Just a day more, and six months of 2018 have gone by.
Most times I would wish for time to pass just a little faster; living can be burdensome. But as I sit here typing this, I am surprised to find myself almost slightly reluctant for the next half of the year to come.
The six months that went by are testament to how change is the only constant. Familiar hands become a stranger’s, struggles with similar faces morph and shift in their capacities, while I question the responsibilities that come with my gender, my age, my work, my appearance and the blood of my ancestors running within my veins.
Moments of feeling a single emotion manifest into days. I go to sleep only to find my dream body living the same scenes night after night. My habit of lucid dreaming comes and goes, so it is no surprise that this is happening, really. But it gets insane that my conscious and subconscious are constantly questioning; the mind and body seldom quiet. Thoughts in whispered voices and just that itch on my skin – little freckles and bumps coming and going.
But somehow, the sense of flow from one day to the next keeps me alive. I am essentially always awake. The seamless transition of day, night, wake, sleep, travel and home reminds me of a river – no beginning, no end. It just is.
I find it difficult to articulate the parts of my life in bullet points like I have been doing up until May, so I am not going to do that. There is no use in trying to impose a structure that does not serve what I’d like to say.
Would you believe me if I say that after having a head of bleached pink hair, complete with my tattoos and piercings, I feel more like myself?
I really do feel it. Whether I do it to express myself or make up for all the insecurities I have, well, it is completely up to debate. But I feel good. I look in the mirror and acknowledge my reflection as my self.
How can feeling this good come with the hesitation of not “blending in”? I wonder.
As eyes stare lips move together with stereotypical assumptions thrown at me, I feel like a sinner. I cannot say I feel regret for loving myself this way, but I wish I did not have to take on the pointless need to debunk myths or expectations I did not ask for.
It is almost similar to how you inherit the decisions your ancestors and your family made. You are born into circumstances not of your own choice, but of the world and the people before you. Wealth, health, race, responsibilities and even religion.
I think it is impossible to be born pure, in the sense of a completely empty white canvas. Because from the moment of conception, dreams, expectations and the imprints of others make up who you are.
And will continue even after death, because you will now live on in their place.
Honestly, I do not fear death.
The idea of an end is comforting, though there is a range of ideal to horrific ways of taking a last breath. I fear permanent suffering – living in fear, dealing with consequences of an accident, emptying a bank account to simply stay alive for the sake of struggle. That, I fear.
Mortality, identity and the idea of inheritance have been weighing a lot on my mind.
Grief, almost a perpetual undercurrent behind my other emotions. Reading about misplaced identical twins wondering about the lives they could have led, meritocracy bullshit, the refugee situation especially with the children and even how Venezuela no longer has a need for money.
The things we are taught to hold dear, basically.
Work hard and you will reap what you sow. Your life is in your hands. Save up your money for a rainy day. Pursue a decent career for a higher standard of living.
Suddenly all these positive messages seem one dimensional and privileged. Not everybody has these options or even get to this space of being to fathom their own thoughts, emotions and who they are.
What we have deemed as important because we have them are pushing others to suffering, death and bitterness.
Even for us, it is sad to be chasing an unattainable sense of security for all time, because it can be taken away from you in a moment. How silly this whole business of living seem to be sometimes.
Observing the world from a country known for its safety, I am lucky and it sure is cruel for something as random as luck to play such a huge part in plotting life’s trajectory.
Even while typing this out, the thoughts still swim in my head. None of them simple and all definitely more than what they may seem at first glance. So I wonder, ponder and question so much.
How can we measure life besides gains and losses?
I haven’t looked up at the sky in a while, since I have been staying out past lights out and watching my feet to avoid snails on pavements. But I looked up today, an invitation from the downpour, and the gentle blue is calming.
I have other thoughts to share, but perhaps I will save it for some other time.
A heart so full
Bursting at seams
Strength in emotions
Alright, it is soon July. Time to place all my love in words, and hand them out as handwritten words in letters. You can ask for love, and you should feel brave enough to occupy that space – especially with yourself. x