I.

It seems to be a periodical thing, not my special days every month I am talking about, but the recurring suffocating feeling inciting a sort of turbulence, during which the contradicting pieces the nature of which, whether thoughts or emotion, whether psychological or physical, I cannot tell, unable me to stick to one topic. Once deciding on one thing, I can normally loosely gather my thoughts around it and put down my writing around a center, which is no longer the case when the disturbance starts. Still, I'm not able to trace back the origin of my "wanting to get elsewhere" feeling. I used to have a misconception of the geography when I was little, taking my city for a country, my region for the earth and the world for the universe, until I laid my eyes on a map and started understanding it. I am not sure if my desire to escape where I stay is related to correcting my mistake but I certainly know that once a place becomes too familiar and I begin sensing it is growing on me, I feel dead and I have to leave. What's worse? Those I attach myself to, connect myself to and, let's say "look up to" instead of "love", keep moving, the lonely souls perhaps more than myself, and those who don't are the ones  buried or burned. 

But the disturbing feelings on the road, which twist your stomach and gives you chill penetrating the back of the head, jump in from time to time, worrying about the questions, "what if I miss something while keep moving too fast?", "what if I never get to the place I want?", "I really don't see that place?", "am I just lost?", although they've never proposed the alternative of settling down to me. Why? Guess I have scratched it off my list long time ago. A sign of weakness and compromise, a mistake some admit at the end and some just live with. I am a good liar but not that good to myself, who is capable to accept certain things for the sake of convenience. So I have come to the conclusion that this is a phenomenon I have to deal with regularly, the solution of which is in the head, relieving the gloom thought caused by impatience, which is weird because very often, it is right at the moment when everything is going well, or perhaps too very and the others remind of a very promising picture in the future that I put myself down. It is possibly just unsatisfactory ambition...

I thought...

I thought I'd had my closure. I thought I'd figured everything out. I thought I'd safely sorted out and stored the broken pieces up high in the attic. I thought I'd transformed all the potential disturbing forces into steady, peaceful, quiet, pleasant dripping raindrops, chill, sweet and refreshing...but somehow, a friend has 'helped' me to open that door again, and the dam broke down and the devastating flood strikes me again. Hot flashes. I don't know. These are the things I am incapable to put together by logic, invading my waking mind and my dreams, which is why six or seven hours before everything comes back to life, I am already awake, trying to find a way to forget again.

I want to feel safe again and from gathering past experiences, I can only feel safe when my awareness that there is nothing to hold on to is strong. I know it's not the normal way but works for me. The detachment and honest admission of the nothingness are what bring me courage. I can, from time to time, cherish friendship, kindredship, or any kind of emotional bonds, but once sensing the tendency to truly rely on them, I shiver. I guess I can only believe them on a certain level, beyond which I still see the barriers for each impossible to cross. The closest feeling I've ever had only existed seconds in their eyes. So, although I never throw anyone away, keeping them as treasures, keeping adoring or even worshiping all the characters who amaze me, I avoid attachment, especially with her, my best and worst time with her. I know the feeling of being elevated by such an extraordinary person is real and something I've never experienced. Seeing her fly makes want to too. But thinking about her still hurts. Perhaps, let me try again with my reasoning to have an explanation, that I have indeed been changed and crossing over her path has brought the aspiration for myself that I've never had, but meanwhile, the hope she has injected in me sometimes feels too much. It's too high and too far. It can exhaust me, frustrate me and crush me. Perhaps, I should simply keep the aspiration and detach it from her, so that I won't feel the freezing cold hands of hers in my dreams...

