Promise of Forever

We often tend to suffer from our own little delusion that forever really does exist in this ever-changing world. Where nothing is certain… But please, forever is a myth; not a commodity.

November 30, 2016 · 6:18pm

We often tend to suffer from our own little delusion that forever really does exist in this ever-changing world. Where nothing is certain; and where everything seems fleeting… that even our own breathes are temporary. If only we spend much time, and effort, and work hard to achieve it.

But please, forever is a myth; not a commodity.

Nydel M.

Right Time

We shall meet again, some time. When the wounds are healed; and when the smiles are real. And maybe when life is a little bit of kinder, and nothing is torn…

November 15, 2016 · 11:44pm

and might I say,

“We shall meet again, some time. When the wounds are healed; and when the smiles are real. And maybe when life is a little bit of kinder, and nothing is torn… Perhaps we shall meet when the sky’s whole again.”

We shall meet, when the time is right again.

Nydel M.

Lowly Moon and Mighty Sun

And I will always be the moon who floats around; and wandering about…

June 10, 2016 • 1:34am

And you’re like the sun,

You shine so brightly up there. You’re so mightily beautiful, and so strong. You light up the whole world; and everyone can see everything because of you. They needed you, and they depend on you. I thought maybe that’s why the earth is so glad just sticking around with you.

And I’m just like the moon,

so far and so lone. I don’t shine as brightly as you do, every. single. day. I can only light up a little at night,– just every once in a while. I’m not as powerful as you, the light I emit is just enough for me to shine — for them to see me. But not enough to make them see everything else. I can’t light up the earth; I can only shine in darkness… and not everyone can notice me and be aware that I’m also there. When I shine, I can only make the sky light up ever so lightly, but not the whole world. I can’t make everyone look up to me even if I try to banish every star on my way just so it’d be time for me to stand tall. So it is just me that they can see. I can’t make a day for anyone, like the way they know their day starts when they finally see you. I would show up sometimes; and not everyone would care, and not everyone would even know I was actually there. Not like you, when they see the bright light outside,– they’d know you’re there; when the day starts, they know you’re there. You are always there. There’s no day you won’t show up, because if you don’t, they’d look for you and wait for you to smile again. There’s no day without you. You are so warm and magnanimous… you always warm them up. You seem so selfless. You are so fulsome and so great in every single way. That is how they feel you. They can see you and they can feel you. That’s the way they do.

I’m not like you. I can only be seen, but I can never make them feel anything. I can only be visible; I can’t come up to their senses. I’m present only to the naked eye. I am so cold and merely isolated; I have no power to warm them up. I can do nothing for them. While you are made up of fire that’s burning inside and out. Your soul is blazing with passion and firing up with love. While I’m just made up of stale cold air that lives in my own utter existence; a mere presence. A plain depth that contains nothing but emptiness inside. An all-out being that nothing comes alive but a grim and distant atmosphere. A vast space of void — the same empty space that wraps up my vacant place of nothingness..

And you’re enormously magnificent and excellent in everyday; in every way. You do not fail anyone; nothing can defy you. Whilst I am just a momentary event that happens from time to time. An absolute happenstance. I can only stay for a while, I don’t even last a whole time. I come and go, I can’t stay so long. I’m just nothing, but a being that’s going around here, coming from outta nowhere; going to anywhere… Just floating around, and wandering, and… fading. Here and there. While you light up the great big world with you, and the world is revolving around you…

You can satisfy the whole world by just simply existing. The earth is thankful to you because you are you… The earth is grateful because you are just there…not going anywhere.

Because you exist. 

You shine in the big blue skies… You stand tall up there; you shine with them. And it isn’t just you, but also because of you, the skies and the clouds can also be seen because you’re there. You are the reason. You have always been the reason, why everyone has a day; why everyone has a life. You shine even when everything around you shines, too. You shine even when everything is bright. You always, — always stood out. Because you’re the one who shines the brightest. Your light is what shines the most. I’m not like you. I can only shine in the dark. Without the darkness, I won’t stand out; I won’t even be seen. I cannot shine on my own. I can’t light myself up. Without the darkness, I can’t show up; they wouldn’t see me. That is how I am so dependent to the dark, like the way everything else depends on you. 

I depend on it; they depend on you.

They can’t go on without you; and you’re there for them. Always. And here I am, almost not needed. Uncalled for. Just a momentous happening that needed to pass through sometime… in times..

No air. No warmth. Nothing but a pure emptiness and a lingering solitude.

I can’t shine on my own light..
I always need the darkness with me; here beside me.

And I guess I can never shine as bright like you. As strongly as you do; I’m not like you, You’re the only mighty sun and no one can do things like you do. But I am not you..

