Friday, August 9, 2013

On Losing Ibrahim. And Others.

I didn't realize how much I treasured someone's mind until it was too late. I keep thinking that maybe, perhaps, I had shown my ugly colors too fast and got him scared. Or maybe he was just as brilliant and smart as I thought he was and realized that prolonging contact with me would sully him, taint him even. I really can't say that I'm a good influence. I have a jar full of wicked things inside my chest. Most people do but I'm better at hiding them. Most people have petty affairs, tangible worldly concerns. Mine... Mine is of something deeper, something that cannot be washed. Something rooted at my very essence and perhaps would stay with me throughout the tides of time.

For the sake of this entry, I would name him Ibrahim. Naming him as such reflects upon the sentiment I carry for him for he is so dear. So very few has been on par with me. Ibrahim is one of my favorite names and I think he deserves whatever pleasantry I could grant.

There are only a number of people whose opinions I regard, whose voices matter to me. Ibrahim is one of them. I have placed him on a pedestal since I was in high school. He would always be untouchable. He would never be a friend. He would be my brilliant acquaintance, a sort of beacon for my drowning mind..Have you met such person in your life? See someone with a great mind, be scared of him and know instantly, deep down in your bones that he was someone you could look up to and be scared at the same time?

I have re-established contact with him lately and he was very insightful. I could see the smudges on my skin and see where things got wrong with me whenever we exchanged mails. I loved his views, his opinions. Like all that is good, though, he stopped his correspondence of course.

And as usual, I got too scared. It scared the shit out of me that I couldn't even find the courage to ask him where things have gotten wrong. Did I repulse him? Did I scare him? Did he think my penchant and love for homosexual relationships sinful? Did he think I was a lascivious person because I admittedly watch adult animes when the truth is that I actually am asexual? Did he disapprove of my views? Did he think I'm a liar when the truth is that I never lie when I write But that I am often blind sided and cannot see myself for what I truly am?

I didn't realize how much I am gratified with the amount of Kudos I receive over my posts, how much they uplifted me until Ibrahim pointed them out. I wanted to send a private message and gleefully tell him how he's been right and I didn't see it...but he already stopped his correspondence.

And I am too scared to ask him exactly why he decided to cut off ties.

And now that I think about it, I was always scared of him because not only was he a beacon, he was also someone I recognized even from long ago, could exchange blades with me and crush me mercilessly. That is why I have placed him on a pedestal. So very few scared me. I have met less than a handful of people who could ride the current of my hay wired mind and not get burned or get swept aside.

He was grounded.

I wonder if I would regret not having sent him a message how much I appreciated his correspondence and respected his view of the world; if I would regret not having asked him his reason for cutting off our internet ties? I'm too scared to hear his response and even more scared that he would not respond.

I feel so different from everyone.

Ibrahim is not a friend. Not even someone I considered having an amorous relationship with. But he has become dear. A dear acquaintance.

A beacon. A blinding one. One that covered a wide radius and served as light.

I wonder if he understood my feelings. If he would understand.

I also think that this is very selfish of me, placing someone on a pedestal without their permission.

But I guess he deemed my mind dirty and sinful. I failed at that, I guess, for I thought he would be indifferent with colors. I treasured his witty blows and cutting sharpness. I did not dare cloak the demon inside my mind. That was careless of me. And perhaps a smart move on his part.

Well then, it is done.

Goodbye, Ibrahim.

For I am a selfish person, and a coward one at that. I would never have the courage to establish contact once again for even when I am the abomination I am, I am not ashamed and would not apologize for the monster my mind may have become.


I think, maybe, that there is something wrong in my head. I generally prefer that people don't talk to me when they have nothing note worthy to say, when I am outside my work or outside my social gathering. People should avoid me. There is a time for them. I like to be left alone in my own devices when I am not conditioned for a social-relationship-catering mood. But this...the Quiet this time is irritating. I find myself restless. It is most unpleasant. My brother and sister are preoccupied with their worldly affairs and I want to hear from them. This is intolerable. While I, myself, don't talk to them when I'm in one of my moods and while I do understand them, this time, the Quiet is just grating my nerves. Unforgivable. So I expressed how I strongly miss them and I think perhaps, people would not be able to understand the message I conveyed so dearly...

  "Talk to me, peaches!!!!!! The world is not right when I don't hear from you! I feel like crawling out of this human skin, summoning Crowley and  
    unleashing Armageddon upon the world as the angels drop from the sky like cascading bullets. I would tear every living organic that kept your attentions
    away limb per limb and I'll gift wrap them with a bloody ribbon back to you. My laughter will be the thunder in the darkening sky and my wrath palpable
    as a maddening quake. So I say once again, talk to me,"

As I was saying, then,

            I miss them bastards.


Buck Tick... Never thought I'd say it. There was a time I used to look at my sister (renovati) and be puzzled over her fussing and worshiping. It was in the past. Buck Tick, thanks for salvaging the day. My soul feels like soaring the thunderous sky. You are a lover whose embrace remains solid and warm. Your voice generates the mass effect and I'm your turret that keeps the enemies at bay. I feel like taking up arms once again.