In about four hours the sun will rise again. I'd like to go on the road again, I'd like to be on my own again, and I'd like to go back to being the beast again, de-sentimentalizing myself, again...because I make a difference between the me and the non me, the inevitable consequence of being born and the unavoidable state of being.

not use it for a while

I started my 'not thinking' exercise today, which is, as the name suggests, staying in a position not thinking. My general state of mind can be qualified as 'too crowded'. Since the moment I open my eyes in the morning, every waking moment, pieces of words, images, sounds keep bursting in, and I never stop talking to myself. All the time ideas, always aware and conscious... which I am generally proud of, but realizing how much stress it has brought, I believe deliberately clearing out some time for 'not using it' to give my little brain some rest. I didn't completely stop it today but as the first time I intentionally held my mind empty for thirty minutes, it was a small success. I almost managed to cut that flow of voice, not saying to myself, though some still worked there way in (actually I decided to call it 'not thinking exercise' when I tried not to think in words.) Since I see a long way to go, I've been afraid that being too anxious will break my nerves at certain point, and there is got to be a way to manage the excess. 

Again?

I'm afraid that I've got myself into the same awkward situation again. I had a wonderful night and outed to one of my friends after months of preparation work. We met some nice friends of friends and had pleasant talk and drink. But I started to get worried when the next morning one boy started to text me, asking me out for a walk. It had happened several times in the past, and I don't know why. I keep my gayness relatively visible to avoid misunderstanding and yet mistake happens, and the sad thing is I keep loosing friends over it. I used to be good at making friends with boys than with girls. Now I still find it easier to get along with boys and they like me until, well of course, finding out that my interest in girls. My childhood playmates took me as one of them, one of the boys, even the leader in the group, can't they do the same? It is a frustrating thing to find all the amazing qualities about a person and then just because I'll never take them as lovers that we stop being friends. Things appear simple but can be complicated:  I don't want to hide, I don't want to be impolite, I don't want to mislead, and I don't want to loose a friend.

Why isn't she happy?

I think appropriate title should be, " why doesn't she look happy?" because there is no possible way for me to gain that knowledge concealed within her, is there? But she does look unhappy, or, using one of my friends' words, " lost in her own head ". They have had a lot of absurd judgments about her, but this one turns out to be reasonable after I saw her today, crossing the square in bright sunlight full of people, whose spirits seemed to be lifted up by the early heat of the changing season. Amongst them, dressed as usual, quiet as usual, she looked more pallid and detached, and her age was showing more under the sunlight, but not at all reducing her grace, sad grace. The contrast between a confident and even proud attitude I've considered to suit her according to her aptitude, her characters and her achievements, and the way she carried herself has confused and troubled me. Probably it is only unnecessary worry, but I don't understand why she looks so sad. I like the way she searches for my eyes and when seeing my smiling, she lights up. The brightness is so beautiful but brief. I feel guilty because never being good at flattering and though talkative, getting too nervous to say anything to the persons I adore, I have never expressed my admiration to her. This feels familiar. The first time I didn't have the chance and the person died, the second time I didn't dare and the person left, and I wonder what is going to happen this time. However, at least I've mildly shared my relatively less subjective opinion about her with her. Simply, I just wish the people to whom I can be connected be happy, even the unjustified happy, which is double standard because I don't see the possibility of it for my own.

The Emperor isn't the only one without new clothes

Kejserens nye Klæder
So, the story keeps going on.They are so proud of the kid, who dared to speak out the truth that sometimes they confuse him with themselves. Convinced there's never been such things as the new fabulous clothes. Comfortable that everyone wears the same type, color and style.So satisfied and foolish, that they become dumb and blind, unable to see the Golden costume of the passing outsider, who appears to them still nude. Considering nakedness laughable and offending,they mock and they mock again, because it is unbearable for them to admit something beyond their understanding, well, exists.

The dead keep the notyetdead alive

It isn't as wicked as it sounds, indeed, and when the mind circles back to this thought, it isn't non plus an indication of gloomy mood. It is, I guess, a simple fact for me. 

