Inner workings.. made external

-The occasional conversations with my keyboard-

Turn my head;

But break my heart with mercy. 

This time around, the corners, the spaces held more meaning. The ghosts of us lingered, and, maybe it was best left that way.

Open-ended.

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I don’t like it okay?
I don’t like having to worry about someone so much, as though if something terrible were to happen to them, it would be like it happened to me.
Watching out for oneself alone is tiring enough. Recently, it feels like I need to close my eyes and not feel like another half of myself is running rampant, with the possibility of disaster around every corner.
Is this what it feels like to have kids?
I never want to spend my whole life feeling like this.
See, this is what opening yourself up to emotions does. Vulnerability. Hate it.

I don’t like it okay?

I don’t like having to worry about someone so much, as though if something terrible were to happen to them, it would be like it happened to me.

Watching out for oneself alone is tiring enough. Recently, it feels like I need to close my eyes and not feel like another half of myself is running rampant, with the possibility of disaster around every corner.

Is this what it feels like to have kids?

I never want to spend my whole life feeling like this.

See, this is what opening yourself up to emotions does. Vulnerability. Hate it.

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I think places hold memories; places are memories. Places are to memories what names are to people. 
I walk past that rooftop every night, and wonder if I could return to way back when; if i wished hard enough.

I think places hold memories; places are memories. Places are to memories what names are to people. 

I walk past that rooftop every night, and wonder if I could return to way back when; if i wished hard enough.

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Shiny happy people

I haven’t ventured far and wide this month, but that has worked out well, seeing how we want our dearest to be nearest this time of the year. 

December has been so so much kinder than November, in terms of the people I have been blessed to work with. I still remember so clearly how I was beside myself in dread for this particular operating pattern, knowing the sheer agony that lay ahead of me. So in spite of the non mobility of my roster, I have emerged from this month a lot happier and generally more optimistic about January. 

2013; I have set some goals to achieve. It is so easy to sit back into my new lifestyle; you better believe time flies when you follow a roster and not Weekdays versus Weekends. But I don’t want to waste the year ahead. Once I get comfortable and my job becomes more of a second nature, it’s time to get my life going on my days off. I do have a lot more free time than the average joe. 

I know many people vote to give themselves years to get settled into their job, but I think I can do both. I know I can. 

It’s only been 2 months, but already I am thinking: What’s next? I do not want to get too happy and complacent that I view my life within this sphere where everything’s perfect but … is it really? At what cost? Maybe I am being silly, but I have started thinking about the next crossroad in my life already. 

I am willing to have less, if less means having more of the things that matter. I have to constantly nudge myself to remind myself that the more I have now is to compensate for when I choose to have less in the (near) future. 

I am beginning to see how hard it is simply to have Life go the way you want it to. I must admit, my growing years have been far too kind on me. But if I do have one ability, it is to save well and dream big.

Till next time.

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LIFE IMITATES ART
Only when you have experienced Utopia, can you experience the cruelest realities of present reality. 
Occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told and am thinking.
A brilliant bubble, happy and shiny, seemingly impenetrable, pricked upon descent onto homeground.
Where does Life lie? 
It couldn’t dwell in the bubble because it is not that… temporal.
It shouldn’t dwell in the harshness of the most realistic reality… because how does that environment support any growth.
Nothing stays the same, we come back as strangers in our homeland. Once the bubble is pricked, all memory, it dissipates into nothingness. The only evidences of any existence, of any Life being breathed into these bones like fire… they lie all in the mind.
That’s smart, clever, really. 
Who living or dead really knows what’s in our minds.. anyway?

Life imitates art, especially if you want to make it count as a masterpiece.

LIFE IMITATES ART

Only when you have experienced Utopia, can you experience the cruelest realities of present reality. 

Occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told and am thinking.

A brilliant bubble, happy and shiny, seemingly impenetrable, pricked upon descent onto homeground.

Where does Life lie? 

It couldn’t dwell in the bubble because it is not that… temporal.

It shouldn’t dwell in the harshness of the most realistic reality… because how does that environment support any growth.

Nothing stays the same, we come back as strangers in our homeland. Once the bubble is pricked, all memory, it dissipates into nothingness. The only evidences of any existence, of any Life being breathed into these bones like fire… they lie all in the mind.

That’s smart, clever, really. 

Who living or dead really knows what’s in our minds.. anyway?

Life imitates art, especially if you want to make it count as a masterpiece.

Comments