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.

Masterpiece

I write not because I want to write about something… I write because there is something to write about.

Feb.28, 2017 • 12:26am

The pain never goes away; not really. It remains with us forever. But what we have to learn is that we can allow it to blossom into something beautiful– like a work of art. Into something that conforms; something that resonates. Something that will reach out to others and make them feel understood…–to help make them feel that they’re certainly not alone. That pain can also build a connection. We don’t always have to force ourselves to let it go because it doesn’t always work that way, –when the scars were already there. We can only accept it. Accept that these things happen. We cannot know happiness if we hadn’t known pain. And we have, but only one way to ease the pain and live with it: To use it.

We have to use it.

False Hopes

Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.

11:54pm • Sept. 26, 2017

I hate this Life.

I hate this fucking life. I hate my life and everything in it. And I mean, everything. Everything that’s happening… everything that’s been going on. I hated this fucked up life of mine. And above all, I hate myself the most. Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I swear, I’d give up any moment with just one tap on the shoulder. Everything is just the same. Everything sucks.– To which one day felt exactly like another… Everything is repeating itself. Day after day, week after week, month after month… Damn, even year after year! I am losing my mind and I cannot escape this hell! I’m so tired of this shit. I can’t do this anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.

I hate this Life? –such a cliché line, I know. But believe me when I say that I know how “cliché” exactly feels like. How frustrating it is? Oh, dear! You have no idea.

I’m so… so tired giving up each day and then trying to be optimistic the next day, because who knows what might happen if I just get at least a little bit hopeful… Besides, it’s what they all say. Hope. “Just Hope”. –It is something they all believe in. And it’s something they all hold on to, — to convince themselves to never give up because there’s that. Yeah, that thing.

And I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know that hope can be lethal. Hope is fatal. Period. I didn’t know that hope will kill you. Hope can kill you, when there’s too much of it. And that Hope, will actually kill you in the end. That it’ll one day turn into this kind of poisonous potion eventually… And while everyday you keep drinking it; trying to fill up your heart and trying to convince your mind… Trying to keep that dream alive. We drank into it. Into the idea that hope was some kind of medicine; a cure, perhaps. To keep our sanity. Insisting that hope will save us.

But hope have saved us.

From ourselves, from our own negations. From our own doubts… and fears, and our own questions. Just so we would shut up, and just Hope, instead. Or maybe we use it as a form of escaping… because we do not have the courage to accept and face what happens but instead prefer to hope for the better, if not for the best. Knowing we, fool people that we are, would accept anything the world tells us to believe. The society could’ve put stones in our mouths and yet, we would’ve swallowed it in the blink of an eye. We believe everything that we hear and see… But in denial to our own feelings. Couldn’t accept what we already feel. Wouldn’t believe all of which we’ve really had experienced.

Hope. Motherfvcker

It had killed us in the most subtle way… In a way that we, ourselves, wouldn’t even recognize at all. Hell, hope is even more cunning than a wolf,– if I say so myself. It was pretty unrecognizable to the point that we couldn’t even understand what was happening. We are blinded by the thought that hope, and only hope would save us. Hope is something we hold onto when there is nothing else that we can do. We subconsciously think that hope will save us, but it won’t. Only Faith, will.

We hope and hope… Until we wake up one day, and realize we’re empty. We simply give up and cling unto the idea of hope because we can no longer do anything. We thought it was okay to hope, and that it’s a normal thing to do because everyone does it. Everyone always hope for the best. Hope for the better. Hope for more. You see, that is our mistake; we put it all into hope so much and forget to do something for ourselves. — In our own. Forgetting that hope can do nothing for you but to keep you positive. To give you something that will fire you up to always keep you warm inside. Maybe the fault is in ours, after all. And not to blame it all out to hope itself. We made ourselves believe. We made ourselves believe so much… in which we, ourselves, had made.

