How convenient, I write—after so long, when feeling
distraught…when the same pain, the ongoing feeling of worthlessness; what is
this existence but a painful remembrance. No! you ought to be grateful I say…
It’s not even the whispering, these thoughts…try as I might,
these invading storms terrorising my recluse. I lay, still and unmoved yet inside
my head—madness. Invoking discomfort, taking what little peace I still have.
Again, I lay motionless unable to sleep it off. I stay awake the whole night
but no longer in a panic state—just a reminiscence of the older self, the
familiar feelings of weakness and frailty. I see sleep as my only escape
and…that I am deprived of.
However, coming to terms to my being, being a mature and
experienced being, lucky I am—to not be a total wreck. A wreck, but not in
totality and the storms presents itself only when the tide is high with
unruliness.
Who would’ve thought that after all these years and as I
keep rambling on, after all these years and yes, after all these years…I keep
asking why, after all these years, I live in perpetual fearfulness?! The moment
I wake up, I am reminded of weakness.
All those books read and the side-notes and quotes I’ve
written down to attain knowledge and wisdom had only made me realise my
inadequacy; never clever nor strong enough.
I look at the world and I am not sure what to feel, grateful
or sad?
Majority of the people akin to the foams in the sea, living
their lives in a flimsy, shallow, hedonistic bubble, well forget people…look at
the mirror.
A flower however, in it I see perfection, the richness of
its colour, beautifully blooming even in the wake of my looming, perfection
from a distance but when in my hand, it loses its splendour. Alas! it only lives
for a few days and dries out and withers away.
Soon enough it blooms again. An appeasement, flowers blossoming
as I walk past them…it may seem like I ignore them, but I wish they never stop
radiating and, in their radiance, spread out a tiny bit of hopefulness.