My Name is Sloth

I've got a secret I decided the world should know about. I am the child of Gluttony and Greed. My name is Sloth.

I was a soldier before-- with clear eyes, level head and firm stance, I surged forward. Unstoppable.

Then the tragedy. Change started to take place. With the lines, as everything else in this world is, blurred, I started lumbering into the other side. I was chin deep in the sea of all that is Undesirable before I finally noticed where I was, blinded by Pride--my twin who was somehow sharing the other side of my brain. He possesses my transport when I neglect being vigilant about keeping the shields on my mind. I was swimming in the sea of sins when I regained control. I couldn't escape from the liquid anymore, then. I was drowning. I couldn't separate the dark pool from my limbs. We are of the same color, the sea and I. It was an eye opener. I was one with all that is Undesirable.

I am Sloth.

I remembered.

The soldier has been purged out of my system now. All that is left is the broken shell of a man who used to carry guns and stormed the battlefield while wearing a medal of honor and military fatigues.

Sloth has taken over, without a shred of humanity--devoid of human impulses. The true nature of my being, my very essence, has sipped through from the cage that contained it.

I am home now. With all the Undesirable. In this dirty sea.

I look at Lust and Envy prancing around each other like teenagers and I snort at them. They invited me to their private party but I was too lazy to take up their offer. It was much better to stay inside the flat and drink my tea. I might be the child of Gluttony which meant I have a different kind of hunger sitting inside my belly, nut I have never wanted anything more than my drink. Lust is a shallow person even when he is truly beautiful. He could make me forget but he was never someone I'd break a leg for. It's always a "no" for him. My tea would always seem preferable than him. Envy is hot and sometimes I fancy him but he has a habit of demanding too much from me so I just pass up his offers most of the time.

Wrath sits beside me. He was the most tolerable. Pleasant even. I like him. He's sharp and abrasive but his mind is illuminating. Fiery.

Wrath is always restless, but the quiet in me was like a vacuum. I find Wrath lovely. And sometimes I call him Anger. He calls me Lazy.

I suppose it ought to make sense since I'm a child of Greed... but then it doesn't. When I watch Anger drink his tea and watch the telly with me, I just think there's no other place I'd rather be. I want him and the tea, both. The world could burn right outside our window and I'll remain sitting in my chair watching the sparks and the smoke and hearing the agonized cry of all that is organic. It would be picturesque.

Anger's always angry.

But I think he shares my sentiment.

We'll watch the world burn while we drink our tea.

I'm too lazy to care and he's too angry to actually do something about it.

Someday. In the future... If I do take up the gun again and try pushing back my nature--try suppressing Sloth back into the shell--and return to the world of the living and leave the sea of all that is Undesirable,

I know I'll always take a part of Anger with me. Carry it inside my chest and treasure it desperately.

I'll burn my tongue every time I take my scalding tea and remember Anger just as I burned him in my memory.

I'll go to war, maybe burn a person or two, maybe wage war against the world even,

and all the time...

I would hope Anger was watching me from the window of our flat. As he drank his cuppa.

And I would pray deep down that he would recognize me for who I am even when I am inside the shell of a human.

I am Sloth.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

LAW 7: Life is a Race and we're ALL its Runners

LAW: 7
LIFE is a Race and we're all its Runners
We really have no choice in the matter except on how to play the game.
There's no escaping it.
There could be shorcuts and longcuts but it all just means we stay in the game.

It's such a journey isn't it? Life, that is. One doesn't end with a lone goal. It's a series of goals piling up on top of one another. It's like a long race where you only get to reach stop overs but never really see the end of the line. One can only imagine but he can never truly set his eyes on the end game. Like knowing there ought to be a flag somewhere but all you see are roads and paths and alleyways. That's why life is truly a marvel. You could hate it or learn to love it. You can embrace all the shit and see the beauty of things at the same time. There's no rule that you had to choose one over the other. See things for what they really are and recognize life for what it really is. It is dreadful sometimes but it has wonderful people and some miracles dropped every now and then and they serve as water filling your dry, thirsty throat. Like this, we can be anyone we dare to be. One could choose to stay at one stop over for years and years or one can decide if he'll stay only for a short period of time before standing up to his feet again and continuing the run. There's no right or wrong with choosing the stop overs as long as one doesn't decide to simpy resign himself at one goal post when deep inside he just truly wants to leap for another more league. So don't hate people who keep running. Don't look down on people who has decided he liked a certain stop over even when he could've leap for another or two more. It's our own individual choice what we want to do with our lives. We just better stand tall and carry our chins up. There's no shame in playing the game as there is no shame even when we stumble every now and then, drunken or not. We write how we want the race to end up. We can never truly control the time but how far we could take up the game decides on us. We could be barging in at stopovers one after another then be contented for a time before we decide to march forward...doesn't really matter. We're stuck in the race so may as well learn to be good at it and love it.