Monday, November 24, 2014

Last Time

Tomorrow I will see her for the last time. For one last game. I have already lost the hand, so what's the harm in playing one more time. I tell myself that she can't rob me of anything more than what she already has. I knew she'd hurt me. When she looked at him like that again. It hurt me before, but I gambled on. The hurt did not come out of jealousy, but more out of betrayal. That a woman you love would choose to adore something knowing that it had caused you so much pain. Perhaps it was more like a test by fate that she failed, or perhaps I did. You see, it wasn't about him. It was about her. I loved her more than I loved him and I believed that she was on my side. But her heart was too fragile to not melt at a few words of spoken poetry, to not giggle at those god awful jokes, and not dream like I once did. And my heart was too fragile to not shatter. That's what happens when you love. Everything becomes so... fragile. One day you are a rational person and suddenly, you are walking along the edge of a knife.

It's always a gamble. Loving someone - anyone. It always comes at a price. Love is exhausting. You eventually run out of fears, and appreciation, and devotion, and tears. You can't - and shouldn't  - keep loving the people who purposefully hurt you.

Don't get me wrong. I am a lover - a gambler - I have just learned enough to gamble elsewhere.

Sunday, November 09, 2014

The Drunkards

Perhaps every relationship is doomed to monotony after a while. Or perhaps some people are just wired a different way. They are cursed to yearn for love and romance even when they've had it. They have the bottomless cup that never fills even if you keep pouring world's finest wines into it.

Drunks should not be paired with sober people. Sober people want more out of life. Drunks just want one thing - one more glass of gin, one more shot of whiskey. They want the same thing over and over again. Just one more. And sober people are not willing to keep a cellar full of just that.  And yet all drunkards are cursed to ask the sobers to fill their cup, and it never really works.  They won't love them back. You just have to find peace with it. Relish in the memory of the sweet taste of heaven, spend your remaining days yearning for the magnificent beauty of the first sighting of the damned wine.  Find time to love and hate and love again, and never truly feel satisfied.

Monday, November 03, 2014

Ordinary Day.

We sat with nature and read our books, and let the sun fall over us. We briefly took a nap on the patch of grass under the shade of a Redwood. I watched him drive into the drizzle later that evening.

I lit a candle at night - black orchid and amber - when I stepped into bed and grabbed a book. Dylan stared at it for some time as he always does. Something about fire and its allure that fascinates him that I can never get a hang of.

Nothing special happened today. No big revelations. No birds singing our praises, no major declarations of love or thoughtful conversations, no waltzing around the kitchen floor. No bouts of laughter. But love stayed. Silent, peaceful emotion floating its way from one room to another, from my books to his, from his eyes to my lips. Love doesn't demand grand gestures. It demands endurance,  it demands restraint and... I am in love with the simplicity of my days.  

Today was a simple day, where nothing was out of the ordinary and everything stayed the same, and that was enough.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Autumn Rituals

It’s an autumn tradition in the U.S. to go apple picking, and visit pumpkin patches to get the best pumpkin for Halloween, and grab some cider before you hop on the hay ride, and sometimes end the day with a bonfire and s’mores. Sometimes it involves telling spooky stories, sometimes it involves laughter and songs, and other times it just involves silence. We all grew up with that. 

Now when I think about it, the whole ritual sounds silly. We pay for an overpriced bag of apples and the quality of the apples is always a hit or miss. There is really not much to the hay ride. It’s sitting at the back of a trailer with hay on it while it drives around the farm at 15 miles an hour. And yet, every year my friends and I itch to do it all over again the moment the first fall wind blows. We go and we pay and we ride and we drink, and we find the whole idea silly and we laugh.

But something has changed over the years. We have stories to tell now. We aren’t necessarily making new memories but rather recalling the old ones; solidifying our friendships while exchanging our experiences from when we were children - when trying to grab the apple from the highest branch was so much more exciting. Somehow doing this over and over again, reminds us of the simpler lives we all once had, helps us get in touch with our innocent selves that was content with just a hay ride and a glass of apple cider.

Childhood memories, no matter how silly, are so terribly important for our sanity today. I think we lose ourselves in the stress, and the work, and the selfishness when we lose our sense of self. We must never forget who we were and how we came about to be. We must never forget that happiness sometimes just means spending a Sunday at the apple farm.

I do hope this fall you take a moment to relive your childhood. Pick your favorite thing you did as a kid and do it all over again no matter how silly it seems. You’ll be happier for it. You’ll be better for it. 

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Simpler Life.

He insisted on taking me back to a simpler life. A life where you turned the radio on in the morning and not the iPad, life where you brewed coffee and stuck around long enough to feel its aroma spread through the house, where you take a moment to feel the weight of the warm blanket on you, and appreciate the soft sheets and the hard pillows. Open the window and smell the trees - not the flowers - but the trees. Name every creature, alive or inanimate, because they all deserve some identity.

He insisted that I take afternoon naps especially when my brain was in overdrive. He insisted that I spent no less than an hour in the bookstore even if I have no intention of buying anything. He showed me how to keep my face close to the cup and blow on the hot tea so I can feel the heavenly warmth on my face. We practiced, and continue to practice patience - we started small - waiting for the water to get warm, patiently watching the YouTube video to load, waiting for the coffee to cool down enough so it doesn't burn the tongue, slowing down at the yellow light instead of speeding up, keeping the phone away for a few minutes and laying down to stare at the ceiling. He insisted on giving - be it to me, to a friend, or to someone in need.

He showed me the joys of being sung a lullaby as I drift off to sleep, and the importance of sleeping -- to shut it out, to let it go, to allow your body to be at peace even if only for half an hour.

I learned to control my anger, to let someone else win for a change. Over the years, it made me realize that I am a flawed person. The realization didn't make me sad or angry. It made me humble. I realized that people make mistakes - that I have made mistakes, and the world hasn't come to an end. The world doesn't come to an end for anyone. He succeed in making me a better person, a simpler person, a happier person.

My life is so uncluttered by things - my mind free - all the junk is cleaned out. I live in moments that live out the things we buy and the things we get worked up about. I feel like a little girl learning it all over again. I didn't know I had so much space and so much peace inside me.



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