Reasons To Be Alive

Why do we have to look for something that’s already there? Why do we have to be so lost.. and so broken when we can just let it be, and live life, and that’s it.

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It’s 12:15am right now, 20th of January, Sunday. In the middle of the night. Or, is it… Morning? Okay, whatever.

Reasons to be alive. Wow. What a very bold, strong and brave title for me, if I can say so myself. Okay. How, and what had ever come to my mind for me to even write that shit? I have no idea. It just… came. Maybe while brushing my teeth, earlier. So officially, this is gonna be.. I repeat, this is gonna be my first ever post for this year 2019. Officially. Gotta write something sensible… I thought. You came to here thinking I write something that makes sense but I don’t, and you’re wrong. If you read till the end, you’ll know that I don’t.

I do not write something that makes sense. I write my thoughts down, in the hope that somehow it will, but it doesn’t. It never did.

The reason why that very thought had come to my mind is maybe because I’ve been writing… And while writing, I’ve read so much about life, life… The meaning of life, and so so. It says “why do you have to search for the meaning of life, when the very meaning of it is just that: to be alive. So obvious and so simple.” Something like that… And I’ve figured, yeah. Why do we, fools, always have to complicate such simple things? Why do we have to look for something that’s already there? Why do we have to be so lost.. and so broken when we can just let it be, and live life, and that’s it. But it always sounds easier said than done, I suppose. I know the point of life is to live. But why do we search so eagerly? Why do we need the meaning? Maybe, just maybe… we are still so lost that we still don’t know why. Or at least, I can use the word I for this, instead of saying we. But you know, I realized… While brushing my teeth back there, and while staring into darkness, I realized that maybe the point of life is really just that. To live. To wake up in the morning and sleep again at night. Practically. Because you’ll die anyway. You die, regardless. You live and then you die. That is life. That’s the meaning of life. In the end, you throw it all out in the abyss because nothing’s gonna be yours in the end. Everything’s ought to turn into nothing. In the big, black nothing.

But that, that particular random moment… I realized, that maybe life means the kittens waiting to be fed by you, waiting for you to feed them their milk because some people are just plain asshole who decided to throw them out on the street when they are still helpless little babies and you are lucky enough to adopt them, and take care of them. Maybe it means the round, big full moon outside, waiting to be seen. Maybe it’s about the pile of unread books you still haven’t gotten the time to read. Maybe it’s the strawberry salt scrub in the bathroom waiting to be used up. Or some random people waiting to hear a word from you again. Or maybe even just the the bed. Simply waiting for you to lie down again, for the night being. I realized that maybe life is just that. To simply exist. To merely exist. That we don’t necessarily have to find so much meaning; to dig so much deeper to get there. Because we’re already there. We’re alive, and we exist. There is not much to life. There’s not much to life apart from breathing.

It’s been the 20th day of the year. Already. And I can’t remember writing something much of a content… or let alone, a bit of a sense back in 2018. Haven’t written much. All I did was post all the goddamn old notes I had, from about three years back. Damn. I’m getting left behind and couldn’t keep up with the time. Couldn’t take account on chronology. A year went by so goddamn fast, and yet nothing ever happens. But it’s always been like that… It always felt like that. I’d think, almost nothing had ever happened, but really, so much have happened. In fact, many things had happened. It’s just that, when we say, and when we look back at the year that had passed by, maybe it was a week or two, that we look back to; Just about what we remember last. We don’t really look back from the start. But as I lay here, now… I realized… I realized, time is still the same. Almost hypnotic. Will surprise you by the start of the year… Smack you straight onto the face and say goodbye by the end of it just like that. As if nothing happened. As if nothing ever mattered. One day, it’s the first day of January, the next thing you know it’s almost gone, and it’s Christmas already. Wow. Time has gone by like this. So long and so quick…

It feels weird. Writing along… And just whatever comes to mind, I type it down. Basically everything here is just random. And pretty much spontaneous. I don’t really hold onto things so much that’s why I let the spontaneous things happen on their own. Tbh, I have this… This blog of mine, which all I ever do was to post something out of date, which is pretty much the very same reason why I started this. I created a blog, just so I have somewhere to put my notes on to. All my blabbering… My whining on how shitty life can be. Nothing more. I created this just so I have somewhere to put up all the nonsense. All my nonsensical random thoughts… But then things change, you know. Some random people had been able to read this, and are able to read even my previous blog posts… And I still cannot call myself a blogger. I post… Old notes, okay. And I cannot call myself a blogger. But… it feels strange, in a way. Writing this, this particular one. I’m finally talking as myself, referring to me, as “me” not writing as, or being you, or I. Err… Confusing? Alright, I know. All along, in the previous years back, all I do was post in a sequence.. of events, phenomenon. Of random theories and random conclusions. Random musings.. and all that. Just… typical me, being me. I guess.

