Popped out.

If i could just stop existing without dieing, i would have popped out of existence already.  But unfortunate enough there is no possible way to be. I am just tired.  I haven't even lived a full life but i am already exhausted with everything.
Tired of talking to stupid people,  of being normal, of thinking, of having to be something,  of trying, of feeling, of fighting, of letting go, of choosing between good and necessary evils, of accepting, of trashing, of speaking, of listening, of caring, of not caring, of everything. Because it gets tiring to be too much of one thing and being less of another.  If i could just be in a corner and stare at nothing,  let leaves fall, rain drop, ants cross by and do nothing but breath while my brain shuts into blackness. Stop. Shut up. Get out. I'll let the precious man made time to tick away and pass because seconds of minutes of hours doesn't even exist. Lucky bastard. You know i feel my heart beating now and i don't blame it for doing a good job, but my soul, i feel it leaving me, floating in mid air. Just floating.
You know how we take time off and escape everything behind for a while but then you still get back to reality. And that is inescapable. I don't want to get back every time i escape. I am escaping because there's no point to the word if i go back and return. Even to the memories of being a kid with no responsibilities i can't return, because then i have to remember being a kid left to face her very own demon by herself. You'd think it's our demon that would want us to quit, you'd never blame the angel. The angel that keeps whispering through sufferings. The demon that watches through sufferings. Nuances.
Poke me with something sharp and i bleed same time with the wound. And i am tired of others and myself poking the same wound over and over again. This is your fault brain, you've grown too cognizant of every little details, even the most moronic, even when it doesn't matter, you just have to understand everything don't you?  You self inducing pain bastard.
I have always imagined and reminded my good old self of how much i shouldn't care and how much i can be unshackled. But the problem is, the times i phrase that i don't care are the times i hurt because i am a fucktard lier. So if i stop existing, nothing to care about. Nothing to fight. Nothing to let go. Just nothing. You know what i like wearing everday? A full on fuck you mask. Makes me look like i actually don't care. Fuck you world. Fuck you stupid people. Fuck you society. Fuck you pain. Fuck you life. Fuck you noli. You're a lier.
Even if i close my eyes, cover my ears and empty my brain does nothing if not magnify. Nothing really works.
Now i don't know how to end this because after the last word and the period it never really ends.
I guess that is just it, it never ends.

Kid as i was.

"The pillow feels soft on my cheeks. I am not sure how long i was staring at this wall.  I should not make any sound, they're just downstairs.  They think i am asleep,  well there are alot of things they think i am,  like insubordinate, or worthless. They're not really creative,  they just come up with the most obvious. I should just be sleeping, but i keep thinking of everything.  This day was so usual, ordinary, they laughed at me and called me names.  The old ones.  I did my best to ignore them and keep what little space i have and make sure i'm unnoticed so they wouldn't look at me. I am triumphant,  i am home now.  My chest hurt,  like a hollow cold spiky stabbing pain.  And my eyes are wet and puffy,  i suppose i am used to the usual antics of everyday but the shock is the hurting in the chest seems to get worse everytime. And it is always here in front of this wall,  with this pillow yet again wet, and always in this dim light,  by myself.  I can hear thier noise downstairs and thier laughter.  It makes the the stabbing more painful.  I'll just sleep,  please let me sleep. Please. "
I will always remember this kid that i was.

Nothing to be scared of.