Three or four years ago I was on a trip into the desert in the hope of finding a tomb I've heard about in my childhood. It was not a tomb of some extraordinary historical legendary personage. In fact, she was supposed to be very close to me as we are said to be related, only never met. But her story has been legendary for me, who is born and has been raised in the city. Streets, buildings, crowds and artificial gardens, the only sand I'd seen was the sandstorm blowing down the billboards on the roadsides. My hope to find it was full of  "perhaps, possibly, if I am lucky...", so when I returned without precisely locating it, I wasn't that disappointed, and my state of mind hadn't changed much, ' someone was still lingering somewhere in   the past.' 

wall

It was both pleasant and scary to watch a unoccupied and perhaps 'unoccupiable' vastness flashing by outside the train window, where only once the huge chimneys of a certain electricity plantation appeared, standing there, stupidly,  which made the idea that someone lived their life and was buried there more unthinkable. I guess during the whole trip I was a bit drunk by the sight, almost in a trance. I remember my the rhetorical question asked by my 'German teacher, " what is there to see? The desert? ", as the summary of one disappointing vacation trip she had had. Of course, I understand, coming for the warm, green, lively area, seeing the wild beauty of the desert is too much to ask from her. For me, these is everything to see.

One day later, I was able to successfully to situate myself in the middle of the desert, near the site where all the tombs were supposed to be. The landmark was an ancient beacon tower for warfare, which was still there and yet the cemetery at the foot of it was gone. Both remote, I was less interested in appreciating the story of a group of defunct people than that of a single person. A camel driver told me in a strong accent that two or three years ago, the whole cemetery was moved, and the cab driver claiming to know the new site told me on our way there in his taxi that the relocation was announced on local TV so that the families could find the new place where their beloved ones were buried. I wasn't local, I was from thousands of miles away and I did not know if I loved her for we'd never met. The cab driver kept talking nicely, almost too emotionally during the whole trip, but my mind slipped away, thinking how paradoxical it was I could be this close to tracing down the spot where a person for whom my feeling was unclear slept for eternity, while it was possible that a place in the city near me, the existence of which I am sure of and yet probably I am never able to discover, a place where the person I'd loved as a kid was sleeping. I guess it is just the way it is. You are still connected to those who no longer exist for the unanswered questions. 

When we arrived in the middle of the desert, where more stones and the color of the sand redder, I was astonished by innumerable tombs, some with tombstones, some without, some just heaps of stones or piles of earth. All in the open, no boundaries within my sight. You did hear the whisper of the sentimental poems written by the living to mourn and to imprison the dead, instead, you could hear the wild cry of the passed away in the wind, so freely and so carelessly. Despite the driver's kindly offering to accompany me to look around, the moment I got off the taxi, I knew the chance to find it was small. But we still spent quite some time walking amongst piles of earth, reading the words on the tombstones of those that had one. A name, a line, a sign, but how much can I learn from them? Nothing really. 

After a few hours, we came to the agreement that it was impossible to find it, we got back to the taxi and started heading back to the near town, that was when he showed how moved he was to see 'a young person would do something like this'. I smiled and didn't tell him it wasn't that big deal and him being touched was more sincere than what I could feel at that moment, because I didn't even understand why I was doing it or what I was doing, maybe just to experience the ambiguous line between the dead and the living. Thinking about the dead is proof of being alive, isn't it? I don't know if I will return to that place. I'd like to, since I'd never felt that carefree anywhere else.

