A Greeting To An Old Friend
Post a certain point in time, having a blog seemed to have lost the relevance it once had in my life. Ideally, I'd love to blame this on the sudden growth of the mobile phone and the ability to broadcast myself whenever I wanted to.
The truth is, somewhere along the way I lost the courage to pour myself on to an empty page and allow it to be judged by so many others. I may not have regained the lost courage or the ability to write long, winding blog posts. Not yet, at least. Still, I can write letters to myself, in the hopes that I'll find what I've been looking for.
The only trouble, I feel, is that I have no inkling regarding the nature of what I seek. Such a dull thought to have these days, that I seek what I do not know. My hide and seek isn't quite as poetic, I fear.
It isn't as if I have picked a path blindly and set upon it with all the foolishness one can expect a child to have. If only it were that, then perhaps like a foolish child, I would have been waylaid by the many wonderful distractions to be found. Truthfully, I am waiting at the crossroads, still entirely unsure about the path to be taken.
Foolishly enough, I have sent my body ahead on many paths. Almost as if I was certain that the spirit will meander and find the body midway, and all will have been for the best. For the longest time, I did keep the certainty at hand. But as all bad decisions are want to do, the ghosts of this one have finally emerged. Charming of me to rename consequences so as to escape the punishment that they bring with them. But better to feel haunted than anything else altogether.
It has been a long time since I wrote to myself. I feel a round of introductions is in order. Hello, my darling. You were all of twenty-four when you left and you are all of thirty now that you've returned. There is much that has changed significantly in your life, and much that you wish would change but as always, it refuses to budge. There are people and places that have died, there are thoughts and decisions that haunt you and yet, you have carved out a place in the real world. And now, much to your chagrin, you are coming to find that it was never what you truly wanted. Perhaps the feelings of foolishness and worthlessness have halved, but your anger at yourself for existing has doubled and grown like the monster you wish it was. After all, monsters can be slain with a sword. Turning one on yourself is another matter altogether. It's not as if you if haven't pondered and tried. Of course you have. Better sense has prevailed each time and nothing has angered you more. You have learnt to fight the many monsters, even attempted to befriend them. A younger you may say that the efforts are in vain. An older, wiser you might attempt to dissuade her. Truthfully, sometimes they are monsters and sometimes they are mice and no matter what they might do, they do leave. The visits get smaller and the hauntings become scarcer. The anger dissipates and body lifts itself up from the ground to move forward.
The truth is, somewhere along the way I lost the courage to pour myself on to an empty page and allow it to be judged by so many others. I may not have regained the lost courage or the ability to write long, winding blog posts. Not yet, at least. Still, I can write letters to myself, in the hopes that I'll find what I've been looking for.
The only trouble, I feel, is that I have no inkling regarding the nature of what I seek. Such a dull thought to have these days, that I seek what I do not know. My hide and seek isn't quite as poetic, I fear.
It isn't as if I have picked a path blindly and set upon it with all the foolishness one can expect a child to have. If only it were that, then perhaps like a foolish child, I would have been waylaid by the many wonderful distractions to be found. Truthfully, I am waiting at the crossroads, still entirely unsure about the path to be taken.
Foolishly enough, I have sent my body ahead on many paths. Almost as if I was certain that the spirit will meander and find the body midway, and all will have been for the best. For the longest time, I did keep the certainty at hand. But as all bad decisions are want to do, the ghosts of this one have finally emerged. Charming of me to rename consequences so as to escape the punishment that they bring with them. But better to feel haunted than anything else altogether.
It has been a long time since I wrote to myself. I feel a round of introductions is in order. Hello, my darling. You were all of twenty-four when you left and you are all of thirty now that you've returned. There is much that has changed significantly in your life, and much that you wish would change but as always, it refuses to budge. There are people and places that have died, there are thoughts and decisions that haunt you and yet, you have carved out a place in the real world. And now, much to your chagrin, you are coming to find that it was never what you truly wanted. Perhaps the feelings of foolishness and worthlessness have halved, but your anger at yourself for existing has doubled and grown like the monster you wish it was. After all, monsters can be slain with a sword. Turning one on yourself is another matter altogether. It's not as if you if haven't pondered and tried. Of course you have. Better sense has prevailed each time and nothing has angered you more. You have learnt to fight the many monsters, even attempted to befriend them. A younger you may say that the efforts are in vain. An older, wiser you might attempt to dissuade her. Truthfully, sometimes they are monsters and sometimes they are mice and no matter what they might do, they do leave. The visits get smaller and the hauntings become scarcer. The anger dissipates and body lifts itself up from the ground to move forward.
If it helps, my darling, you are no longer as shy as you used to be. As suspected, you found parts of yourself in beautiful cities and charming cafés, in the alleyways of small towns and in atop mountain peaks draped in snow. You have met Vincent and fallen in love all over again, and you have fallen out of love with pretence of most forms. Dearest child, your days have not been spent in vain and you mustn't ever ponder upon it. Life is still cruel, and life will always feel like a joke but at the end of it all, it is life and all you can do is live it. You are hardly now what you once were, and it is allowed for you to grieve the loss of so much. But there is hope and there is time and there is always a key that unlocks the splendours of life, if you're willing to find it.
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