But… looking back, from last year. I was able to… I think I’d been able to do stuff. Was able to meet people again after years of not seeing each other. Was able to walk with them in those months, and was able to be part of making memories together. Was able to witness happiness in them… Through their laughs, and through their eyes. Had been able to have wise talks, and exchange good conversations with just about a few amazing people. I was able to see it all. Was able to feel the friggin’ summer heat in the earlier months of the year. Also been able to be away from home for like, five long months. And, had also been able to meet people. Meet friends, actually. Hmm… Online, I guess? I was able to meet new people before the year ended inevitably. And reading back to it now, I realized there are a lot of things I’ve missed. Simple little things that if only I’ve read well, I would never have misunderstood… But as I say, I’m a freaking klutz and I always seem to miss something. Oh, I remember there’s this someone who asked me something, and when I answered it, said: “why answering it so dumb?” but I’ve always been dumb, btw. I still am, actually. But that particular moment… was strange. Strange because I do not know if I would laugh or get insulted. So I got stuck with both. But I had to ask myself, “dumb, because he thinks I did not answer it seriously, or dumb because I really just answered it dumbly, and I just haven’t realized it yet?” And so I asked him. And he said, “Because when I ask people this, they answer, this and that” And I thought, Ah… So he got a quite different answer this time, maybe even for the first time? Or maybe he expected me to answer the same damn scripted answer just like what he always got? Either way, I don’t have the answer because I did not ask him after that. Like, would I consider it good? Or bad? I never figured.

It’s funny tho, how someone can say you are dumb or someone who can think you are amazing, or someone else says you are smart. I mean, I don’t know but I just find it somewhat.. funny. These… these versions of myself they have made up in their minds. My point is, I do not care; I couldn’t care less what they think of me, what they have inside their minds the way they made me up… But it’s actually also fun, too, hearing it from them sometimes. (I realized that) You realize there are so many versions of you out there. I mean, I don’t know… And I still don’t. How someone would say I’m “interesting” and I’m meant to ask them, “interesting… you mean?” And while realizing that’s just being dumb again, I’ll think. Think for myself. Interesting is something that is worth knowing. And interesting and worth knowing for me is, the Voynich Manuscript. The Lines in Nazca. The existence of aliens. History. The mysteries behind it. Stuff like that… You know. And then I’ll look through myself, and ask, “am I interesting enough?” And the answer is no. And that brings me back to why I had to ask them in the first place. ‘Cause I don’t think I am, why would you? Why waste your time on me? I mean for me, I choose carefully where, how and whom to spend my time with. I understood the merit of time, so better spend it into learning, and searching for something worth knowing. (If not conversing with people worth talking to) and that, for me, is interesting. As for them, for people, I don’t know how they come up with the idea of their “interesting” when they say that. How they make up their mind and decide something is actually, interesting. But then again, Life, — a matter of perception so it’s up to me, and also up to them.