When i die i know some people will cry, some will pretend to care,  some will remember i existed for a while.  They will have eulogies that says how good i was and that they will miss me. 
Death isn't so bad.  What comes after it?
I would talk about how i believe in reincarnation forefront, and almost make myself really believe that it is what will happen.  But deep here in my consciousness i always picture pitch black. Pit of void. Endless everywhere of nothingness. We just cease existing. But it is so hard to accept that we will just stop existing and come about in the end with nothing,  so we believe in every afterlife ideology smart and spiritual people comes up with.  We wanted to believe that death is not the end. I almost wished i believe the same.
I wondered how it feels to stop existing, i guess you don't feel anything,  feelings also stop existing in death,  so you do not really know how it is.  Nobody really died and lived to tell the tale. I think the time of unconsciousness like in our sleep is what death really seems like except it goes on forever,  no mornings, no heartbeat,  no breath and your body rots slowly in the ground and becomes part of the soil and you never know, feel, see, hear anything forever. You're just gone. Every people you met,  places you've been, memories you kept all gone.
The soul,  it is the one that continues in the after life as they say it, whether it goes to another body and reincarnate or goes to hell or heaven.  I know i have believed i have a soul, i have been brought up to believe so, but i do not know anymore . I can just be a body made up of tissues , muscles and bones that will eventually die and rot.
Even your memories in people's minds start to vanish slowly, eventually they will forget. They will cry for you for weeks maybe, regret the words they haven't told you, pity your loss but eventually they will move on and forget.  Because it is nature.
And after death,  same as how your life halted,  the memories of you left in people's mind shall slowly disappear too. everything you are and every bit of evidence you walked the earth will be gone,  forgotten if not unrecognized.  And that is when you are entirely and truely begone. You're simply done.
Death itself is nothing to be scared of. It just means that your time is up, you need to go. I guess having not enough time is what is scary, and the pain in between passing from having a heartbeat into having none.
We are all going. Everything we ever had and acquired will be in nothing too. I think all we are ever going to have is that brief moment before we crossover into the void of nothingness,  where you realize if your life had been everything you'd ever hope for. And fortunately it is, because by then there is no going back.

Walk with me.

I don't know if my senses are fooling me,  if my mind has taken the best of me but i feel it. I am never ever sure if i dreamed it,  if i have seen it or if i imagined it.  I guess no matter how much i think i know my reality and the difference it has with dreams and illusion it still escapes me. There are still hazy memories or it could be a dream or just a vision or maybe my brain made it up and for some unknown reason i can't distinguish what is real.  It played over and over in my mind that i feel it physically happend, or––i might have only effectively convinced myself it did? but it is blurry and dreamlike so maybe i just imagine it?
It is hasty and blurry at edges of vision, but i am aware i'm in a street,  gray dry cement stretching far ahead with trees and grass all in lively green swaying in the direction of the wind.  It is not hot or cold,  not humid nor scorched but it is cloudy with rays of sun escaping from edges of clouds and striking through holes and sides of the leaves and branches of trees creating this sharp rays of sunlight while soft wind blows in my face and hair. I am walking,  i have no direction in my mind,  i am taking steps by steps, one foot after another. As i have always done in my life, i walk alone, always alone. I always choose solitude in every journey,  i seek no company for times such as this.  I have my certainty and peace walking alone straight ahead as i always have and i believe always will. It feels very familiar,  the walk,  the air,  the solitude,  the peace, it is comfortable. I see people passing by me but never taking the time to glance at me,  why would they? i do not know them they do not know me,  makes perfect sense.  I am somewhere busy with crowds and cars all doing their business.  I am turning my head sideways to see different angles of everywhere and i felt a pull in my hand like another set of fingers touched mine and i halt.  The hand holds mine in a way as if it has been holding it with too much familiarity.  It was warm and rough with callouses, i know i should be nervous for all the right reasons but i feel nothing if not curious. I turned my head to the direction i anticipated the owner of the hand will stand and he was there,  smiling.  I have never seen his face before, he is fair cream color, has dark ruffled hair blown by the wind, thick set of strong eyebrows,  dark eyes squinting from rays of sunlight.  I stared at him hard, my gaze traveled from his face to his chest,  to his abdomen,  to his groin,  to his knees to feet back up to his extended arm and rested my eyes to his fingers holding mine.  I know i should have pulled back but i didn't. I should speak to ask but i didn't. I should think reasonably but for some incompetent reason,  i didn't.  Not because i can't but more because i don't want to. His hands felt warm not only in my hands but travels in my arms and in other parts of my body,  i feel warm all over. I was breathing through my mouth and staring,  just staring, dumbfounded i suppose is what i look like. I was frozen but it didn't feel wrong like it was suppose to be. I looked at his face again,  he was still smiling,  was he mine?  I feel his hands tighten around mine and speak.
"can i walk with you? "
Why will he want to walk with me?  I think. 
I can't let him.  I always have walked,  and will walk alone.  I choose to.
I don't want him with me. Do i?
I know people,  they never intend the meaning of the words they speak.  How different is he?
They never understand the clarity behind solitude and he won't.
I didn't speak and keep silent.
He is no longer smiling but he is still holding my hand,  tighter this time. He just stared at me the same way i stared at him.
I wonder what he thinks.  How this is not odd to him and is incredibly odd to me.
I stare in his eyes to see if i can peek in his soul,  i can't.
So we stand there,  staring.
And i covet with every ounce of my strenght,  every strand of my soul that he was mine and that he can walk with me.