Maybe they were right when they say that everything that’s too much is bad. Because hope has been a drug, for us…– or for me, at least. I took too much of it and got so high. So high that I couldn’t even remember what I did next. Maybe I got into a deep slumber and forgot to move on my feet. Maybe I enjoyed partying so much and forgotten how to go back home. Maybe… maybe it was wrong to hope. Maybe it was wrong for me because I had gone this way; Maybe I should’ve never took dose of that toxic pill of hope each time I was down. Because I never knew it’d only turn out to be like this. I should’ve let myself succumb into doom and let myself burn instead. Maybe it would’ve gone better that way.

But then I hoped because there is nothing else that is left for me to do. I can’t do anything to change it; to reverse my life. And if there is anything else that I can do, that is to hope. To hope that things would get better, somehow.

I hope one day we never have to hope. We only have to believe and then it will happen. But then that’s the thing. Because nothing really happens.

To Occult Oneself

To be saved; to shelter myself. To occult myself. To live. To be. To become free…

October 5, 2016 • 4:35pm

I wish to unlearn the things I didn’t want to know. To forget the things I didn’t want to see; and the feelings I didn’t intend to convey. I wanted to save my heart, (if that was even possible) in the first place. I didn’t intend to know the truth about life… And these, unlikely lessons I’ve learned… I wish to get off of my mind. But I know life doesn’t work that way. And I know… deep, beneath my dilapidated, and teneous soul… Reality will always come hovering to me; with its bitter sensation that even if I badly wanted to dream, I will wake up in its cold arms… Reminding me that I was once a Dreamer, but the world is a great mess that I had to become a Realist.

I wanted to… I wanted to shroud myself, if I was able to. To shelter my heart; and let it be. Even if it means being naive. I used to know what innocence was. I knew it the moment I realized I am no longer… It was like being a kid, accidentally witnessing the war in the battleground… with so much wound… and blood.. and casualties. It was like… it was like instantaneously taking away the humanity in you,– the humanity out of you; right in front of your very eyes. It was like stealing your very own freedom from you; stealing your chance to live a peaceful life. — Your one and only life… Taking away that chance to live in your own truth, — the truth you thought was true, instead of slapping reality to you. The life you chose to live… The truth you choose to believe. Let me believe a lie, instead. — I’d probably say. I wanted to conceal, to cover, and hide myself away from all of it… I’d protect myself from it — I really would. If only I could.

I… by all means, would really hide myself away from the world had I had the chance to. But it’s as if you could really hide away from Life. You cannot escape life, I’d known it by now, at least. No matter how much you run; or where you run to, it cannot leave you. And I know, deep in your heart… you are screaming, and crying out for help. Because I do, too. There are days when I do not know what to do… I do not know what happened; I do not know what will… I do not understand a thing. And I just keep sinking… and sinking… Until nobody can reach me. There are days like that… where I just keep on floating… and drifting away; I do not know how. But I just… — all I wanna do was stop. Breathing. And existing. I want to disappear. I want to go away. Far… far away… – where no one can reach me. No one can know me. No one can see me. — Because that’s me. That’s who I am. And I am alone. Sometimes I wish I’m not; but I am. I wanted to be gone, but I can’t.– I do not know how. 

And I know what’s next. I know just how it’s gonna be. I’d wish… and wish I hadn’t known a thing. About life… about the world… and everything in it… How fleeting life can be… How much pain you will bear… How many people will leave… How much everything can change; how much everything is… How much lie can sustain the truth… How much of yourself you will leave behind; how many pieces of you can you lost… How much everything can go wrong… And how much of it was your own fault. How much people can die from such unwanted tragedy; how much life can be wasted. Yeah, just things like that. I’d wish. And wish. But no amount of wishes can ever grant you the truth or the lie you wanted. Reality is here, and it’s what will stay. It’s what will remain at the end of the day.

And reality, no matter how much can suck, is what will be there for you… even if it’s not what you wanted. Even if all you wanted was to live your own fantasy and stay there; reality will wake you. And Life, no matter how cruel, is something you will have to live, and have to deal with the most. — it’s what will subsist. 

And even though painful, realization is what will last forever. Something that’s real…  Something we did not thought can be. Something that hurts… Something that will wound us profoundly; something… that will scar us forever. Something that’s epiphany. 

