Of Truths Yet Spoken. In the movies, you could pretty much guess where the plot is headed, how the characters react, and when the end will soon come. True-life stories’ twistedness takes on a more complicated turn—and somehow in moments of despair, the end is never there. And in those precious hours of ecstasy, we may find ourselves hard-pressed to celebrate.
Life is about unshackling—from one’s umbilical shadows or self-conceived ghosts. Not to mention those from outside forces whose spirits thrive in building upon others—you, us—an unending transfer of their own karma, hoping that their:
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Frustrated dreams would reflect upon their offspring getting them right this time
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Shame would be transfused, in effect adding to the recipient’s own
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Bottled up fears would dissipate, rendering their host in paralyzing subservience
Thus sums I. A menagerie of the shoes I tried on but weren’t mine, of angry swells that found their growth during my youth, of roads unpaved, of forgotten ambitions. Of karmas transferred yet uniquely mine now.
For I have flown…uprooted from a past that dwells not in mist-laden nostalgia but envisages a room full of questions yet never allowed their resolutions. Oppressive not by design or by choice, but simply a victim of changed times. And from that I have gotten away.
But have I truly gone out of the box after all these years? Am I truly free now? Or have I become a simple extension of could’ve-beens and what-ifs? How did I ‘escape’? My story has barely begun. Yet somehow I really just want to give it all up, jaded by my own journeys—and their stories about me. And yet...
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[The Written Word] Poetries, thoughts from different times and emotions |
[In The Lens] Places of being and becoming, and the people that breathe life to them |
[My Idea Book] Whether they be dreams, fantasies or proud ambitions, they're my reasons of today |
CV: The Road Traveled. Not a bad shot from what I thought I'd become. What a journey!>>