mortal // immortal

but i keep slipping back bc this pull feels like the gravitation of the full moon - i am the hapless sea that cannot hold itself together, the currents which cannot exert control over themselves - currents which crash against the shore but roll back into their own muck & subsequently carry themselves out to sea again

my will is like a loose polyester shower cap - it sees itself as superior to its plastic, flimsy counterparts: of which (it perceives) their roles as merely perfunctory.  

it is ambitious, proud - maybe even boastful, 

but it perpetually forgets its inherent weakness - try as it might, it can never wrap itself tightly around the head, & must, in turn, sacrifice a few locks of dry hair 

to be marred & pelted by the overhead shower. 

it is the perpetrator of soaked hair & headaches;

the lingering, nagging perturbation that keeps one awake at night, 

with eyes agape & concentrated on occasional light beams that dance on the ceiling;

or the nebulous flashbacks - of things that are merely dreamt of in the head.  

how tragic it is then, 

that i can change a deficient showercap -  

but try as i might,  i cannot change my defective will.

i used to beat myself up inside about my lack of propensity, or rather inability, to let go of my treacliness // my wanting // ideas 

but today i had this small epiphany (you know that moment when two fortuitous thoughts drift into your head & you attempt to draw a bridge between them & out of sheer luck, the bridge doesn't fall) about something i had read from housekeeping (by marilynne robinson) (thank you bunny j for recommending it was/is a really good read) a few days before & trying to suppress my inclination towards sth that i long thought i had gave proper burial to 

this made me understand why that inclination can be buried & still rise up from the dead - it is as robinson so acutely puts it, an "angel" - immortal, timeless & even to some extent, attractive.

& so the angel defeats the grave, transfigures before our very sight, "smooths our hair, and brings us wild strawberries".

(p.s: thank you jj for telling - no, in fact writing to me that my words have some weight in them) 

uninvited melancholy

listening to soft indie (which is nice for a change bc i had hitherto been listening to soundtracks/instrumentals for awhile just to purge incessant words that lose their meaning in copious amounts) & feeling melancholic for melancholy itself (honestly today has been a pretty happy day- sometimes i really cannot fathom my emotional mechanism)

but actually an introspective kind of sad makes me feel more "me".
realised only recently that i am only capable of  swinging on two ends of the spectrum - either extremely happy to the point of a (supposed) narcotic-kind of high ("supposed" bc i obviously have not taken drugs in such profuse amounts to the point of madness- not even in sickness),
or the kind of contemplative sadness that makes me feel like the only cure will & can be silence, a warm blanket & a mug of hot tea before a good, deep slumber

my uncanny emotions do not allow me to sit on a fence:
failing the two dichotomies,
i fall into a vacuum where i feel nothing
& merely drift
until the day resets itself.

second & mid-week into the june hols: i already feel trapped by my self-expectations, by the monotony of studying for the sake of my future, albeit imperative

my head keeps screaming at itself this rhetorical question:
"WHY THE HECK ARE YOU STUDYING  AND NOT LIVING"
but i ostensibly know the answer; i just can't come to terms with it (even now)

i wish i could be more disciplined, more productive & more efficient though - feel like a freaking snail that is trying to sail past a finish line but a snail doesn't have proper legs!!!

also, found a new (to me at least) way to propel my lazy-&-more-inclined-for-the-bed self to work harder for the end goal by envisaging my results slip next year & seeing in my projected vision a beautiful organised line of *inserts personal goal here*

but then a scary thought flashed through my mind & chilled my spine:

will i be able to face myself if i don't see my goals coming to fruition?

i answered myself, & the answer scares the heck out of me.
(bc how do you run away from your own skin?) 

i don't want to lose myself - neither before nor after - not ever.

//

also i journal-ed this a couple of days before (after midnight): (i believe it was the night after a really good service)

--
do you know what a claustrophobic needs more than an escape
from the four walls that become her world?

she needs God, 
who can give her both a literal
& figurative escape.
no, not by running away before the walls swallow her alive - 
but by speaking truth into these enclosing four walls
& watching them open like the limp flaps of a cardboard carton
to a brave, newer world,
& in so doing escape from the plethora of emotions
that have hitherto plagued & identified with her 

today will be the last day
she will live as a claustrophobic.

--

today i also realised that this is a merely wall in itself - an ideal, albeit valiant but still made of the same cement, the same bricks & even the same mortar

today, she merely dreams up the vastness of the sky