home

i didn't understand yesterday, but today i do.

felt like a mangled mess of emotions yesterday standing amid a crowd that seemed so happy & released. emotions are a queer thing. sometimes they come like an impudent wave- sudden & insuperable. they hold you hostage without you comprehending how they came about or why they came, but all that you can comprehend is the feeling of entrapment - that feeling that makes you feel incredibly small & alone.

but today i understand why.

i was wrong.
home is not "in my own psyche / in my own skin". 
i felt so torn yesterday precisely because i had asserted the notion of individuality & imposed it upon myself, time & again - hoping that somehow that would make me strong, as if the cycle of re-enacting the notion of "me" would make me merely "me" again.
i asserted & lost it, tried to find it again & lost it, again.
i felt like i had lost what i had hitherto constructed for myself, & as a result i lost myself amid the cycle of internal hide & seek.

i used this to counter my propensity for idealism, but what i had failed to realise was that this weapon is also made of the same blood as my enmity- that they are all one & the same, that they are all shams built upon the foundation of more shams

home is not "in my own psyche / in my own skin".
home is in Your own psyche, in Your own skin.

home is being clothed with everything that is of You:
home is Your sufficiency;
home is trusting without comprehension despite the myriad of emotions that threatens to collapse my insides

home is trusting that You are invincible,
not me.

fleeting

just scribbled down today's lovely evening/night in a note & inserted (yet another) piece of my life in my "jar of felicitous bones": perhaps this is my attempt at consolidating the day's events into something concrete, something permanent, something that is wholly contradictory to the fleetingness of time

do you ever miss a moment even before it is gone?

missing a moment in itself is like holding in a single palm both bliss & vacuity - the hapless feeling of watching & feeling sand slipping through your fingers, when all that you can do is to merely gape at the small spectacle unfolding & think "this is now & now is gone; i am here, not over there" 

sometimes i wish that i could scoop up (with my arms) the moment(s) before me & tuck it (them) safely in my pocket; sometimes its (their) fleetingness haunt(s) me even before i can fully appreciate the moment(s) & embrace it (them) 

i wish my eyes were the camera shutters that take in everything but never forget, like how a photograph can never disown itself because memories may elude the people in the photograph but it still never forgets 

but i can't do either 

& so i will just continue to live for the future (it is so easy to say "live for the present" but find yourself unable to act on it because you are trapped in the future), to jot down memories & attempt to make them concrete (albeit slightly lost in translation) by giving them faces (through words) & stay thankful for the memories that are worth preserving 

//

also was doing abit of revision for "the age of innocence" (because alvls come full circle & y5 work then becomes equally relevant) 

realised i have not lost my enchantment for the ending - indeed i do agree with a particular yt comment that says "it could not have ended any other way" 

no, contrary to people's perceptions of me i do not like sad endings 

but you have to understand that this ending had to end the way it did 

because ideals & real life are irreconcilable in an imperfect world - archer would not have marred his vision with the cruel, macabre speck of reality or even the probable reality of finding out that his ideals tucked in his treasure trove were nothing but shams 

& neither will i

( i have already given them proper burial) 

minutes to eighteen

reminder that you can only be seventeen going on eighteen once in a lifetime

count-down: one hour & fourty-eight minutes

this feels so queer. somehow the word "eighteen" when put into context instills a kind of nebulous fear that is mingled with exhilaration - an expectancy of the unexpected,

as if the coming of age forces me to face the unknown - to look into the mouth of an unexplored cave that may hold treasure (& danger).

my dreams are in my backpack - i carry them upon my shoulders.

count-down: one hour & fourty-three minutes

i am armored. let's do this thing named "future".

dichotomy: -> ??? <-

the duality of dreams:

impel; expel,

pull or a push - 

no, they are unseemingly

simultaneous.

sense of loss

wherefore art thou present 

for the future?

my heart sinks, 

as though it is

payment

in advance

for impending failure.

hustle: the green light

is still beckoning. 

7.40 a.m.

7.40 a.m. 

morning thoughts penned down (on my ipod) during the walk from the train station to the school's parade square: 

thoughts that had breathed "i am invincible, i am invincible", thoughts that had made me smile inwardly, thoughts that were borne out of a fortuitous yet simultaneous series of events 

 //

"this is a place i feel like home": 
home is 
in my own psyche/
in my own skin. 
yes, i am home indeed.

i exist for my own self;
yes, individuality is home.

home is realising that this  
is merely a shadow 
that is ephemeral, 
that will mean nothing soon.

i am home