I hope it is real,  a memory. My hope was almost stronger than the persistent logic that it was a hasty dream. But i am holding on to that dot of adamant possibility it was a memory trapped in my dream,  if such things happen.

To write.

I promised myself that i will write everyday about anything i could think of.  I promised myself that this once i will put all of my effort known to me,  that for this once i will persevere,  that i will not quit and i will not lose focus. I have tried a lot,  millions of times to think and realize what i want to do.  What this hands,  mind,  heart yearns and i can't count the times i never got an answer.  But now atleast one,  i do.  I want to write,  for all the tiny and inessential reasons. I can also state the obvious reasons,  but then again they are obvious. I asked if these reasons are the same with mine, somehow they are and they are not all at the same time. This one thing i know now, is the first thing i can work with,  finally. I decided i will work with it with all i got, and "all i got" may not be on a grand scale as compared to what "others got" but i will be no more than extremely proud to have given blood and time and efforts i could have never imagined,  because i never did before.  I am still figuring out alot these days and i bet much more in these coming months or years,  but along the way i will write. In between my juggles of priorities in every incomplete aspects, i will write.  With every shuffling emotions i would encounter i will write.  In the crowd of different faces and diverse ranges of beliefs,  i will write. And i will write incessantly until my hands, sore ––my mind, mute. I don't even worry of how.  I just came aboard with the one thing i can want the most entirely,  so i am giving myself permission to be flimsy and rubbish. As i have coveted to believe in the concept of Einstein's relativity theory,  i will still say i have a lot of time. I don't know what will come of it,  i never planned to be a professional in the field i have starved to be a part of.  I have never planned to do anything of it as of the moment but pleasure my soul with the gift i have yet to develop.  I have never planned things in my life actually.  I just do what my heart and my brain has altercated to want and to need.  This exact place where i stand will not hold me forever,  i eventually have to move on.  While i try to do the best moving forward i can and while i try to figure out all the corners and the turns i am yet to tangle myself with in this life i will write.  The first and one thing i have not confused myself with is what will remain constant in me in my entire walk.  I didn't even realize before i was holding onto it the same way i am holding off to it.  I maybe was scared more than i wanted it,  that is why i let go too soon and walked away.  But i do not forget of the times it crosses my mind and furnish my hands to draw words and to describe pictures. In those flutter of moments i felt the need to want to write,  so i do.  But it never last,  it would leave me as soon as it impinged on.  It left me bereft, i have to abandon hope before it ever flowed through my veins. And then i grew up a bit,  i know a thing or two now. I earned myself an intuitive amount of enough to know small and important things from all the days i spent in this lifetime. I know you never give up on the what you want,  especially if you never knew what it was until it hit you in the face and especially if it is quantifiable,  i should say.  Here i have a corner of my heart filled with one of the things i never pursued but had yearned long.  To keep writing is to keep smiling. So maybe that is why i keep smiling these days.

A bus to wherever.