I wish I could go back… And unseen what I have happened to see… To turn back time… To turn everything back and become okay again. –To make everything okay again. — To finally be okay again. I wish to unfelt everything… I have ever felt; to take off all the feelings I had to bear but did not choose to. To unlearn those things I did not ever mean to know. To… to become unmindful, perhaps, — of this becoming of the world that I hadn’t even planned. To become free of all this grown-up shits.

To become innocent again. To become free of all this misery. To become unaware; instead of always trying to go back to the past and wishing things didn’t happened. To be saved; to shelter myself. To occult myself.

To live. To be. To become free…

A Need for Freedom

…To follow our hearts and let it be. But such is life, and that’s our tragedy. Because life can never give us the most freedom we need, either.

November 20, 2016 · 10:52pm

And then we spend most of our lives thinking we do not have much of a choice; and that we should have more. And we often do the things we do all because we have no other choice, and that we should’ve given more choices… because ‘choice‘ is what we need. –when it’s not. When it’s really not. 

We thought we do not have a choice that’s why life is unfair. But little did we know that choice is not what we even need in the first place. We don’t suffer from the lack of choices or the limitations of our options. Nor we suffer from our own poor choices. We suffer from our own perception of the world and its mechanics of having a life dependent on the choices and boundaries. We say there are no limitations; there are no boundaries. But then we believe in confinement of the given choices. And it’s our predicament to be in such a horrible deliberation of choosing the right one. I guess life is playful that way; unfair, even. But isn’t it, as a matter of fact, a very known reality to each and everyone of us to begin with? It was a given fact. And truth is, we don’t even have a choice in the very beginning. We grab and we take every opportunities; every chances that we can have because it’s hardly given to us. We only choose what’s in front of us; and what’s available. We pick from the given choices thrown upon us because there are no other options. We have to do those things because that’s what we’re supposed to; because it’s necessary. Because we need to, even if it’s not what we want. We have to do it because it’s the only way we see fit. Because we have no other choice. Because it’s what our situation demands. Because it’s what the life asks for.

Life will give us something we can call an “option” or a “choice”… when really, we are left with nothing but the mere chance of doing what’s need to be done. Pick the right one, because it’s how it’s supposed to be. In the end, we fool ourselves by constantly thinking, and believing that choice is something real. That choice is something that we all have. And choosing is something that we do; something that we used to… something we’re supposed to do. So therefore, choice is what need to have more of.

But we have no choice. We lived our lives believing we have that; we thought we had a choice, but we don’t.

Truth is, choice is not what we even need. We do not need choices any more than we need freedom.

What we need is FREEDOM. We need the freedom to choose our own paths; we need the freedom to do what we want and what we love. We need freedom to do things and make things. We need the freedom to make things happen and follow our heart. We need the freedom to dance in the air; and reach the skies. To fly up high, to run away… We should have the freedom to choose what we really want. Not to pick from the limited, constraining choices. We should be able to choose freely. To do freely. Anything and everything, as long as it makes us happy. We should be free from our own mind and our own delusional thoughts that choice is what we need. We don’t have to choose because we can do anything and everything. Why don’t we do that? To be free from everything that’s been tethering us and restraining us from doing what we really wanna do. To follow our hearts and let it be.

But such is life; and that’s our tragedy.

We ravage ourselves so much into thinking we fix up our lives by deciding what is right for us to choose… and pondering it based on the capacity of our own resort, and chosen option. Until we realize there’s a prick of emptiness within us that we hadn’t even notice was there all along. Something that we thought we didn’t feel at all. That feeling we’ve been trying to bury into oblivion all these years. Just so it won’t bother us, and we could be fine again. We thought it will; but it didn’t. We can no longer continue being oblivious because we can’t contain it anymore; we can’t hold it any longer. And we inwardly scream for freedom. We need this freedom of doing what we want and following our hearts. 

Freedom is what we truly need and not a single Choice. We need not any more choice; we need Freedom to do it all. To go beyond the limits and past our boundaries. We should be free to do it all. And it’s really just a shame we don’t realize that. We’re stuck into thinking we have no choice and that we need to have more. And that’s the tragedy of life. 

Because life can never give us the very freedom we need, either.