And here I was naively thinking after Nano I’d be able to write more.
December’s here. Wow. Kinda hard to believe it’s finally here. This entire year feels a lot like a dream. So many things have happened. So many memories entangled within. I haven’t been writing much because the past two years have been… unusual.
I wanted to use the word crazy but it’s not really been crazy. It’s a lot like the wheel of fortune. A few good times here and there. Bad times to balance it. It kinda hurts, though, being here. Coming back from a world of grey.
The past few years have been like swimming in treacle. Or something sticky and almost fluid that doesn’t want to suck you in and freeze you like tar, but where it’s an effort. After a while, you start wondering what’s the point of it all.
The funny thing about running is that after a while, you keep going because… you just do. Your muscles keep going through the motions even though it hurts because stopping isn’t really an option. It feels a lot like that, the past few months. I keep going even though I can’t see the reason.
The will to live is strong.
In about 6 months, I’ll be turning thirty. I think I can kiss the possibility of having a child myself goodbye. It’s really hard to justify to myself why I should have a child when I often describe myself as one. I mean, I still have TWO milk teeth!
I tell better summaries than I do details, unless I get myself lost in the summary. So here’s a summary of my past two years; came back, got thrown in the deep end, found temporary joy, left my parents far enough that I’d have warning if they were coming to get me (see what I mean about details?), discovered new friends, held old ones, broke my heart, had my heart broken, forced into different roles with no warning, felt suicidal a few times, wrote a lot of words that didn’t matter, fell in love with a city, trained my mind somewhat, started learning to live in different stories, allowed myself to feel, allowed myself to mourn, allowed myself to just… feel.
I bleed. I laugh. I cry. I hug. I touch. I weep. I mourn. I smile.
Yeah, this is pretty much a whiny blog post. Why are you still here?
Oh yeah, cause this is a letter as much to strangers as it is to myself. We’ve been through a lot, you and I. Our bodies remember what our hearts and mind choose to forget. To forget means to deny ourselves. Our humanity.
Dying isn’t an option.
“We are more than what we be.
Each living thing carries within them that seed, to be more than what they are. The potential. As long as you are alive, you have this potential. We are our own universe. Even merely existing is enough. Because when we exist, then we can live.”
And really, what does it mean to really live? Is it to tell our grandkids stories? Is it to brag to each other?
Or is it to build memories, that when we go into that cold afterlife, there’ll be memories to keep us warm through the night?
Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.