Wordiness vs Quietness

I have been reading through a number of blogs recently, ever since exams was over and I had more time to sit back and just be lazy. And I happened to stumble by one that has a really short post about how shock-striken he was about the fact that the girl he likes passed away due to a hit-and-run accident.

I read through the comments and saw the mountainous empty words like, "Be strong", "Don't worry", "Take care, okay?"; descriptive comforting words; and what's worse, Bible verses.

And funny how I can't seem to stop feeling pity for the author who has friends with empty words and friends who can't identify with him. Yet, as I placed myself in the similar situation, I realized that I wouldn't have been much of a non-empty friend or a guy with non-empty friends. After all, we are all insincere friends and people who attempt to console although we can't possibly understand how hellish things are. See the contradiction?

However, perhaps it's just me - for someone who prefers silence and company while in times of depression, especially from friends who are not close to me (and may I add, lameness when I am moody never helps but sparks more irritation). Perhaps it's just the irritation that drives me insane sometimes when I realize that people say what they say without meaning it because they hope in doing so, they can help make me feel better (which is always a failure). Perhaps it's just me being me; I only prefer a very selected few to know my current state, and they are the ones who have to be skillful with words (because although I am not that good with words, I tend to read in between the lines a lot too, and I can bend a word in quite many ways).

And perhaps because of the above, I realized that I seldom stick around, trying to say words of comfort because I know that I might end up trying to attempt to make that person feel better. I just sit and be quiet to lend a listening ear.

Note that I am not praising myself; I am just mere stating that there are times wordiness isn't needed, but company.

And that is treasured above the insincere empty words that offer no help but more grief.

They say
You should think positively no matter what happens in life. All things happen for a reason, and each reason will build you - it is only how you view it. You can either break or make yourself. Which would you prefer: break or make? Positive or negative?

Credibility, people, credibility. So what if you have walked a path of stormy seas and raging thunders? (see the switched adjectives and nouns?) So what if you have experience trials and tribulations, and ended up seeing the light? Have you the credibility to speak to one who has walked a different path? Have you understood the meaning of fending everything that comes your way alone? Have you understood the fear of dependence-and-losing? You speak freely, but have you the credibility in speaking to a wretched soul?

They say
Look up to God. He has always been there and will always be there for you.

Pain, people, pain. Fear. Tiredness. Loneliness.

You say positive mental attitude? I say insanity.

They say
Never turn from admitting you love someone.

But what if your loving someone will cause you to lose that someone? What if you mere saying of I-love-you will cause you everything you've been holding on? What if you have come a long way from pushing your bloody knees and arms from the rocky ground, and you've finally found a branch to hold on, only to realize that with that mere action of admittance will cause you to slip and fall - lower and faster?

What if everything you've believed in contradicts you, and the your inner voice screams so much, but you know you cannot utter a word? Do you still say it?

You suppress the words - each and every one of them to the last syllable. So that just in case you lose yourself, just in case you lose your control over your soon-to-overflow emotions, just in case you break down, just in case you lose your sanity, you can still hold on to what you are holding on to.

They say
View life happily. Enjoy life. All will come well.
View life dully, and all crumples.
It's just the matter of viewing life.

If one could be sober enough and persistent enough and honest enough, one would know that viewing life happily is not possible because you are stuck with yourself. Face it.

You try to run. You try to escape. Where can you go? Perhaps the furthest is the success of fooling yourself for a period of time? After that, what do you do?

You strive. You thrive. You pursue.
But you die. You lose your smile.
And all you can do is smile while it hurts inside.

They say
Open your eyes. There are always people who care for you.

But you know that if truth be told, if our inner secrets are voiced, if who we are is displayed before the masses, where will those supposedly caring people be? Won't they - like every typical nominal human - scatter away?

You want somebody to carry you and love you despite all your weaknesses and pasts and fears and desires and painful wishes and sin?

Be realistic.

Time

He looked into the mirrors where he first saw her reflection. In his memories, there she stood, in her beautiful gown, with her smile which he never fails to adore at every sight of it. But in reality, there she stood - disappearing each time he longed to hold her close to his heart.

Their story was one of norm. They had a simple relationship. He wasn't somebody great, nor was she. He was never rich, nor had she ever expected him to be. In other words, he was somebody forgettable, somebody unnoticeable; but she never cared.

They say that when love strikes, time stops. You would stare into your beloved's eyes and sink deep within, and just for that moment, forget about everything but the one staring back into your eyes. The euphoria that fills your heart increases. And all these happen just at the strike of Cupid's arrow.

He had once had that moment. But that moment never mattered that much.

For him, when love strikes, he wants time to slow down, so that every action would be done slowly. Every touch would sting with glee and blessedness; every gaze would burn with passion, yearn and thanksgiving and imprint into his skin and heart, fossilize and never go away; every embrace would be warmth trailing deep into his skin, reminding him that he would be able to cherish the time longer.

Time won't stop, because if time stops, all is superficial. Time should go on, but significantly slow.

But now, she is gone, and he is alone. The stinging touch, the passionate gaze, the warming embrace - all will never be remembered, for he, like all of us, forget things easily.

Beauty of Art

Writers, like painters, are very poor people if they don't succeed in the market; for those succeeding, earning the big bucks in the market are those who write what the masses want - and I deducing, not generalizing.

