to be the case anyway.

She’s always handing her heart to people who would receive it, but not give anything back.

You’ll pass. you’re just a game. Try to explain it, and you’ll go insane.

Just wake up. It’s all a bad dream.

 

Wake up, you’re by the river stream. Pick the right choices from there. Don’t pick that box up. Save your money. Don’t buy that knife. Don’t cut your hair. Be beautiful. Keep singing, never stop. Don’t drink that.

Keep reading.

 

Is it something you’d die for? I doubt that’s passion, that’s just sacrifice and a justification of what’s “right.”

Does it make your heart beat fast, dilate your pupils, excite you, beckons you where you get distracted for hours on end, without tiring? That’s it.

Wake up. It keeps you awake. Find something that makes you want to stay away.

Don’t go to sleep.

Rage against the dying of the light.

Musing no. 7: To write about other things

Hi, it’s Lo.

So today I’m supposed to write a 12 page paper about geisha. I chose this topic because I feel like there needs to be more awareness about how it is slowly dwindling in appreciation. I’m not saying it’s not getting the attention it needs, but I decided to choose this object for my final paper.

My question is, why am I writing on here instead of writing my paper?

I don’t know.

Maybe I just needed a quick break from thinking about things that I just need to observe, and not try to change. I have this powerlessness that whatever I try will fail, and I end up being right.

But what if I keep writing my musings? Maybe someday I will find purpose. Stop the sadness that constantly visits my thoughts, even in the midst of times that are supposed to make me happy.

It’s kind of sad. Haha.

I don’t know if anyone will ever care about what I write here, or what impact it can make. But this life just seems so bland. Once all the highs are over, what’s next? Give to others? I’ve done that. Do what I want to do? I’ve tried that and have failed so far–or am still working on it.

It’s really difficult when I’m alone with my thoughts most of the time. I just wish that sometimes I could explain it to another person, so they know I’m not just morbid all the time. I just need reminding that things will eventually be better.

 

Just like you need that reminder too.

So I’ll remind you, while I wait for my reminder.

Musing no. 6: Allergy medicine

I feel like I’m floating and sinking at the same time.

To prevent my lungs from drowning in unwanted liquids, I have to consume very mind and body altering medication, and it’s screwing up my thoughts.

Why am I here? Does it matter? Do butterfly wings even flutter? Am I really here, or is this a dream? Why is everything like imaginary–it seems?

 

It’s nice and sunny outside, but all I want to do is go to sleep, and forget that i’m here, because I’m so exhausted. I feel like all my reason and all the help I need are gone because I fill my mind with questions no one is willing to answer. Be patient with me and understand that the reason I want to hold your hand and question things is because I’ve been dealt it, I’ve been dealt a hand. Maybe.

 

Maybe my thoughts are all the same, maybe I’ve slowly gone insane, but remember that what I say and do are not reflective of how I feel about you.

Maybe I’ll ruin it, maybe I won’t. My life is full of questions because when I used to love, I never asked a question and yet, there I was–left, abandoned.

I’m not quiet, I’m quiet–maybe audibly quiet. But the noise that goes through my head and my heart are such a storm that could rival that of the typhoons that take over the ring of fire every year.

But here I am now, and the questions that go through my mind, all the qualms, all my guesses, my worries, everything have to do with me wanting to be there, not screw it up this time, be with you. Not be left. Not be abandoned. I open up my soul, bare.

 

And still, no one knows what’s in there.

Musing no. 5: Talk to them.

Talk to the girl that’s always smiling.

You know her. She’s always asking about everyone else’s day, cracking jokes up, cheering people on, hugging those who need comforting, smiling at those nobody speaks to, and lending a listening ear to those that need it.

She hides something you know not about, something you should know about.

You don’t know that she cries herself to sleep, because of monsters from her past that haunt her. You don’t know that she sets her joy aside to make other people happy. You don’t know that the burden of succeeding and excelling coupled with her anxiety and depression cripple her, rendering her useless for hours on end.

And yet she gets up, gets dressed, and remains the same bubbly person you see.

You don’t know that because she asks about everyone else, but nobody asks her about her.

 

Talk to the guy that’s always watching.

You see him. He’s the one person helping other people move when no one else is willing to help. He lends you his coat when you’re cold, reminds you how amazing you are, cheers up those who feel like they’re failing, suggests solutions to those who are directionless.

He hides something you know not about, something you should know about.

You don’t know that he struggles to be confident because of the constant reminders of his mistakes. You don’t know that he helps to drag himself out of his room. You don’t know that his desire to make a difference coupled with his feeling of inadequacy pile up into a ball of confusion and a feeling of uselessness, no matter what he does.

And yet he gets up, gets dressed, and still goes out of his way to help.

You don’t know that he needs encouragement too, because all you see is him giving what he doesn’t get to others.

 

 

Talk to the person right in front of you.

You’ve been there. You see the difference they can make. You see the beauty they can create. Don’t just stand and watch. Don’t just stand and watch them ruin themselves.

Be their light. They need it. You need to share it.

Listen.

Observe.

Reach out.

Don’t pretend.

Don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re not.

Being aware of how you feel is not a weakness. It’s the beginning to recognizing how you can mend what is broken.

Face it. And if it’s too difficult, talk to them–they’ll help you.

Talk to the people who help.

They’ve been there.

They know how you feel.

They were you.

 

 

Because it doesn’t matter whether people ask about them or not. They find their joy in helping those who need it.

But talk to them. And after that?

Listen.

Musing no. 4: Go to sleep.

Just kidding. I slept so much today, I think I’ll be up for the next week or so. 

I haven’t been good to myself and I’ve been procrastinating like no tomorrow. 

Literally.

What am I doing to myself?

Do you ever feel like you’re floating and have no reason to be here, but you also don’t want to die yet? 

I’m not afraid of death. In fact, I look forward to the day I don’t have to spend it on this earth anymore. 

But I also question existence. What if I’ll be stuck here? And I’ll just watch people I love get through and move on without me?

Why would I deprive myself of living and experiencing life with them?

Go to sleep. But don’t make it permanent.

Life is so much more than a bunch of commandments to follow.

There is hope.

There is reason.

You’re here for a reason. Don’t give up.

Allow yourself to recover, but don’t just stay there and be stagnant. 

Move. Get up. Find purpose in what you do.

It will all make sense some day. I promise.
I’m still trying to figure mine out. 

❤️