It’s been a while since I’ve tried to remake myself, give new definition and put on a new face.
I’ve been through the ‘mysterious’ phase, the ‘happy fool’ phase, and the ‘romantic’ phase. I have put myself into the place of a leader, and held on to every phase I have ever had. It is a task to remember every feeling ever felt, and to hold on to the memories that are supposed to define me. The head seems clogged sometimes, yet I know that I have felt this before. Everywhere I look are signs that say, “It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been through it, lessons are never learnt.”
It seems as if I have forgotten how to concentrate, to clear my mind and listen to beautiful music. But what else do I observe?
I observe that I know the haze that can destroy me, I observe that the future will always hold fresh beauty, but sometimes the beauty can only be perceived if one is daring enough to venture from the shell, like a mollusc after having discarded its old cocoon, searching for a new one, but in transit being as vulnerable as can be. In that vulnerability, it seems that even the beauty can hurt.
It’s quite simple, why I can no longer write as well as I used to. Now I’m afraid, and only write what I believe I haven’t written before. I’ve written enough repetition, and I need to learn, new.
Is there more to learn in this Earth? More to see…Maybe. More to feel, I doubt. Has my thirst to be more led me to finish growing earlier than all, hence inhibiting me from completing the stages of my life as everyone else does?
There isn’t a record for all the personal troubles one has, and if there were, nobody would care. Because everybody believes that every one of their tragedies is more than the others, and if they don’t they believe that they are stronger than the rest. Whoever is truly stronger, whoever truly is made to feel more confusion and pain than the rest, whoever that may truly be, nobody will understand. And that is why the lonely are left, to be alone.
Imagine a world, where every person is tied to their hurt, where they carry it like a backpack of utilities, where they carry it in their eyes and in their words. A world where pain is respected, and cowardice in extremities understood while bravery is held up as the light that must be aspired to. Soon, if the smaller pains are forgotten, we will turn into selfish beings, blissfully ignorant of the quiet hurt and the quiet joys of a life among nature. Music, seeks to guide us sometimes, to that very quiet recluse where whispers are stronger than screams.
It’s perhaps why that one phrase of “Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded” resonates so deeply in me. That faith so rarely is rewarded, when it should be. No fairy tale shows the dreams unfulfilled, the desires fought for and never won, the ideals hoped for, and waited for as it destroys our soul. Disappointment, is our true fear. Fear that we are insignificant, and can only win by luck, a few times. If a human is faced with a doubt that not every human wins every war, he might reconsider the prospect of a happy life. For hope is needed for any happiness, and hope is this idea that propels us, hope that every individual human will live a happy life, a satisfied life.
Maybe ghosts are but lost memories, unsatisfied souls in mourning, trying to warn us, with a whisper.
‘Don’t settle for the ordinary, reach out and fail. For if you fall and die, you would have died trying to fly instead of dying after a hundred years of walking, pretending that you could fly anytime if you tried.’
Meliora 