merry christmas, i guess // the days thus far
by The Dreamer
i don’t know how to live a 100% life. i’m 99%, and then 98%, and then 87%, then 65%, and then 11%, and then red leaking out of the battery, scarlet screaming at me, quick pluck me in, i’m dying, i need some energy. inertia. lethargic. limpid.
now when i charge my electronics, i can’t help but make a conscious effort to cut it off before it turns fully green. almost like i don’t deserve it.
oh yeah, and. merry christmas. i don’t celebrate it, but this year was nice, in a simple and cozy way. short bursts of laughter and simple xoxo messages. warm wishes and the knocking of tiles against each other. porridge white as snow. connecting with individuals that aren’t the closest to me, but somehow felt as though they might as well have been. it’s nice. waking up to emails, some comments touched with tough love, others with a softer edge of concern, of gratitude. fills me up and lifts me up.
a time of giving.
it’s almost just over a month but i’m doing well.
i made a promise, sort of, to myself. to document every day of my life. but alas, that just isn’t me. the diary i’ve reserved just for that purpose has been neglected and discarded into the dusty corner of other Abandons.
there are some memories, however, that are etched in me dearly, days that almost feel like they could be a 100 percent.
it’s 3am and we are coursing against the currents of time, the salty wind slapping hard against my cheeks with the tanginess of the sea. inky blackness above and beside and below. tires against asphalt and comfortable silence. the growing soreness on the underside of my bum and the burn of my thighs. the city unfolding before our eyes, never asleep. a side of my island that i’ve never been awake to witness. so this is what it is like, to be allies, explorers, superheroes, comrades, without the burden of silly school politics and the world or whatever. this is what it is like to be on top of the world, to be more aware, for once, than anyone else. with the smell of impending rain lingering in every damp vapour and every sweat particle. to have stars knitted into a blanket, mother earth’s fond scolding of go home, children, it’s way past your bedtime.
“can you see where is the orion? the three stars connecting…just about there…”
“i think those are satellites. no wait they’re planes.”
tranquillity and adrenaline mingling in my veins like a lethal dose of the strongest drug. we laugh softly for no reason at all and then head back. home, to family.
packing away two years worth of studying materials. i’m sorry for all the trees i have sacrificed; you deserve more than to be an assessment book barely flipped. i’m sorry for all the water of the earth that has been sacrificed; you deserve more than to become liquefied salt rolling down my cheeks. in another life, you will be the shade that saves one from a scorching sun, you will be the drop of salvation for a thirsty child.
i remember pouring over my literature texts and all the poems we’ve read so far and shedding a tear or two. this one, especially. it has morphed into a tender nerve in my heart.
“Love After Love” by Derek Walcot
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
rekindling fires, dying embers that were barely a spark no more. it’s a wonder how with the right breaths, they can come alive again, like they were never sputtering out in the first place.
a lot of self-interrogation as well, self-doubt. am i as important in your hearts as i once were? do i deserve to be thinking about this? should i even care?
and also much more on self-love and self-care. spending time by myself has never been more invigorating and liberating.
is it encore or encore?
i guess it’s wrong of me to be a pronunciation nazi at that point of time, but oh well.
the bass shaking the ground beneath me, the voices shaking the heart within me, the flow of the crowd shaking the energy coursing through me.
you two are so young, and yet, so talented. there is a cross between admiration and envy in me, but nevertheless, thank you.
simple days, cozy days. the smell of hair dye, turning myself golden. the feeling of being brand new. cooking instant noodles and getting way too invested into monopoly. legends on repeat in the background, hits boosted.
i am eternally grateful for friends like you: rare days when i feel 200%.
of course, how could i forget — travelling.
but that is for another story, another time.
the heart…is a scary thing.
back when i had 5 views, i wanted 10. and then when i got 20, i wanted 200. now i have almost 2000 views each time i update my humble little works, and there is only one thought at the back of my mind, haunting me.
i want. more.
it scares me, the greed. i can’t tell if it’s coming from up there or from my left chest or from some dark primal instinct deep within me, but i can’t make it stop.
the art of gratitude is so extremely difficult to master, and so is the art of balance.
once again, i am tipping off the scale.
there are too many ideas, but too little of everything else. time, energy, commitment, will, hope, capability.
and sometimes, too much doubt.
i guess this is how villains get to where they are – by feeding off the hunger. from clawing at the emptiness of knowing there’s someone better out there that they want to destroy.
the heart is a scary thing.
i shut it out sometimes.
this song grounds me.
“though we’re scattered in the wind,
please don’t lose my hand.
we’ll go anywhere.”
zitten is a hidden gem, and in his music, i find myself.