Inventing shadows

As a musician, you don’t come to L.A. to be comfortable. You come to L.A. to be uncomfortable, because that’s the most comfortable feeling in the world to us. — Meg F.

I'm not musically inclined (one reason being that I believe I'm tone deaf) but the words/quote/wise saying above somehow in one way or another reached out to me in an early sunday morning of five where I'm still struggling to prepare for my presentation.

These days, I find that I relate more to lyrics rather than carefully penned thoughts. 

It terrifies me when the realisation first dawned upon me. For so long, words have been my solace. Something that blankets me with security whenever my melancholy strikes. My anchor in this often unpredictable storm of life. So much so that when I found out that I've been veering more to songs rather than book, I had the knee-jerk reaction to try to justify it.

I travel so much that songs are inevitably my loyal companion to ward off unwanted conversations and lonely moments... I can't help it, these songs are good... What can I do? these underground singers are the bomb etc...

Like the five stages of grief - although I only went through denial - I eventually came to accept that music will herein onward become a vital part of who I am. That loving it doesn't mean that I'll have to forgo my love for all things writings and words because music is essentially made up of words too. That there is nothing illegal about loving both of them at the same time.

For those who love again after the loss of their other half to death, is this how they feel? That you can equally love two person at the same time, each with a different yet seismic impact on you. I never used to understand how one can love again if they were to lose their so called soul mates. That "Wouldn't moving on means a form of betrayal to the ones you proclaimed to love?"

But if this is any precursor to how they feel, then I think that, even if I can't wholly empathise with it, I will no longer judge them as harshly as I used to. And at the end of the day, that's what everyone is asking for isn't it; that you'll be given free reign to your actions without any judgment given in return?

At least, that is what I believe I'm seeking for in life. 

***

For those who have been expressing their concern for me over my last blogpost, I can only tell you that you have made me feel loved and cared for. Your advices were not only needed but gave me comfort in knowing that those gibberish thoughts of mine that I spewed in this domain are being read and noticed.

However, I felt that it's only right for me to clarify that I'm well over the competing-with-siblings phase that many of you thought I was in. My mood did not take a turn for the worse because I was comparing myself with my brother. I've long ago reached the conclusion that whereby he excels in all things history and memorising, I fare better in language and calculations and therefore the post wasn't about us.

I was in fact overwhelmed by the midterm examination that I had just taken prior to the publication of the post. I'm not eliminating the merit of what I said, only that the cause of it was greatly misunderstood by many of you, I presume.

Anyhow, the attempts to reach out to me are greatly appreciated although my cynical self was further consolidated when those who did are not who I thought they would be.

Still, much love to those who were concerned for me. xx

Aligned

On many, long arduous, days in a year,
we are planets orbiting on our own solitary axis,
parallel lines that never intersect.

Shadows that linger in your peripheral
but never in sight.

So afraid I am
that we will burn out
like the stars that once shimmer so bright.

Or be sucked
into this black-hole of a life,
drifting aimlessly in this space of time.

Forever lost to one another,
becoming those who used to be.

That it gnaws at me,
eating me away,
til I have forgotten

how the moon is always there,
even if our mere eyes are fooled
by the blinding light of the sun.

How each time we meet,
sparks still fly,
and conversations freely flow.

Because meet we might not always,
but aligned we always will.

Love you guys,xox.

Is it enough to love?

Placing the last hanger in the wooden contraption in front of her , she took a step back to take in her masterpiece, and boy was she pleased. Each and every article of her clothing were now coordinated according to the shades and hues that they belong to. Just as a grin broke out on her face, a sound beeped out of nowhere and interrupted her reverie.

Stomping her feet to where the sound came from, she saw it was his phone that had light up with a notification for a text. Seeing that it was an unknown number, she was emboldened to swipe her finger to the right and only to be greeted with an incriminating message that sent ire down her spine:

Miss you darling, xox.

Like a matador bull, all she saw was red and not a second of hesitation later, his phone was thrown across the room, collided with the wall, and a deafening sound was heard before that small piece of electronical device broke into smithereens.

On cue, he hurried into the room with his brow furrowed together.

 "What happened?" he asked with concern laced in his words.

Without missing a beat, she threw objects within her reach at him; the more he tried to fend for himself, the faster and more vicious the objects came at him. Clothes. Vases. Books. Hangers. They all came flying at him until finally running out of things to throw, she slid down exhaustedly on to the floor.

Looking at her dejected form, he knew that her raging fit has ended. However, it was not a time to proclaim victory nor was it a time to huff a breath of relief because knowing her as well as he did, he knew that the battle might have subsided but the war was far from being over. Isn't there a proverb along the line of, it was always the calmest before the storm?

Thus, he knew that he needed to tread cautiously. Traipsing carefully through the strewn clothes, shards of glasses, torn books, stray papers and overturned table, he was halted in his steps when he heard her.

"Let's end this," she whispered so meekly that her words came out bereft. It was as if all the fight had seeped out of her with every object that now lain perilously around the battle ground that she has just so recently waged.

"What?" he croaked.

She did not raised her head from her vantage point of the floor, but she knew that if she would just lift her chin up infinitesimally, she would be able to see confusion and disbelief plastered on his face. It would be hard for him to accept her decision, she conceded internally, but she's done trying to salvage this wreckage of a relationship.

" I don't want to do this anymore. You. Us. I'm tired of living in this web of doubts all of the time."

" Baby," he pleaded, "don't do this. I promised you that I'll ch—"

" Stop! Just stop...please...let me go."

A heavy silence descended and cocooned them in a blanket of insurmountable tension.

"Are you sure?" he implored, after much hesitation, in a last attempt to convince her otherwise.

"I don't believe I have ever been surer of anything else," she stated without a hint of emotion.

Standing at the threshold of the walk-in closet, he took one last inventory at her. She could sense the intensity of his gaze on her but she stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. With an audible, almost strangled, sigh he acquiesced with her wish for freedom and left.

It was only after his footsteps were no longer heard that she gave free reigns to her tears to cascade freely down her cheeks.She has finally gotten the license to do as she wants.

But was she really happy about her new-found independence?

Distance

She genuflects in the worn out bathtub, aware of naught but the big puddle of unsorted thoughts in her barren mind.

Steam rose up around her, clouding up the mirror like how those errant thoughts are eclipsing her feelings.

Try as she might, she couldn't stop the rivulet of thoughts that has been trickling into her conscience for the past few days - and still is.

Thoughts that breed into incessant questions that keep nagging at her for just a speck of attention.

Thoughts that warrant unwanted rumination that keeps knocking at her control just for a glimpse of the past.

Thoughts that are piling so high up on her heart that she's having difficulty in breathing.

And so, under the torrents of hot water that were pelting furiously down her back, she stays alienated from everything around her.

A lone figure secluded by a dingy hotel bathroom in a country as foreign to her as her thoughts and feelings are.