From the top: Twenty and I think I know I am this not that and I am not prepared for the process of not knowing, unbelief, insecurity, and failure. I treat each coming and going of these feelings as isolated and contained events, blips. Stubborn as a mule, I bent very little to accommodate these slips. There was no inner vocabulary for choices and circumstance that seemed too far out for me to take hold of. My ambitions and aspirations seemed at time to contradict what was happening around me. Every step closer felt leading to something that would spiral out of my control to another shape or form. I would know nothing about how to go about everything.
Twenty-plus-one me would know less about the truth of this fact. There was, although, a lot of joy in doing what I wanted that overshadowed many of the disappointments. Learning involved some letting go of the fear of the unknown, as I only had the picture through the keyhole. Whenever possibility of entire alternate realities spun around in my head, I thought of how different versions of me would be, considered these realities, and if they allowed me some truth and avenue for being better, I’d enter into this space. These alternates offered space for thought, but they lacked the building blocks – raw material – reality that brings out beauty in the process, resolution in conflict, and even stitching cuts too deep. Maybe in a higher dimension, time folds like paper and I glue it to the wall – picturesque – ogling at that one, two, or only three times when the universe did bend to my will.
The constancy of time scares me at least – burgeoning the past and stretching way into the future.
Only a meticulous puppetry sometimes explicates the disposition of the cardinal occurrences that make me – me. Given into this thought, personal agency has been overridden. It gives me no value in being spent, in driving to the edge, in being exhausted by the process of living.
Certain things are becoming important for me – relationships, meaning in what I do, need for faith and reason, becoming, a healthy affair with my failures.
At twenty past two,
there are people that hold my hand many times and nudge me forward in many ways. indirection then seems to fade in light of these that care too much to see me fade off into the some abyss – checking in more than i could have asked. and they have been the pillars. it takes two to make a thing go right. It takes two to make it outta sight. thank you!
there is a faulty vending machine that spits out dollar coins instead of quarters (ask me where it is), and makes me think of how much to give whenever i embark on something I am mad in love with. innit too much to leave none for myself? because, i avert leaving things i love incomplete, unless something i love even more trotters along the way and mitigates my guilt in the process. however, the phantoms of the undone show their pale faces in the piles of books left unread, aging half-finished milk packets, and unworn clothes that I bought way back when. a friend in my creative writing class preaches about minimalism: removing distractions. oh thou art a million and one around me. somewhere behind all that noise may lie what is really the point of all my being. if it were so easy to find the needle then how compelling would that be? the trade off now being that I may confuse the message with the messenger-
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I have a diary. My brother too. The relevance of this coincidence is yet explored. Still, one corollary is that at some stage, we both, independently, felt need to find some way of recording – our naked lives, the unsolicited thoughts, the flurry of ideas – in a place where such could live, detached from the demise of memory and for safe keeping. I haven’t been so religious so there is not a complete account. But some themes subsist throughout that are relevant now: love, family, friends, curiosity, doubt, fear and hope. I have set markers to these, noting some of the revealing moments that I’ve been through: the affairs of pain that have ridden me down to the bare bone, the boulders of doubt that have crushed the truth that I held dear, the family that I am yet to understand, the friends who have been there to see me through, and the hope that I have lingering in my spirit. I believe in a lot of things, about myself, and about other people. A meaningful place for me to start would be here: that the people around me and myself are first deeply spiritual beings, then compulsively emotional, madenningly intellectual, and at long wholy physical. Who I am, who we are, has an identity, weaving through all the interactions that I am a part of. My responsibility is to appreciate and understand all of these, about myself and about others.
Now. Twenty past two is hella freaky as is. Bring some more...