Tuesday, September 09, 2003
perfection

I keep remembering.

We were sitting there on the earthy ground; the only light was from the moon. There wasn’t a soul around. And I was in his arms. It was a perfect moment.

Then I cried. I cried in his embrace. The flood of emotions was too much. I was afraid. Afraid of the way I was feeling, afraid of losing it all. I was trembling. Trembling with fear and excitement. I was breathing so heavily and loudly in the stillness of the night. I couldn’t help it.

I was losing control while he rocked me gently in his lap. And he whispered, “I want you.” A perfect moment, straight out of a fairytale.

There’s too much to say. There are too many emotions intertwined. I’m reluctant to write about it because I know I won’t do it well. I’m afraid it’ll all come out wrong. I’m afraid of perfect moments.

And yet it is ridiculous to be.

I live for them.

*

Monday, September 08, 2003
liquid sunshine

It was raining. So I stuck my head out of the window and watched the gathering of raindrops, watched the trees in the wind, watched the lightning.

The rain kissed my face, the wind caressed my cheeks, my hair whipped wildly around. I stood there thinking about nothing. I was soaring as free as a bird while standing within the confines of concrete.

The rain never fails to captivate me. Bringer of joy and life, messenger of freedom and all things wild, emissary of pain and death.

But as I stood there feeling ecstatic, sad, warm, cold, dreamy, romantic, wild, I noticed that the two blocks within my view had not a single person sharing my passion. People have forgotten the primitive beauty of nature. They’d rather be seduced by the vile meretricious television set.

I felt sad for them in their loss.

*

Saturday, September 06, 2003
springtime αγαπώ

I’m in love. And I know for sure. I’ve known for quite a while now. It’s just the first time I’m writing about it.

He’s wonderful. He makes me swoon like I’ve never swooned before. He makes me lust like I’ve never lusted before. He’s brilliant, he’s sweet, he’s lovely, he’s… Beautiful.

We can share a quiet night sky or talk crazy. We are silly together. We mumble at each other. We irritate. We’re batty. It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother him.

He’s silly. I’m silly. He makes the most insane observations, is bothered by the most insane things.

He cares, about the most unobtrusive subjects. He doesn’t use straws to save the earth. We don’t take flyers to save the earth.

He’s indecisive. I’m indecisive. We have a flipping coin we vandalized with our names or we simply use fingers It helps us make life and death decisions, where to go, what to eat, what movie to watch. Life is tough with so many choices. Just ask him.

He has straying eyes. They trail short skirts. But as long as they stray back to me, it matters little. “Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze”.

He satisfies my vanity.

He bites. I bite.

He’s quiet. I’m not.

He’s weird. I will not admit to being.

He’s deadpan. I’m not. I’m giving him reading lessons, starting with children’s books.

I’m contented. I’m happy. I’m complete. Trite as it all sounds.

Ah… Life.

I’m in love.

*

Monday, September 01, 2003
the grim reaper

The problem with life is in the finality of death. Our subsistence loses all value and meaning with death. The joys and tribulations all seemingly amount to nothing when the final curtain is drawn upon our lives.

What use is there for money earned? You cannot take it with you. Life cannot be redeemed with material wealth. What use is there for the worldly knowledge acquired? Will there be use for it, even if there is life after death? What use is there for tears shed? Who will remember them? Who will have collected them? Who will have wiped them away? Those who have, will themselves one day return to dust. What use is there, even, for laughter? It’s sole intention is, seemingly, to make life increasingly difficult to let go of when the time comes. What purpose would we have served with our life and eventually our demise? It is a sad cruel cycle.

But we are caught in it. Complaining about the meaningless of life is a tragic irony. Grumbling and whining does not make everything better. It does not prevent death. It just makes you a pain in the ass.

We have no choice. So we might as well make the most of what we have. Get out there and live. Take deep breaths, enjoy the splendour and complexity of nature’s wonders, smell the roses, experience love, live with passion. Most people I know don’t live. They merely exist.

With this expiration date drawing closer each passing second, time increases in value. We cannot afford to use it frivolously. There isn’t enough time for regrets. There is so little point, and less fun, in living in the shadows of the “if only”s. There isn’t enough time to squander on fear either. Fearing what people think, fearing the intrigue all those venerable quidnuncs have in you. No time, no time. They aren’t living your life, they aren’t fighting your fights, they aren’t dying your death.

The only cure to this hollow existence is to party! To have fun. Do things you want to. Enjoy life before the grim reaper claims it back. Step out amid all this fracas over life’s meaning and worth. Pondering over it devalues life.

The clock is ticking. But cast it to the back of your mind and plunge into the resplendence the world has laid at your feet.

Enjoy.

*