Beginning a journey

Denial is the most predictable of all human responses. - The Architect, The Matrix Reloaded

For months now, I've consistently avoided coming face to face with the fact that the day will come when she has to go away, that there will come a day when we will be thrust into the uncertain and topsy-turvy world of inter-continental relationships. I guess something inside me wanted to believe that there'd be an easier way for us, that some sort of bizzare miracle would occur, and everything would be fine; no more hurdles, no more difficulties--only bliss. And only recently has reality--like it always does--punched me in the gut so hard that I am left gasping for air.

How does one deal when someone goes away? Death is easier, I think (although more painful), with its finality and definiteness; what do you do when someone is there but not there at the same time? Some people treat SOs as if they were accessories; there's that longing too, of course, that hankering for its presence, for its nearness, but 'things' are always easily forgotten, easy to live without. When it's gone, you grieve for it a little (sometimes even not at all, when you have something better to replace it with), but in the end, it's just something you once had but don't have anymore.

I, on the other hand, feel like I'm going to loose an appendage.

But like every journey that's set before me, I have to take it and walk on it until I get to where ever I'm supposed to go. It's part of of life, part of moving forward. Only the dead are left behind.

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No Rest for the Damned

I stare at the blinking cursor in front of me and wonder what’s next. I let myself get swallowed up by the monotony of office life: wake up, eat, travel, work, sleep; I try to revel in its off-white walls and the cacophony of voices that course through my head like nails scratching a blackboard. Funny, that word – blackboard – like my mood, black and bored, or better yet, like me – a black board. But the human tendency for self-preservation drives me to find things to fill the void; sometimes with fleeting trifles I try in vain to attach meanings to, or sometimes with things intangible and profound, like hope, or faith. But it seems that there is no rest for the dammed. Damned by the reminders of past mistakes, damned by the hollow tedium of today, and damned by the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Or it could be that I’m really just bitter, as someone pointed out not so long ago. Not a bad conclusion, really, with me allowing myself to be consumed by memories of failure, or by the bana...

Scattered thoughts on relationships

We all know relationships are hard. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that we all have at least a vague idea that real relationships are more than just kisses and walks in the park, or candlelit dinners and holding hands while watching a movie. Nevertheless, it is not unheard off, that two people who previously thought that their promises would hold suddenly drift apart and discover that all that remains between them are broken pledges, old hurts, and that good old “sorry”. They ask themselves whether they could have done something to prevent it, they ask themselves where along the road did they lose it, they ask themselves what went wrong and who’s to blame. But at this point whether or not these questions are answered is of little consequence—the damage has been done, and the whole house of cards has long since fallen down. I guess it’s just as simple as saying that people who are always there are also the ones who are the easiest to take for granted. They’re low maintenanc...

Vignette: Still Life

She had always looked good in pictures. He had come across a collection of them stowed away in a square tin box he had put on top of the closet, years ago. She was smiling in this one, a black and white he had taken and developed himself. He remembered putting in the film on the projector and counting from one thousand one to one thousand fifteen for the image to burn into the paper. He would then wash it in chemicals and watch the picture slowly materialize. The picture would go to a tray and taken outside, where he would wait for it to dry. She had kissed him when he presented it to her, thanking him for making her look cute. Another black and white. This time she was putting food down on a mat they had set for a picnic. She had looked so perfect then – lover, friend, and future wife. He remembered fingering the ring in his pocket, nervous and ill-at-ease. When she asked him what was wrong, he went to one knee then and there, and asked if she could be his wife. She had laughed and hu...

Symptoms of Cretinism

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