But still. When people talk about something, I do not know what really, is this “something” they’re talking about. I mean, it could be anything… But I’m just not the type of person to do the guessing. Like, “I think we have something, do you think/feel the same thing?” That something I do not know about. I mean, is it because of the things I’ve said? Things I did? Things I didn’t? Were you surprised? I mean, I could say the same things to others, those things I said to you. Please don’t be mistaken. But that’s just gonna be either rude, or just another dumb answer. (I know, I know. We both do not know where this fucking messy blog is heading but I’ll keep going anyway) And I, myself, also find it amazing when someone calls me “amazing” like, really? Me? Amazing? How so? I mean, dude. You don’t know me, you don’t see me, how do you just made up your mind to that conclusion? Except, sometimes I’m just not that interested to know either (also except on the very rare moments that I do. I give a small damn to ask) like, how someone can come up and appear to you saying “this is the first message I ever sent to someone” I mean, what does it even mean? To have someone’s first ever text appear on your chatbox? What does it take for someone… to decide to message someone, or to decide to tell them that, or is it even a big deal at all? (Now I’m finding this interesting, huh nice) or for someone, asking “are you a cat person or a dog person?” I mean, is it really that important? How did you come up with that so randomly? But.. Looking back I realized, it was maybe just their way of approaching because they do not know how to say Hi, and I understood. I understood now. How someone’s comment made sense now than the first time I’ve read it and mistaken it only because I actually misunderstood it. Or how my mistakes, and how I mistakenly read something can actually help someone a little. (I want to remember those… remember those small moments of happiness even in just a fleeting glimpses of time) I don’t understand how someone can get intimidated by the way I write when he, himself is a poet? And I am nothing; I’m not even a writer to begin with. I write, yes. But that doesn’t mean I write good stuff like a real writer does. Like how someone can say you’re cute, without even seeing you and all you ever did was have a conversation online. How someone can say you’re a good and amazing person because you came back while that’s really the right thing to do that time? How someone can say that you’re finally getting better at writing when that particular one wasn’t even what you consider one of the best. How someone, can say that you sorta do magic and you always write something meaningful when most of time all I do was fool around? How can someone, some random someone would actually listen to the songs he said I “suggested” just because of my random blabbing of the songs on some random comment section and he’d actually thank me for it? I mean, how randomly polite someone can be… And what it took for him, to search a word in your language? Or… what does it take for someone to think of random “who” random crazy, eccentric person to think that he screwed up somewhere that I had to leave. When really, it’s just me being me. How can someone appear like they left because you left? Because you somewhat left them broken? I mean, how? How can someone be attached to you, without you being near them? How can someone find you a “joyful soul” or a “depressed” one? I mean how, what’s their basis? How someone could ask me, “don’t you have hope in life?” I mean, what triggers them, to ask such? And how someone can ask me about life… And how all I can think about is death. Because it’s just that, — death. When I think about life, I’ll think the end of it and there’s death. I can think nothing but death. When will you die, where, how quick or how long and… How awful it will be. You could think I’m pessimist, but really. I’m merely just a realist. But it’s not death that gives me anxieties; it’s the state of being alive. Not knowing what will happen next… And I don’t know how much it takes for people to actually like or dislike you; or what it takes for people to give their number to someone who asked randomly just like that, or does it really have to be a big deal? or how could you impact someone’s life so randomly in a snap. What does it take for them? Is it because I can’t feel anymore… I’ve been so numb that I no longer find anything to be relatable? Maybe… Maybe yes. As I’ve said before, they thought they’re talking to me but they’re actually talking to the dead; to a ghost. They’d think they’re talking to me but they’re actually talking to a corpse. Or maybe no, because it’s just me. It’s only me, being me. And this is me. I’m like that not because I’m lost or anything… But because it’s just the way I really am. Always numb, always neglectful, always oblivious, always dumb. And this is the thing I know. I only know how to be the way I am, and I can never know theirs. I will never be them.

I used to think… And used to absorb, and carry it within my heart, and probably mind, what Whitman once said: “I never ask the wounded man, I, myself, become the wounded man” but it is only now, at this moment, while writing this that I realized… John Green was right. I mean, I always know he’s also right; but not just as much as Whitman is… But yeah. I can never know these things. Of what people have in their minds. What come into their minds, what made them think such; what made them decide and what it took for them to decide or to do such. It’s 2:29 am now and in the end, I can only conclude that, and I can only agree that… Yes.

I must ask the wounded man, because I cannot become the wounded man. The only wounded man I can be is me.

This made sense to me, I hope it did to you.

These… Maybe these are my reasons to be alive. I figured, I have a couple of reasons to live. Just some good, wise conversation with someone. A really good book. Hot chocolate on some cold weather days… A very cool documentary to watch in the midnight. A clear sight of the stars. Finding some breathing and living souls; finding some random kindred spirits spontaneously. Fresh bedsheets and pillowcases and good music to sleep at night. These… are what I live for. These are my reasons to be alive, for now.

