It appears that I have a habit of leaving my pieces incomplete. I planned on this piece being a more relaxing one but I have no interest in entertaining the notion of my writing being incomplete.
In “Placeholder”, I spoke of accountability and the weight of the regrets that accumulated as a result of it. I wish to elaborate on the weight of accountability itself and its self-autonomy.
Accountability is a concept that has to remain steadfast against external elements— especially in regards to the victim of your actions. While we may desire forgiveness from this victim, their acquiesce should not lighten the weight of our mistakes. Whether it was major or minor— is it still not a mistake in the end?
I find that this forgiveness is one that dulls our self-regulation— turning exceptions into a norm. It is that which slowly turns these mistakes into normal actions, allowing for its harm to become normalized.
While I do desire forgiveness in earnest, it is a sensation that should be divorced from this system of internal governance. I would rather be broken by this self-imposed system than to live a life of degeneration. That is my commitment to integrity.
In “Lumen”, there is a part that I left behind– an idea that was presumed lost. That idea has risen once more– to act as a continuation and another beginning.
Religion is a topic that shall never lose its weight– but it seems that some of us are remiss in this regard, wielding it lightly on the tongue. For it seems that people have begun to use a man’s faith to admonish him– questioning his beliefs in jest.
The weight of a person’s faith has been tested many times– defining history for the generations after to remember. Is it not recorded in our annals that men have killed each other en mass– dying “Religion” a shade of vermillion red. It seems that this blood has dried– for people have forgotten of it entirely.
Time may have dulled the edge of this blade– yet in the end, is it not a blade? I have seen tongues who wielded this weight in a callous manner, their words remain heavy yet their heart is light– as if it was nothing but banter. This blade is one that used to sever heads– yet today it severs bonds.
A social dynamic must have clear boundaries, lest it breaks down in shame– for such a dynamic shall eventually gorge the reverse scales of another, imploding the dynamic entirely. While some persist without such boundaries– they are the exception, an innate understanding.
Our individuality mandates this, as our interpretations of these boundaries will inevitably create conflict if a common ground is not found. I find that insults and playful jest have become commonplace in these dynamics– strengthening my belief as people tend to forget that words retain the capacity to take chunks out of a person, by extension their bond in this dynamic.
I have learnt that it is better to think before speaking– a trait that I have adopted inconsistently. I recognize that I have a tendency of opening my mouth, only to close without voicing a single word– as sometimes silence is better.
I recognize that I am unable to fully bridge the gap between my thoughts and words– leaving others with questions rather than understanding. Words have nuance– it’s factors changing the reception of it, so I would rather take time to compile a proper sentence rather than blabber like a fool.
I am inconsistent– as I sometimes forget my place and speak heedlessly, leaving me with regrets as I ponder on previous conversations and interactions. A product of such regrets being my writing– each interaction being pondered at different angles, creating new regrets out of old ones.
This thoughtful trait of mine is especially evident in the event that I am wearing my headset– as quick conclusions are oftentimes wrong, the result of voluntarily deafening yourself. I have learnt this lesson multiple times before understanding it.
If a person is to be judged, then your senses must remain intact– it is far too easy to malign a person in regards to our judgement. It is even easier for us to do with one of our senses being impaired. It would do others well if they were to adopt this lesson, rather than interjecting without regards to context.
In “Ego and Death”, I wrote my current iteration of myself as a Hermit, characterizing aspects of myself. It appears that I’ve found a new one– a drifter. One whose courtesy is that of the wind– a gentle breeze that comes in passing.
A breeze that exists everywhere yet belongs to none– a solitary one. I recognize that I may be in different dynamics but I’ll ultimately never belong to one for the time being. I am always leaving, one way or another– leaving has always been quicker than joining. It is akin to passing through a cloud– water remains but the wind passes through, failing to cling to this cloud.
I cannot tell whether this has been by choice or by fate– as there seems to be no distinction between the two with my efforts being in vain. Man desires a hearth for him to rest when he is weary. I remember this warmth– it is as fleeting as me, a flame that requires sustenance that I lack. I have no hearth– I only have my writings to burn, to remind me of this warmth.
Life itself has become a fuel in my eyes– every moment serving as words waiting to be penned.
People are the most confounding experiences– a paradox that my attempts of understanding have gained no ground. I wish to understand others in the most thorough manner– to learn every detail of them. I have no qualms about myself– honesty being a constant in my writings.