Wherever destination i am required to be i seem to always take the slowest most comfortable form of transportation,  so far i consider the bus to do the perfect job. I always enjoy a long ride by the window in a well matressed seat and a good air conditioning, i pay the same fare as everybody else but i want the best seat in the house ––or in the bus.  Without any seatmate if it is not too much to ask.  I take my time on every journey,  i don't need a quick transportation if it involves butt bumping, crowd wrestling or race running.  I am oblivious to the fact i won't arrive in time for my appointment,  but i shrug it off.  Due to all the shrugging off i am a lousy,  unpunctual bloke to the eyes of my friends and acquaintances.  I am always the one to arrive last they have to allot minutes and more to wait for me.  I have the reason for coming last scripted up, Recited it many times and seems to still be of effect.   I see enough to know the importance of time for all the people running everywhere.  I see too much of it,  everyone is infact in a rush most of the time ––most of thier own time. They chase every ticking second one after another,  it becomes endless.  I can tell it matters to them,  so i can't tell i don't want to accept and live by the concept of time more so follow it.  No explanation can clear the forordained argument that's already nailed down in thier preconditioned minds. I don't blame them but surely they can blame me. A lost cause anyway.
But i want to see every people, trees,  cars,  buildings,  everything inanimate ––or not pass by me.  A usual scenery for an everyday ride to somewhere.  Just for a 10 maybe 15 minutes flashing of  usual mundane scenery of an everyday route is what i am after,  epecially in the morning. With the coldness from the early-morning hour still left, the sun about to rise in the pale blue sky vaguely painting the clouds with orange, a number of people just about starting up a crowd, and the almost emptiness of the streets that are usually overpopulated.  Nothing is remarkable in the scenery and the journey.  The slow pace and the lightness of the mood is what is pleasurable. There is stillness and awareness i am able to identify with every journey i take time with. Inhale,  hold, exhale.  I am in a journey,  i am moving with speed and i am not even touching the ground or provides the effort for placement acceleration.  I am just sitting back and feeling the space of movement.  Passenger perks. I find the pleasure in acceleration, in the jolt of forward movement i can watch objects pass by in a blur on my peripheral vision, it is the small world in all its ordinary scenes.  They are tiny indeed, but is invisibly connected to one another by chance. And as much as i have wondered i wonder all the more how these tiny scenes unworthy of enough attention fit altogether to create the bigger ones. They just do maybe. It slipped me maybe the whole commute might be just a distraction from the purpose of the appointment in the back of my mind, or it might have been the whole reason for the appointment.  For some given time i find that i look forward to a very long enduring ride even when there is no point to the destination. I always take my time nonetheless it is habitual.  I will never chase time in all it's glory.  This brain have been conditioned to quantify each courses to fit every ticking time of the day with activities. I am aware.  But the pleasures of slow pace is where i am putting my foot into.  I can see,  hear,  feel more. Such time wasted well spent.  Once i arrive at the destination is a different story all together, i am reminded of why the commutation.  I almost forget. But it was worth the nettled discourse after.

holes, heaven, hell.

No matter how hard you try to erase the feeling and return to the resounding normacy,  somehow the words drag you back and they thump with all thier life.  There is no way to get back what was never mine.  I will loosen my grip,  the sands will slip through my fingers.  No matter how many times you try, leaves nothing but holes inside.  If darkness  falls around i have my tiny fire here.  You will see the shadows in my face i hope you see the faith tiny underneath.  The pain will fade.  The steps i take to go into the light leaves foot steps so deep.  How can you feel emptier,  you don't have any. How can you feel alive if you have not lived.  Around is wide but here it is tiny,  so tiny.  There are directions pointing left and right how could have been lost?  Do you know where you are going?  I cannot take touch with me,  it will be gone.  The peices i try to build imperfects the suffice we all try to have. I am grateful for your warm hand around mine,  i am barely not breaking anymore.  I'm scared my breath will leave me prior the time i have realized what to die for.  You took so much i haven't had. Too much space to float i drown.  I am sorry for much of the time i had shut down,  i can't let you in.  All the drops fell on the wrong places.  Yet out of all the bruises and bumps, i'd rewind and won't alter.  I can't desire heaven and i don't,  as hell burns i would be burnt. 