Into The Wind

“Everything that’s broke — leave it to the breeze. Let the ashes fall… Forget about me.”

Feb. 28, 2017 • 12:05am

And then everything is constantly changing… Suddenly, everything is slowly drifting away; gradually. We cannot brace them, tie them, or keep them as ours. We can always cry and complain, but none of these will ever make them return back to the way they used to be. Because this time, whether or not it’s what we really choose… we only have one choice:

To let them go, and let them be.

Metamorphic Spirit

…But it’s either you break free from the mold; or live the rest of your life inside that jar.

Oct. 19, 2016 • 1:55am

Change is such a painful process of peeling away your mask and revealing your skin with some parts of it getting torn away; lingered onto what has left it and leaving you broken. It is both heartbreakingly overwhelming… and extremely terrifying. But it’s either you break free from the mold or live the rest of your life inside that jar.

Emptiness, I guess…

We let go when we couldn’t take it anymore. We surrender to life; surrender to our own questions… issues, and doubts… We give in to life itself.

January 27, 2017 · 1:58am

Sometimes we seemed okay… and we look fine. And everything seems to be just fine…

Until at some point, something hits you and you feel incomplete. You don’t feel whole at all. It’s just that… you’re suddenly feeling empty, and it surely felt like something was missing. Something went missing. It’s so strange; everything doesn’t seem to feel the same anymore. It’s like something’s not right; something was gone. Like… there’s something wrong.

We learn to live a life full of changes. No, I mean… we learn to live and understand that everything change.– and that includes our Life.

We are left on our own. With so many questions that’s ever more baffling than before. We usually pass up, without even understanding a thing… and then eventually give up. We let go when we couldn’t take it anymore. We surrender to life… surrender to our own questions; surrender to all the issues, and doubts. We give in. We… inevitably let it all go for sure. Let it go when we couldn’t grasp our own reality anymore. When we couldn’t hold onto our dreams any longer because it just seems so… unreal. –Ideal. We let go when we can no longer make ourselves believe. Our dreams were perfect, but we’re not. We, by all means, learn that maybe dreaming was just for kids. Oh, the perks of growing up. Or, should I say “downside”?

We are waiting for the answers that will never come.

We continue to seek… and try to find these answers we badly needed to know. And then we consistently ask questions, after questions… That leads into yet another question we could never ever get an answers for. Not even a single one. And frustrating enough, we just can’t stop questioning everything. But answers don’t seem to come easily… while questions were pouring profusely down on us like a fire bullets. It doesn’t seemed to have a sort of cessation.

It’s just that, not everything is all about the answers. But answer is something that counts. It’s something that we need. It’s the only thing that will make our sense to the world. Or, the only thing that would make sense to us in this world. We need answers just as much as we need to live, and breathe. It is something that gives sense to us; it is something that gives us meaning. But it seems to me that… questions were more likely to be served upon us than it is the other way ’round…

Until we eventually doubt everything. We could no longer believe at anything anymore. Because we can’t forever hold onto questions; we can’t trust every sign. We need something more substantial. We need something… real. Something genuine. We need some proof.

But it’s as if life really gives you a proof.

We hadn’t even been given any reason. Not choices anyway. Hell, we hardly even had a little clue. But we cannot hold onto something that’s fleeting… We wanted certainty. But the world has no guarantee if…– everything about it is.. passing through. We cannot ask for it to give us a steadfast life; and a certain reason, when all it knows was changes…

We cannot demand such delusional mirage from something cryptic like Life.

And then we drift, and we roll… and tried everything we could just to get that only one answer we constantly long for. And yet, all we found was nothing. There is nothing. But why the hell does it still have to feel like there has to be something? That there is always something. Something between the lines… There’s something that we can find from behind the walls… from behind the bars… from behind the ruins… from behind the iron gates. From beyond our very own walls.

Because we always feel like there’s something. That there must be something. There is something here for us… Something we can find.. Something we can have… Even something we can own, eventually. There’s always this something…-an urge. An urge to know… The urge to believe. The urge to hope for more… for something. Something that we could never even figure out. And then we end up longing. Longing for something we do not even know… Something we’ve never had. Something we cannot have.