People change all the time, myself included– as it’s a natural law. But I have grown weary– for I have realized that there is little difference between chameleons and people in regards to the frequency of their changes. How could I understand when their default state is like a hidden nebula– each glance reflecting a different one.
Yet these very people act like droplets– constantly in a flux state between individual and collective. I feel like chuckling, as there’s too many reasons for this desync. For starters, my unit of time is an entire magnitude below others– I came in months and shall leave in months, paling twelvefold in comparison to a year.
I wish to become a breeze that could carry these droplets with me, for my empty hearth to no longer echo. A wish whose beginning remains embedded in the future– for the present is one that denies this wish.
A present whose nature is bipolar. Its warmth is second to its frigid nature– a nature that leaves me with a chill lingering in my heart. A mismatch that occurs not one, but twice– one between reality and theory, one that leaves me with questions that shall remain unanswered.
A coldness that is reserved for the mind has been forced in the heart– forced to exist in this empty hearth. If I had known of this bipolar nature, then I would’ve long abandoned this warmth to forsake this cold– yet I have walked into this path, a path that leaves no room for retreat. For life does not allow a person to so easily take a step backwards– thus I am to move forward to lose this warmth with its corresponding frigidness.
I recognize that this coldness is perhaps a fault of my own– my inability to understand this hemisphere’s atmosphere. My grievances have manifested themselves in an ever-constant bitterness in my mouth– one that water cannot dispel.
To communicate once felt as natural as breathing– yet I now find myself stifled, breathing becoming a conscious task. I recognize this as a partial fault of mine– as it was I who let myself fall, now unable to control my descent.
It’s ironic, I can write over 3,000 words in a day with an unceasing flow of creativity– yet I cannot type a fraction of those words, the only caveat being my physical presence. Truth be told, I recognize the reasons for this.
I recognize that I have a habit of talking excessively, a habit that seems to be overbearing at times. While I do enjoy talking– I loathe it being at the expense of others. I cannot tell whether my incessant yapping is one that others dislike, as it has become polite to not verbalize such disapprovals– a politeness that I dislike.
Straightforwardness is a lost trait– I cannot assume that a person would vocalize their grievances, thus I must operate with assumptions rather than truth. I have no intention of testing a person’s boundaries– but I am not always rational, becoming immersed in my own words.
I recognize my ineptitude of small talk— my attempts of it being feeble, ultimately becoming meaningless. I balk at the thought of doing so, as my nature conflicts with its very existence– I am both blunt and straightforward, traits that stand in firm opposition to such social niceties.
However, this small talk is an integral component in regards to the social aspect of communication. I recognize it’s worth– but I still loathe entertaining the notion. Additionally, I do not know how to continue a conversation after this small talk is over. How can I speak to another if I cannot pass this simple hurdle?
I recognize these flaws of mine– an incomplete list as some of these flaws do not need me to articulate their existence. What good is being self-aware if these faults remain prevalent even after identification– it is like a man inflicted with rabies, who dies from dehydration with his body at the shore of a lake.
I recognize the flaws of others– as my discernment is blind in its scope. The distinction between their flaws and mine is that I view their flaws in a positive manner– as I attribute them as quirks of their character. While I may struggle to understand people, I believe that I am still able to discern their actions if they were done out of malice.
Even then, this discernment of mine is limited, allowing me to make estimates– not truths, lessening its weight compared to my own flaws. I find that it is better to be an observer than to think– to let my thoughts mellow as I simply watch.
In the past, I said something along the lines of me claiming that I spoke as I found silence awkward. It seems that my claim alone cannot fully explain myself. I speak as a way of adding colour into my life– as it tends to be monochromic most of the time, resembling the dryness of my morning toast.
I will not deny the notion that my greed is in play. Discourse is something that I would gladly indulge in, yet it seems to be a commodity– a card whose appearance is whimsical at best. I’ve abandoned my usual practice of planning– as its outcomes have already been predetermined as failures.
When this card is drawed, I have a tendency to overplay it– to speak until it fades from my hand entirely. It comes as a priority compared to other aspects– as I have little control over these opportunities compared to those aspects.
Productivity is at the forefront of such aspects– as its level is one that approaches the title of virtue. While I may suffer from an exaggerated confidence, I believe that this particular confidence is warranted– granting the liberty to sacrifice it for a time.
I recognize that others may not be as willing to sacrifice such aspects– a late one, as my ponderance began after such events unfolded. I leave this to myself to rectify in the future– as there’s nothing for my past to correct, my present only being able to write and remember this mistake.