Such pointless.

My eyes are open.  I can see now though i am not looking.  I can listen,  not hear.  I know now,  understand not comprehend.  I just what to be overwhelmed,  be loved and to love.  I am not brave but i am strong.  I need more than i want.  My enough is not universal but it suffice. I open the door i never knew was locked,  i stopped forcing open the one locked.  I feel life more than i live it.  Living has more than one way.  I will close my eyes as long as i desire and i will miss things.  Don't worry they are not for me.  The solemn speaks too much.  The warmth flows deep if you let it,  shut out the noise.  You are no longer hollow,  there are still holes but not so empty anymore.  Right this time i feel it,  i feel all around,  the revolving space.  The outside doesn't define the inside. Even words don't mean nothing.  The curves,  crevices and dents meant too much.  My heart can't block it but my hands can,  you can turn up the volume but i will still shut you out.  A second just passed,  and so is another day.  So busy jumping,  flying and soaring,  addicted to the pleasures of height,  i watched you. Ask me.  I've seen everything.  Feelings too fast,  words can't cover.  I remember how it's done all the more i remember how it feels.  It matters,  it is not to understand but it matters.  Smell of pleasure and confusion,  it goes best with the taste of disappointment and pride. I have never been at bliss being lost,  i was lost then i found the way back. Then it is unreal and ugly again.  Universal reality.

Fool.

I go in this world living when i do not even know what i am living for. I do not have the purpose of which i can consider my life worth struggling for. I don't have the reason to push further into living what life i have now. It feels empty, all of it. It feels like everything inside me is just empty space and air, so hollow.  No pian,  no happiness,  no nothing just plain emptiness.  Soothing at one point but sick on the other.

Would dying for something of grave importance equilibrize my existence of emptiness?  Maybe before i die i would sacrifice,  i will make all of my wrongs, right.  Maybe i can die for someone or something then maybe i will feel a little has occupied my great space of hollowness inside.  Maybe i would.  Would it be a death worth enduring?  Or if not a heroic death,  maybe a life well lived with purpose and with altruism.  Where will i start?  How do i know?  Is it everyones battle including me to find something that i can put in the center of my life and incur meaning?
My life is a routine.  A stifling and drowning routine.  I go on for the mere requirement i need to live.  For whom?  For what?  I don't know.  All i know is what my parents and the people around me wedged in my brain,  that life continues and that you need to do everything in order to live.  You live to live.  It gets me up in my bed and go through the day.  Then i sleep and wait for the next day to come.  Ofcourse not all days are the same, somedays happy,  somedays good,  somedays romantic somedays inspiring, somedays hectic, somedays are not so bad and it all makes me forget that somewhere deep there is a hole,  myriad.  Temporarily. But it all always comes back with a smacking pain in the face.  All of it.  How much nothingness i can feel in one whole part of my life. I have always believed it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.  Indeed.  At my case i have never loved at all i can consider i have never lived at all,  because all of this are temporary,  i find no lasting pleasure in this things i shower myself with.  I want to feel something i can hold on to forever,  here inside me so i can fill in the gaps.  These things i try to acquire for myself for my family they leave me with nothing at all.  They are just tangibles, temporary,  will be forgotten,  will return to dust.  Everything i am ever going to acquire will be gone the same time i do.  It will all be for nothing.  I want––demand something i can hold on inside my soul that even if this body dies and rot,  i have it in me forever.
You see i am not afraid of death,  of nonexistence.  I am afraid of the pain,  afraid that my life had not been enough.  My life is what terrifies me more than my death. That when time comes i won't be ready to die and leave because of everything i haven't ever felt or done. My life is what i will ever have,  and i am anguished that i hated all the things i find unnecessary but is practically essential. I hate that i have to see the world the people in such dreary colors,  because partly i am dreary and it is how we see that defines us. I don't have the expense of blaming anybody for my perception of life,  death and the world.  I poisoned my own.
I am sick,  i am tired, i am alone, alone and i cannot help but ascribe my dreary perception to all of those.  I do feel it at times and in great extent,  even the happiest rat feels lonely sometimes. I am not ashamed of it.