Passive

Having considered gaining the full control of myself one of the ultimate but probably unattainable goal, I've concluded categorically that I will never enjoy being in the passive position in any matters, and feeling helpless is never pleasant. Even from time to time I appear to have a quite detached, indifference and inactive attitude, I can be viciously passive aggressive with the strong presence of consciousness and controlling will over myself. However, a certain occasion has got me to think more about the opinion I formed - isn't there any chance that I could feel good having no control of myself and have I ever felt comfortable relinquishing the power? Yes, I have to say. When I had my two wisdom teeth removed because of the infections they kept causing, I remember clearly the two small operations were set two days apart and after the first one I was actually looking forward to going back to see my dentist, which I suppose a lot of people wouldn't be. It was not because I had confidence in my dentist's expertise, but because I secretly enjoyed the feeling lying there, facing the sharp tools forced and the frightening imagination that at any moment they could slip off their hands and accidentally cut my tongue or lips or palate or break the healthy teeth; they could deform, distort and disfigure my mouth and my face. Yes, the thought terrified me but somehow I was willing to stay still (the drug was only injected to anaesthetize a part inside the mouth not the whole body). So it was the feeling of giving up, of not being in charge of myself or the outcome, of waiting helplessly for whatever was going to happen to me. It was similar to the feeling, before an important event for which you have exhausted yourself to prepare but still feel not enough, of knowing during the last minutes there is nothing much you can do in your power but wait, seeing the every second passing by without your intervention whatsoever. So I guess there need to be some modification to my last conclusion, and there seems to be certain passive positions I'd enjoyed.

A Joke

Just a joke I read the other day:

Seven Bar Jokes Involving Grammar and Punctuation
by Erick K. Auld
1. A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
2. A dangling modifier walks into a bar. After finishing a drink, the bartender asks it to leave.
3. A question mark walks into a bar?
4. Two quotation marks "walks into" a bar.
5.A gerund and an infinitive* walk into a bar, drinking to drink.
6. The bar was walked into by the passive voice.
7. Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They drink. They leave.



It cracked me up, especially the passive voice. Perhaps we can add more. At least it can be ended by "a full stop walks into the bar and leaves. The end."
*the only thing bothering me here: maybe it should be specified as "infinitive with to" (opposed to those without to)

The Blinding Coincidence

When you try to apply the criteria to what you do, things are quite complicated. What you do is not always what you love to do, what you are good at is not always what you love to do, what you are good may be what you do but is not what you love to do, what you do even when it is what you love to do may not be what is approved, etc. etc. I can go on and on. But among all it seems that the situation when what you do is what you not only good at and also what you love to do, and is not strongly disapproved (let's say approved), then it is perfect. Well, it is not. Actually it complicates things even more because in this case, you can be confused by the reason of your choice and have the tendency to inject too much 'correct purpose' and to embellish your motivation, when in fact you are just acting according to the same desire of those who are misread as 'the wicked'. Sometimes we just want to get somewhere or get out of somewhere. So the coincidence should not blind one to discover the 'terrible' nature in them, because that nature may be more revealing and keep you in the original route you've intended from the beginning that will not lead to a end of regret.

IndiaSummerplace: Try not to think (I dare you)

IndiaSummerplace: Try not to think (I dare you): This is an experiment that takes us to the limits.  Not to think at all, when one is wide awake and in full possession of one's faculties, c...

CraziLuv

She says, ' my kind of love is craziluv. Not everybody is made for than. Being nice means taking into consideration the feeling of the loved one and the disturbance I'm going to cause in her life. Many times, I've backed down suffocating my feeling without let it out when I see the peaceful surface of the her sea where my tornado is undesirable. I can keep my balance in and enjoy chaos but it's unfair to throw the others in it...
I say, ' too bad and a bit afraid, aren't you? to have a negative answer?'
She says, ' no, one cannot be refused if there's no understanding. I guess some species just have to wait for their own kind, the kind who can as well delight in the unknown, unstable and untrue, in the constant move and doubt, and in the dream of being total  never going to come but hopefully...'
I, ' then that will be a long wait. '
' No other option...', she murmurs, and looks away, implying the conversation is over.