From this discourse, I am able to perceive the people’s layers– layers that I was previously blind to, allowing for their colours to diffuse into the atmosphere, imprinting onto me. There is a habit that I have possessed for a good time now– an inquisitive one in regards to people.
To unravel these layers further– to provide a kindling for an eternal conversation. Instead, I only have another lesson from a habit now defunct. I used to use questions as a way to sustain conversations– questions about a person, to learn more of them.
It seems that my thoughts were arrogant– as everything has a beginning and end, regardless of my attempts to distort it. From this, I have learnt the lesson of resignation– to let go of what was meant to leave from the beginning. Perhaps that too is another reason for my constant doubt.
Apart from my pursuit of breaking the monochromic pattern of my life– I only prefer silence when it is accompanied by solitude. While I may take solace in its existence, that does not mean that I prefer it– it exists as a dialectical concept in my mind. After all, why condemn myself to this absence of sound?
Patience is a virtue– even a forced one. After all, this quality of mine is a learnt one– one that stands in opposition to my innate deposition. It can be likened to a can of sprite– carbon being my restlessness and this acquired patience being the can itself.
When people converse with another– the pause between voices is typically measured in seconds, with minutes being a rare unit but still kept in mind. It seems that this quality is one lost upon cyberspace. I find that a letter sent via carrier pigeon would be faster and more efficient– as the pigeon would serve as a snack while I wait for a response.
Sigh, I recognize that my writing cannot fully replace spoken words. There is a limit to the personality that seeps through it– my hands are tied in this regard. I have entire stories that I want to share alongside my experiences– ones that are a bit more eccentric than others.
Speaking is an act that grants me comfort, allowing for the more mundane thoughts in my mind to be released– letting this water mix into the air, as opposed to allowing it to build into an ocean.
I am an open book– a statement that may be taken as literal at this point. In regards to my readers, be it past, present, and future– I believe that I can assume that all of writing has never been read by a single person.
In fact, I am unsure if people read my writing entirely– as I feel that it’s more likely for others to abandon it mid-way. I would rather have discourse about my writing, for someone to argue or have a discussion than to receive praise for the quality of my writing myself. But, I’m not so heedless as to deny a person’s thoughts– after all, their reading is a choice. A choice with its corresponding opinion, who am I to deny this choice or to chastise it?
In the end, all roads lead to rome– all of my writings lead back to me. It is the crystallization of my essence, a truthful one. Let it be known that these writings of mine are perhaps a better representation of myself than anything I could speak.
Author’s note:
This might be a bit shameless for me to say right now, but I originally planned on writing a relaxing piece. Instead I dedicated myself to writing for the past three days straight. I could’ve sworn that I mentioned this in one of my prior writings– but I encourage any questions or responses about my writings. I mentioned this in an old piece but I can’t find any records of it. Odd.
Let it be clear that I’m not targeting anyone with my writing. I’m explicitly saying this to avoid misunderstandings. To save myself time, I’m going to chuck a quote. ‘If you feel targeted by my words, you are a victim of circumstance…’— “About me”. I plan on doing this more often since I’ve just realized that I can do it.
Here’s a recreation of one of my original lines. “Discourse is something that I would gladly indulge in, yet its rarity can be likened to a cheesecake– I’ve indulged myself four times in the last seven years. “
I changed it since it’s too exaggerated, so instead I used cards instead. I should get some cheesecake after I get my own job. It seems that this piece has the most mentions of food for some reason.
Anyways, some of my writing is related to other pieces substantially– so my request is more of a selfish one considering that this has become one of my longer pieces. I ask that you read those pieces since they’re actually connected to each other in multiple ways. For the record, I didn’t plan on the Insight-Outlook naming combo– it happened naturally.
“Insight” is connected to “Outlook” as both of their topics are related and share the same metaphors. In “Outlook”, I’ve developed those cards into representations of our natural providence. Additionally, the way that I perceive people is also written in Outlook– as I’ve used a sub-metaphor of that perception with the word ‘Layers’.
In “About me” and “Thoughts#1”, you may find some of my remarks about silence. Frankly, a decent amount of my writings are connected to “Insight” but the referred ones are the most direct.
As always, congratulations on reading this piece of mine. 23-Trifecta 24-Lumen 22-Judgement 11-Ego and Death 20-Outlook 19-About me 17-Thoughts_1