And I can never be you.

Inexplicable State

You can’t explain yourself to people. It’s either exhausting; or there’s no way out.

image

June 5, 2016 • 1:43 am

It’s not strange when we hide our pain to ourselves. It’s strange when we don’t. It’s strange when we talk about it to others. It’s strange when we tell them. Because pain is a feeling, and is supposed to be felt. Just like love, just like passion, just like happiness or any other sensitivity we have inside us. And somehow, I find myself lost of words for it, I bet some of you too. I guess maybe that’s why. Maybe that’s why we can’t ever explain it sometimes because it’s too hard for us to find a word to frame it when there’s no any. And it is because it’s a feeling inside, not a thing outside of us that can easily be seen, explained… or even describe.

Or maybe it’s hard because it’s hard to find someone who’ll actually listen, who will understand or who won’t judge. Or someone we can really trust, or who will feel the same way. Or someone who can relate, or who can connect with us. And sometimes it’s just hard. And I mean, it’s just plain hard — that is all. Sometimes when you feel all that, everything’s hard… But I guess maybe sometimes, you also need someone who can reach out to you and be there for you. And not because you want to. But because s/he can feel you.

I wonder how hard it was for us to bear all these hurt and harrowing pain inside us and not once have we ever tried to talk about it to anyone.

It must’ve been fcking real hard, I suppose…

I wonder if those pain would appear on our bodies one by one, and if we could walk around seeing those wounds or disease… Would we look at us? Or each other? What would we look like? A casualties? Like, a bloody wounded people that had just gone from a war? Or a people corrupted by a plague? Or maybe we’re people full of scars; we would never even recognize our faces anymore if we ever bumped into each other again.

I mean, pain is pain. No matter what kind of pain it is. We knew it. Whether a loss, heartbreak, agony, misery. — they all feel the same… regardless of the reason. Still tastes like pain. We’ll always recognize it when it comes; always felt familiar. It is what it is. I thought maybe if we could talk about it to others or even just someone, we would feel a little better; a little less alone. A little less miserable. But that was the point. It’s what making it stung even more. When you need one but there’s no one. Unfortunately, I’m not making any sense. I’m trying to make up a word for pain, but here I am saying it’s because you’re all alone? Sucks. But let’s just put it down lightly. Pain is what killing you inside — and it’s what will make you want to kill what’s on the outside.

I wonder how much we have endured just to desperately hide it.

We want someone who’ll gonna be there but there’s no one. Perhaps that’s what makes us feel that we are indeed alone. When we’re alone with our thoughts; alone with our feelings… and fears. It’s when the silence becomes painful, instead of peaceful. The chaos of isolation. The pang of oppression.

But we’re not that desperate. Or at least, we don’t want to appear to be. We don’t want to look like one. I know sometimes it’s because we’re just a little shy… or timid, let’s say. Or maybe because we’re afraid they would reject us. Or most of the time, we want to contain it to ourselves. We don’t want to burden them with loads of what we feel, when we know clearly, that it’s not going be so easy for them. To both bear and understand. You know exactly how that pain feels like and fear that if you share it with them, they’d feel the same way which is apparently,– not a good idea. Which is why you just keep it to yourself.

It’s not that easy to find a word. It’s not easy to find someone. It’s not easy to tell; not easy to talk about. It’s not easy to share. It’s not easy to watch them suffer for it; or with what’s supposed to be just yours. And it’s mostly not easy to keep it to yourself any longer either, when you know it’s already killing you. It’s. Not. Easy.

It’s not easy to cut yourself open and show them that you bleed. To open yourself up and expose your vulnerability… to show them every cracks..

Sometimes nothing’s easy.

But you choose the last choice — to keep it to yourself even if it’s killing you; even if it’s not easy. But to keep it inside you no matter what the cost seems to be a better option, than to cause harm when you share it to them and let them feel the same thing.

And If you’re a grenade and you’re gonna blow up at some point, I bet you’d never want to see anyone to pick you up and kill them, or let them die with you when it’s time for your inevitable explosion.

I bet you’d rather choose to be alone with it, as well. No matter how much it hurts anyway.

To be alone, that is.

But I wish I can tell you. I wish I can make you understand. I wish I can explain to you. But I can’t. I just can’t. I do not know how. Because how can you explain something you don’t even understand yourself? I cannot tell you not because I don’t want to; but because I just don’t really know how. I wish I can describe to you just how I feel… so that you may know, and that I may feel a little less alone, and a little bit free… So that you would get me, so that you will understand what’s going on inside me. But that’s the thing. I’m blowing up and I don’t know what to do. I do not know how to escape; I do not know where to go. I just do not really know how. I’m just simply lost…

And floating.