All we are are capable of too much love and so am i,  to what extent i am willng to find out. I want nothing more than to overpower myself with so much love.  Love for my cohorts,  family,  friends and person.  Whatever definition of love people may ever come across and documented.  I want them all.  I know this is what will fill my empty spaces,  will fill me up i am to ooze. If i have love maybe i find that even if i don't know what my life and existence turns out,  i will still have something worth enduring. And maybe i wouldn't be as terrified i am of my life,  and maybe my death wouldn't be of a void.  Love, proverbially is all i need. Right now at least. I don't know how to phrase it anymore that i can express it more clearly,  that may erase the usual concept the phrase has been widely used.  But all i need is love.  It seems right. As doubtful as i can get,  right now it is my only answer to the aching hollowness deep in me.  I can't be more specific than i already am. Love given in various physical and emotional fashion.  I starve for it. Foolish only dare not ask for it,  foolish enough as well to ask for. And i am. 

.....

i am still mangled with my whole life ahead of me and how it will halt.  But at a significant part of my life sometime,  i would graciously ask to have love and loved at a myriad. And i will certainly would have a memory that i can treat as the best if anything ever beats it. It might not be too much but it will be enough. Fool as am i.

Turn left.

They do not understand.  All they know is what it looks like from the outside,  from other peoples perception.  Their brain, routine and customs told them it is wrong in all the inches.  But no.  They do not know.  This is what i want.  This is how i am living.  This is how i do things.  Certainly life doesn't come with instructions,  and it certainly doesn't come with strict structure that tells me to do things the same way everybody else does,  or decide how everybody else does,  or think or speak or act the way they all do.  If i go right while everybody else go left,  does that make me wrong? Would i deserve to be judged? 
It is tiring at one point.  No matter how independent you might think you are,  no matter how brave you are,  things around seems to conspire with one purpose of crushing you,  simply because they think you're wrong.  And those who are, deserve to be wrong all the more and be sore while they are at it. And then you never get out of that judgement, you already are what they have decided you are,  no matter what you do you stay there. Your space becomes so small,  like you can't breath anymore,  you feel so small,  you feel like a door just slammed in your face cutting you out of the circle you thought you once belonged. And again why?  Because you stray away from the structural right way of being,  deciding and living.  And it makes you so wrong it might as well be considered a sin the way the punisments are thrown. 
No. No. I won't. Bullshit.
I am free.  I am doing my best to bare myself from all this structural way they taught me to live.  Because i know and i feel this is the only way i can be free,  infinitely free.  But it's painful.  But it's satisfying too. 
I have said a million times,  i will say it again.  I am who i am. My life,  my years,  my months and my days,  i get to spend them as i desired, everything i do, i say i act,  i do because i want and i can,  consequences from such i take like a man. Because i have accepted the fact and i live in them.
Sometimes i seem just like an individual passing to adulthood from being a child,  seems to want individualism and liberty; just trying to find the best little spot in circles in the crowd she can belong. Or seem like just hormones overflowing and just needs to be recognized.  Yes.  I am and i'd be all of those.  Yes i want individualism and liberty and i want my hormones to overflow and i want a circle i can belong.  I want to. I want how i lived composed of things big or little to be nothing but me. Nothing but completion of me.  I want to dare live south when everybody lives north,  i want to love the oddities of the world and human,  i want to stray away from customs,  i want to step or maybe run from the concept of perfect social living,  i want to decide,  act,  speak and do, bared from all criticism and hypocrisy.  I want my life.  I want my own reality. 
Baby steps.  I am still finding my light and the path to my own reality.  But now i know what i want for once.  The reality i always dreamed of but i know it will never be easy,  there is always confusion and pain and drawbacks.  It is always hard to forget what you were used to,  and change how you have lived for a good 20 years.  This world has a very effective way of luring and fooling you to do just about everything they require you to.  It is easy to get lost in the crowd and just blend in,  give up. To be lost in the beauty and ugly.