Writers constantly face the questions: to write for the masses or to write for themselves. To earn big bucks or to survive like a pauper.

But they must realize one thing: writing is an art and a gift, both integrated with a blessing attached. It helps one vividly bring to life the emotions and imaginations, giving them breaths and values, emotions and purpose.

And within those written lines, other plots may emerge - subliminally. And very often, people fail to see those hidden lines.

That is the beauty and advantage of the art of writing.

The pen is mightier than the sword.

They cut through people not once, but thrice.

This is Reality

When you're stubborn to let go something which you hang on to dearly, and somebody whom you think cares for you tries to persuade you to let go, and you choose not to - that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you look into the eyes of somebody whom you think cares for you and smile and tell the person what you honestly feel, at the same time revealing the true inner you, that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you make that person whom you think cares for you important in your life, cherishing that person's every bit, only to realize that you are the last one he or she cares (which also means he or she cares the least for you), you know deep down inside that that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you risk everything for somebody whom you think cares for you, and hope that that somebody will turn to you and say "thank you" and truly appreciate you from the inside, you know that that somebody will soon leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you splurge your finance on that somebody whom you think cares for you, and hope that that somebody would reciprocate just in the simplest manner, and truly care for you for who you are and love you for you, you know that deep down inside that that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you want to tell somebody what hurts the most, what beats on your chest every minute, what drains you of your energy, and you see that person enjoying himself or herself with others, you lose energy to utter those words and you break down - alone - knowing that that somebody will never notice the tears you've cried. That's when you know, deep down inside, that that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When everything inside is everything you hate, and you cry out for a chance to withdraw your mistake; and when you hope that the person whom you think cares for you could be there for you, by your side, to stand by you; you suddenly realize that this life, this journey, this walk is meant to be a walk of loneliness - not a walk to remember. Then, you will finally admit that life is meant for solitude, and the person whom you think cares for you will eventually leave you and bid you goodbye (perhaps even without your knowledge).

Everything is just a matter of time.

Life is for the living, not the dead.
Bernardo - Entangled, the Musical

But...

Life is for loneliness, not togetherness
Because you cannot expect to have somebody
You cherish, you care, you love
To stand by you
When you need that person
That is life, the synonym of solitude
And rejection.

Perhaps life is for the dead, not the living.
Perhaps we only find meaning in death and not life.

The Breakup

He: Where have you been?

She: Away from you.

He: Why must you always be like this? Can't you understand...

She: Can't you understand that I don't love you?

He: But...

She: Words. All you have hanging at your lips are just empty words. Words that can never be fulfilled with actions.

He: Honey...

She: You said you would be here for me. You said you would stand by side. You said you would blot away the darkness before me...

He: And I did. I was the one who gave you all my finance when you beloved career was dying. I was the one who gave up my business trips to be with you. I was the one who gave my kidney to you. I was the one who made sure you would have food when you get up after the surgery, despite it meant pain to me too. I was the one who held your hand, ensuring that everything would be okay. Can't you see?

She: No. I can't see them. Because I could never bring myself to love you anymore. Those actions were just the past. Those deeds were nothing but a manifestation of your claims in the past...

He: Aren't they enough to justify that I gave up my everything - my life - for you? Only for you? Only to see you smile and healthy and alive? Don't all these actions justify my love for you?

She: I hate you.

He: Honey...

She: Goodbye.

Irony

When you steel yourself so much, continually trying to fool yourself, knowing that you have others you need to take care of... You stopped loving yourself and only focused on loving others, giving everything you have first for others and not yourself.

You forgotten the meaning of caring for yourself. You forgotten the meaning of pampering yourself. You forgotten the meaning of living.

Until those you want to protect dearly remind you...

p.leong says:
kor...u kenot continue to go on like tat lar

p.leong says:
sometimes is js time for u to change

j.chu says:
i just need time... am not perfect... sorry

p.leong says:
kor..every1 is not perfect

p.leong says:
or not we're like Jesus...den wats the purpose for us to b in the earth now

p.leong says:
tats y we've to learn how to b perfect

Thanks, my precious baby brother.

Soberness in Solitude

Ahead of him was a rocky road. His soles were torn and bloody, worn out from the long walk behind him. He turned back and to remind him of the journey he journeyed. A long, long road.

A long road of experience. A long road of hurt. A long road of blissful innocence. A long road of regrets and aches.

He looked towards the front, knowing that history will indeed repeat itself, knowing that despite all his efforts, he will be crushed again and again.

No one was there to help him; no one capable, no one bearable, no one understandable.

He had to steel and still everything within him. He had to cast the storms aside. He had to toss everything that blew against his face and attempted to crush him away, far from reach. He had to - with his own hands - gather courage and walk to the front. He had to be sober.

"I am afraid to show you who I really am,
because if I show you who I really am,
you might not like it -- and that's all I really got."

There was always something about him that they didn't understand. How he moves about - alone - without any worries if he was good enough; since the society these days worries about image and image alone. He, however, never seems to be captivated by such pressure. He walks about town just as any peasant, but seldom does he stop to look at himself in the mirror.

But little did anybody know that he worried - a whole lot - about himself. Not just his image, but who he really is.

Simply said, he was just insecure and was searching - who he was.

Not who he is or who he will be.