Dusk or Dawn

Reading last nights post, thought I sounded dark and suicidal. When in reality, I am not one bit dire or lethal. I am sad, but I’m sane enough to still have an appreciation for life. Guess, there are just certain things that I’m going through somehow; that impedes my usual zesty and engage self.

And I do try.

I do my best to find hope and substance in nature, in literature, in family and friends, in little things. However, short lived – I cherish the minutes in a day when I find myself smiling. For it is in those precious moments, that I find certitude. That this would soon come to past.

“Dawn and dusk are mutual friends of the sun; one opens the door for him to a brand new day and the other one has to shut it to embrace the darkness of night.”
― Munia Khan

 

 

Return

I am suffering. It is as simple as that.

Pain got me here. Down on my knees, on the ground. Typing my sorrows into words.

I am writing, for it’s the only way I know how to numb the feeling of such emptiness. The room’s filled with people, of things, of loudness. Yet I am consumed in nothing, but nothingness.

I’ve cried, meditate and prayed. But the depth of this pain is deeper that I could imagine, that I can fully grasp or reach.

I am way passed recognition, over my head figuring out the cause. It’s useless, and I am tired.

Sadly, my return to writing came at the expense of my loneliness.

And for that, I apologize.

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”
― Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair

Throwbacks

I was going thru my past journals last night, reading what I wrote on certain memorable occassions in my life. It’s amazing how the words flowed so easily, the creativity flows without a hitch. And here I am, right this very moment, in silence – clueless.

So while I wake the sleeping writing giant in me, allow me to share some entries from my journal.

At 35, I wrote:

Aging has brought a lot of gifts and surprises, that I am most thankful for. This year, on my 35th year. Has been all about love and acceptance. I’ve learned to let go of a lot of things – anger, pain, regrets, frustrations; for there’s truly nothing to gain holding on to negativity. Then I’ve come to terms with “singularity.” It may not be the ideal situation for others, but it works well for me. Besides, being single does not necessarily mean lonely. And I absolutely love myself more now than when I was in my 20′s. I may not be as pretty, given I have more lines, spots on my face with some hints of gray hair. But I’m confident, sublime and should I say, much desired. Hahaha!

Turning 36, I said:

Another year has come and gone, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Thirty six wonderful years (with a few bump here and there) spent in love and unanimity. Living in the moment, breathing, in high spirits with my inner self, while in pursuit for answers to my ever curious psyche. It’s great to be my age, and it only gets better from here. Happy Birthday, ME!

Getting over a break up, 2015:

Heartbreak is like a shadow that followed me all through out my life. However painful, however dark – I always walk out victorious. Wounded yet undestroyed, weary but pursuing. And there’s no BIG secret to my fortitude. It has always been and nothing but LOVE. I never gave up on it, and I never will. 

Turning 37:

Not a lot of people can tell themselves these words, but I wholeheartedly can – for I truly love the person I am now. I don’t think of myself as righteous, but I am a good person. Sensible, with no requisite for anyone’s validation but myself and my God. I am comfortable in my own skin, and that is that! Gay, solitary, bitter, stringent, temperamental, devoted, somber – I’ve heard it all and it’s okay. That is all part of who I am, but that does not define my entirety. More often misunderstood, but even that does that bother me. More than happiness, the goal is to get comfortable for who we truly are. Took me thirty seven years to get here, and it’s the BEST gift I’ve given myself thus far. Happy Birthday, ME!

Ode To My Father

It’s so easy to lose onself at work, making a living and making ends meet. But every now and then, I get to have break from all these insanity and focus on things and people that keeps me grounded to my core. I had a lunch date with my Dad earlier today, not an every day sight. So you can just feel the anticipation in the air. He’s unbelievably colloquial, spontaneous and never rans out of stories to share. I got to asked him questions; person who in the right set of mind, would not dare asked their fathers. But I did, kudos for me on that! And I got my answers, though not always favorable – it was honest. I uncovered that my father has always been receptive after all, a renaissance man: way ahead of the ideologies people may have in his generation. His views in terms of raising a family may sound semi-conventional, but he’s always been swayable to different ideas and other possibilities that may eventually occur. He even added, that he knew of me even before I came to terms with my identity. For a guy who’s made his career in the military, surrounded by testosterone loaded men, he’s done pretty good handling the situation of my oddness. True to himself, he took everything in, immersed himself in deep thoughts, weighed all his options, talked himself in and out things, to finally embracing the idea that I am uniquely an agreeable person, and that’s all that really matters. In conclusion, I found myself feeling happy and relieved. I was glad to have a chance to get to know my father better. And more at ease, now that I’m able to let go of ambiguities I’ve meaninglessly carried over from my childhood. He’s a good man, a venerable father, and we’ll leave it at that!

Happy Place

As I was driving home thursday night, I asked myself – what’s a happy place for me? And there’s only one that came to mind – the farmers market. So yesterday, with two canvas bags in tote and a hundred dollar note. I took the ferry ride to the city, shopped till I ran out of cash, dranked the best cheap coffee in town, sampled the freshest produce, had half a dozen of Kumamoto oysters, gobbled down two scrumptious samosas, and had the best tasting Porchetta sandwich (with extra crispy pork skin for some crunch.) That was so much fun, didn’t even realize the day’s almost over. Later that day, I wrote a note to myself on my cork board – I should do this more often!