From behind, and beyond the unknown.

Why the hell does it have to feel like there is something to be found behind the unknown?– If you just gotta believe, and be courageous enough to go through it… Or to be eager enough; and be determined enough to want to know. To learn… That’s what I don’t understand about the human life. I don’t understand why everything has to appear so simple, when everything was nothing but complicated. Why does it have to look, and to sound so easy and simple?  Why does it have to pretend to be something it’s not? Why does it even have to fool us? Or, — is it really worth it?

It’ll make you feel like you have to be brave, and face everything… because there is something so precious that’s waiting for you on the other side. Just go, do it. Have courage and do something because life will surely guaranty you for it; for your act of bravery. Like it’ll reward you for striving really hard.

And then we, fool people that we are, of course follow the path. And in the end, there is nothing. It made us feel like there is something waiting for us at the end of the line… and then we held onto it. And we strongly believed that there has to be… there has something in there. That it was true,–there really is something, after all. Something so real… something so marvelous. Something brilliant. And then we get there, and there was nothing. It’s empty. Until we find ourselves on the very same void that we had created, and imagined… Quite similar to the only thing that we found. Empty.

We continue being victimized by our own life. We continue gathering the answers… that we never got. I guess there really is just one certain answer, after all.

Emptiness.

The Unlikely Christmas

But Life goes on. Life is just the way it is. Always has been; and always will be. We have to move on. We have to keep moving on even if it means crawling.

Dec. 27, 2016 • 7pm

It’s been two, three, four years… No. It’s probably been five years.

It was the same date. The same place, the same foods,– even the same people.

It was the same Christmas Eve. It was the same time of the year. But something about it…makes it feel just…a little different. No, — a whole lot different, actually. I don’t know, but everything’s the same… Even the same smell, the same ambiance, the same aura. But something has changed. But no, — everything. Everything has changed. And I’m going mad. But I’m always mad.

Okay, this makes no sense.

I was caught up in my own thoughts that I could not even fathom quite lightly. I’m making it hard for myself when I’m trying to figure out the unfathomable.

It was so ruthless of time to leave us all behind, — all the time. It’s like, we’re running with it,– running so fast; just so we could keep up with it. Keep up with time. But no amount of energy, speed, and even power could ever keep up with time. We’re no match with it. We’re always in haste; always in a hurry, — at work, school, even growing up… We wanted to do everything in haste; to do it quick and fast, just so we could buy more time, and extra time for ourselves, the ones we love, and everything else. And just like what The Flash has taught me: Time is our common enemy.

But it’s as if something will ever change if we blame it.

It just sucks…to think how unfair the time is. How actually, unfair everything is. We are walking around here, thinking we have more time; but little did we know that time never stops. Not even a second. Not even when you’re happy; not even when you’re broke. It just smacks you on the face and then… Ta-daah! Your time is up.

And then the moment when the time and change finally decided to have a joined forces… That’s it. You’re dead. Because what else can you do against the force of nature? We all knew we can never do anything about it. Most likely, we just float around…and we just let the wind take us; wait for it to decide. It doesn’t matter where you wanna go; because it would be nothing anyway. In the end, it wouldn’t really matter whether or not you wanted to go elsewhere. Life, time, and change were the ones to follow.

Sometimes, I even feel like we’re just puppets. Like some kind of marionettes. Just hanging up there…waiting for the next pull of their strings. We do not own anything. We’re all caught up in a same thought that we actually own something; but we don’t. We fall apart; we’d be lost, and then we’d fade. We would fade away… I mean, just like that?

I mean, it’s just crazy how the time and change can be. But Life goes on. — that’s what they say. That’s what they always say. But what are we gonna do if things were not the way they used to be anymore? We cry? We fall apart; we move on? But of course. Life is just the way it is. Always has been; and always will be. There’s no other way to move past life. We have to keep moving on even if it means crawling.

We can’t do anything about the force of nature; or the force of fate. We have nothing to do against it. But we can at least hope, and pray for something. Even if we do not know what it is; even if we do not know what for.

And then I realized that…it’s not actually everything — that seems to change. Not exactly. It was actually me… who’s changed quite a bit. I’m the one who’s been different.

I’m not the same person who’s walking in..