We're 'selfless'

It is said that people are generally selfish. But the question is if they are selfish, why do some of them prefer not spending more time thinking about their own state of mind instead of forming opinions about the non-self before realizing based on what grounds, effected by what influence or using which kind of methods their views are conceived and are of what nature. I've heard people repeating to me their life stories again and again without any alteration, which indicates before telling me, they haven't reviewed their own past for their own sake, the very reliable resources more than any words printed on the paper, which is, for me, completely 'selfless', because I suppose the time we spend using our brains are precious, the time we spend reflecting and the attention we gather to understand an object, a topic or a person gives them values. For me, amongst the cruelest things one can do to another person includes neglecting, treating someone as invisible, not wasting a single second  to drop a though on another person. Out of politesse, you may have all the morning!'s,  Salut!'s or Morgan!'s that you want but you do not even sense the curiosity or desire to understand them. So why are so many of us treating ourselves that way? [...]

Puppetfield Takeoff

I'm not sure about those others who have been spending their life running and searching, reluctant to stop. I myself, finding pointless to stop, live in the constant fear of being caught in boredom, trapped in their routines, lying to themselves that everything is alright. Nothing can be alright when the heart (let's suppose it exists) is beating inappreciably and you become numb. I've heard my elders preach. Their tones were confident, but their words were hollow, face full of regrets. I've passed the troubled teenage age but I still have this frustration, the only frustration of the unsatisfied desire to go away. How can I stop? I miss my friends. I miss the ones I love. Our paths once crossed in a land foreign for all of us. I've been amazed. They flashed by through my life. I'm grateful but feel more restless. I doubted myself and the promise of the days to come. They are the marvelous creatures whose existence I'd never imaged before I met them. Oh, yes, I miss them, especially when stupidity is all around. I miss B, everyone fought for her attention, but I got the most. I wonder what she is doing. I miss her present and future. I miss H's past, though. Everyone is confused and fear her, not daring approach, but I got the attention. What a shame! I want her past for my future. I miss a lot of things but the only place I don't miss is what they call home. After all it was the house that I struggled to get out of. The harmonious family dinner around the table in the warm light was one of the worst scenarios. I'm still wondering why. Perhaps feeling too safe is never safe for me. Not having doubts signals danger, the danger of my head crashed by dullness. Yes, we can have a rest from time to time, lying on the road side or river bank, watching the sun, the moon and the stars, listening to the wind singing, feeling the morning dew on the meadow soaking the skin, the tips of grass blades tickling the bare feet, but at certain point, we know it is time to hit the road again, because there is too much unknown, too long distance and too little time.

Mrs. T

Feeling calm...

I think about Mrs. T all the time, my elementary school teacher.

There are infinite ways of thinking about a person. I used to think about her when I wanted to revise the carefree time as a child. A perfect episode. We ran wild and turned the city into our forests, rivers and mountains, the embodiment of which was her smile. I don't recall a time when she wasn't smiling or laughing, even the angry expression on her face for punishing my mischief looked fake and felt warm. Before the performance of our class chorus, she forced makeup on me and sighed, 'how pretty', and I blushed and my heart giggled at hearing her remark, which, as a girl myself, I'd usually thought only the silly weak ones would love to hear. I guess I checked my happiness too soon. We grew up. Things started to go, and things became better, but years in between I never saw her again because not wanting to ruin her favorite happy child, because not being able to face her with a troubled look. 'When I become stronger, I'll see her again.' I did, but a noose aborted my plan. Now I think about her knowing the end of the story. It took me years to concretize the news of her suicide. She was not the only one in my life who decided to leave this way but the first one to liberate me with this decision. When good news comes filling me with hope, I want to tell her, which I can, so it doesn't matter; when bad news arrives depressing and trapping me, I wonder whether it could be as devastating as what she was going through. Unlikely, but even it is, it can be switched off and we can go off the stage anytime we want, that is what she showed me, so it doesn't matter. Indeed, it doesn't matter. I was born but forged by her, and she'd left me lingering in the purple afterglow of the sun. She'd taught me plenty and I am grateful for the last lesson 'jump into the wild, my kid.' because whatever chaos there is, it doesn't matter. 

Which one are you?

I'm not sure if No.3 is the best or even exists. The worst is probably No.4.  I hesitate between No.2 and No.5 but I am definitely not No.1.