After all how easy is it to turn if there is a lot of hands that pull you back.  I'd say hard as hell.  Oh but i know nothing worth having is easy,  and i don't need easy,  i just need possible.  And here's a dollar i'll go buy myself a bucket of possible and soak in it.
I am in this.
In all that i am,  this life is what i want. Don't i have just this?  Of all that i have this is what matters the most. Living it feels more alive than ever,  every little thing that makes it up,  the emotions that comes with it,  even the confusion, pleasure and the pain,  the drawbacks and the bliss. The moment of euphoria in realization after a daunting confusion; the happiness that comes after a long painful hurt;  the weariness of indecision,   the indulge in the addictive pleasure; the inspiration,  adoration,  romance attached in love; the pride in success and a lot lot more. I always felt like all these little things were what i always loved about still having a pulse and breath.   They are all part of my reality. 
Imperfect had always had it's beauty,  i make everything as i go,  i can hit it right or i can stumble on the wrong,  but who really got to tell you what is and what is not?  Doesn't the purpose weight more than the actions itself? If i say i do this for me,  am i selfish?  Doesn't doing things for myself come first? Is it unfathomable i held myself first? If the school,  your parents and the bible haven't told you being selfish is wrong would you have thoughts so?  If society established different set of stories to believe in would you have been what you are now?  Would you still have the same faith?  Would you still be who you are? 
Have you ever thought that you are what you are because of the stories, the teachings and the rules that had been set before you were ever born? I did and i still do.
I have always thought and asked myself if i believe everything that existed around me.  I am indebt to this society for keeping my morale and dignity.  But i have grown thinking if this is what i have existed to believe in.  And a part of me says no. A big part. And that is why i have always tried to stray away from what had been imprinted in my brain my heart and my soul. Don't see things as they are,  they definitely are not. It had been a constant struggle with myself and the people around.  It's always easy to just go where ever the ocean goes, effortless.  Compared to always in battle with half of yourself and most of the world.  How can a tiny sparkle burn without enough fuel.
Somedays are hopeful though,  seems people just leave me alone. 
Somedays i am strong and won't hear whatever they have to say. I have acquired to.
Somedays i act invisible,  or just hide.
I always try to press reset and start over again, from total scratch leave nothing left.  Then try to write as if the world had different set of eyes,  ears, mouth and heart. A little hope is still left here where we stand,  i only need courage.  This world still has the miracles one can need, things are just possible and that's the beauty of it.  Even if you think your trapped,  there still is a door open.  An equal balance of good and bad. Then this world aint so bad,  and i have something to keep me going.
I don't just want to be different and have my now identity,  no.  I want a different life,  away from this,  i want somewhere without dictation,  without someone holding thier hand in your neck,  somewhere with just about no requirements and expectations.
I have considered this might be my battle.  Because there is no way i will accept whatever they just give me and jam it down my throat.  I will always live a little the way everybody does,  but big on how my reality works. Pain will be endless,  but satisfaction comes afterward.  After all if a little happiness is still left to be harvest,  then maybe months of weariness is all bearable. As long as there is left worth holding on to, even hope in size of a hair strand, i can still tie it around my finger,  and it would be enough. Surrender was never a visible option.  This my life now,  going in a different direction doesn't guarantee anything,  i don't even see the destination but while i am travelling in this i might as well dance. The only acceptable right now is to keep going,  i am where i am now,  i can't go back. And by the angel i have no plans of going back, it is not a very temtpting option. I know cannot complely strip myself of the old and of this world,  this is where i am physically living,  i will always do things a normal human being does on a normal basis,  i can't help it. But as i does, it will not be of the same reason, it will be of my own.  And as everybody lives thier daily lives, I still will always go left.

Call it even.

I don't have specifics in mind to say or write. But sometimes you just feel like writing something right? I just feel like my brain and fingers are in the mood. I got nothing right now alright buy maybe if I keep touching the letters I might come up with something. Something that matters or might not.  Hhhmm. Matter.  matter.  Huh,  i got one.
You see i just red a book,  it was good,  cute and all.  The thing that got me the most was the thought of the protagonist to matter,  to the people around him,  matter in a sense that he won't be forgotten. That he would leave something of so much importance. 
Why is it important to matter?
To leave something behind? Legacy what they call it.
Is it important to me?
Do i want to matter?
Do i want to leave something behind?
Hhmmm.
At one point i do.  Why, you ask?
Because it feels damn good.  The fact that people will remember me,  and think of me as great?  So popularity then? Not to be a fuc***g phony here,  but yes.  I can't help it,  greed suddenly came over.
I want to matter, i really do the same way the protagonist (that's too long, fine his name's colin. The book is abundance of Katherines, john green) i mean colin wanted too. But he has much better reason than i am. And you know how you get disappointed when you have a less than crap purpose for wanting to do something? It makes me feel not worthy. And i know i can't do it anymore, but the wanting still hangs in there.
To matter,  exist in a much reasonable way.
To live with purpose. 
Pffft.
You know what i really think about that?
It is hard work.  I am not much a fan of working hard.  Huh.  Figures.
I also think,  it is too much pressure and expectation.  People will just ask for too much from you.  They would want you to be more and do more.  Which i know is part of growing into so much of a bigger picture for yourself (i hope i am making sense)  and which i also know is good.
And it is stifling.
I understand people could have good reasons. why they want to matter big time.  I get it,  mmm actually i don't but i agree to disagree.
You see i have no master than myself,  i follow no rules but the ones i gave myself,  hell even that i break, count on it.  And as much as euphoric it feels to be so damn great people glorify you.  I don't care.  I like to exist in my own way,  i'd like the path my own feet would create, i'd like to matter for myself,  because i had done the things i am happy and capable of doing.  Matter in my sense of freedom,  let others know i am so free,  they can join the wagon and flail stupidly screaming.  Naked from all the shit this society have attached us with.
Have i mentioned earlier i sometimes do not intend to make sense?
Listen here, from the very second you were born you mattered, you mattered to your mom. You might have no idea how much love she felt when she saw you all covered in her blood, crying the shit out of you, and still has that umbilical cord still attached.
Mattered to the people around you for the little things you have done for them. The thoughts and stories you have shared with them,  'cause believe it or not those thoughts and stories affected them little enough.  It made them think,  realize,  woke something deep down, gave them hope,  encourage them and God knows what.
So yeah,  we pretty much mattered in our own cute way.  Cute.  Nice.
But really i understood that from colin.  He phrased
" even if it is a dumb story.  Telling it changes other people just the slightest little bit,  just as living the story changes me.  An infinitesimal change.  And that infinitesimal change ripples outward –ever smaller but ever lasting.  I will be forgotten but the stories will last and so we all mattered – maybe less than a lot,  buy always more than"
Infinitesimal change.
Ripples outward.
Everlasting.
Mattered maybe less than a lot,  but always more than. 
That got me.
So yeah, pretty much i appreciate that we all matter in this freakn awesome world. Not as big as we all wanted to but enough to put a mark here and there.
So i do not bother,  i love the way i breathe and stand right here where i am,  i mattered.  That felt good. I may not be the big brains contributing too much for the human existence,  or the great philosopher giving big and bold words inspiring millions of defeated and crumpled people all over the globe.  Or....  Okay enough,  i think you got the point.  What is the point again?
That i do not need to be somewhat less than what i exactly wanted. 
I contribute. Infinitesimal change (as colin phrase it)  to people around me
And i am happy,  euphoric even.
So i' ll call it even.
There.  I think i have said enough didn't i?
:D