Inner workings.. made external

-The occasional conversations with my keyboard-
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.

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So much to take in

So many sights and sounds, I wish I could inhale deeply and have them reside in me forever.

Rather focus on that than on the why. I haven’t dared to really think about that.. I am half afraid of what I might find.

It’s like my life is put on hold, but I really am living my life. I hop over to another realm for a bit, and come back to find things mostly unchanged. There seems to be a chronological conflict between my life here, and my life 35,000 feet in the air, or on foreign dirt. I am semi-afraid, because I realise that I am losing bits and pieces of my time and life here, when I am away and not living it.

I would go so far as to call it a form of Neverland. You don’t age, because you miss birthdays anyway. You just disappear and reappear. With time, I may very well just come back to find that things are not unchanged anymore.

Until then, I’ll just.. Keep breathing.

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This:

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you—the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.

- The Little Prince

This; is why we love.

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August; what a month you have been

Finally some breathing space tonight after the major exams, but yet the night won’t be over until I complete 2 courses online in preparation for tomorrow.

I am mulling over the past month, while eating tasteless instant noodles that I accidentally cooked dry when it was meant for soup. Tiredness. 

August can be most accurately described as one of the months you look back upon and wonder how you actually survived at all. The infusion of a whole new culture, and the struggle to find the balance and peace amongst it all. The complete newness in everything has us all scrambling to adapt like domesticated animals set free in the wilderness. But where there is will, there will be adaptability.

We all come as cookies shaped by life; some circles some stars some hearts some triangles. Yet, this pressure cooker atmosphere has us melted down to the most basic form - cookie dough. Sitting out the heat, waiting to see what we will become. Hoping that we never lose sight of who we used to be.

It is naive to think that office hours will not cause a compromise on time spent, but I have always been a naive optimist. Nights are hardly ever a option on the other end, and that leaves me with hardly any options anymore. I guess I am learning to take what I can get, and not count the rest as loss. 

As the next landmark approaches, I find myself once again looking at the date and the year, doing my math and finding that what I have always wanted is slowly drifting further and further away, a wavering dot on the horizon. Nothing gets to me more than being a helplessly bobbing boat, with no control over the current and oars. 

But I think that as this year approaches a close, and as time slips away as surely as it does, with the next brand new year I may just slowly give up on my dream. The math doesn’t add up anymore. We have wasted far too much time.

Trouble is, we (I) always like to think of ourselves as the exception to the norm, as “heroes” who can accomplish things faster simply because we think we are the most passionate. That “the world doesn’t make this easy or possible, but WE can because we want it enough.” I thought we were a solitary planet running on our own schedule. But now i see, we ARE the earth. We don’t orbit faster, or with more certainty. We are normal. And nothing, quite possibly nothing, cuts deeper than that for me. To know that exceptional has evaded us, that we operate on the same timeline as others, that we let ourselves drift along with the current instead of dictating it. Maybe it is simpler, but it is not easier for me at all.

It’s not that I am unhappy, I am content. But … can one be not content with merely being content? 

At this point, looking at the steep downward curve that is time, looking at the calendar which reeks of a lost dream, I honestly can only busy myself with adapting. Where there is a will, there is a way of distracting oneself from the truth. 

September, please go slow so the dream slips away slower.

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If only you knew

How happy I am, how scared I simultaneously am. If only you knew the pressure from all sides to adapt, and how I suddenly am liable for a million possible different mistakes.

I learnt that sympathy is not the same as empathy.

If only you knew how I look at my checklist of things to do every single night, how I can’t do them alone and how I only ever ticked off one item from a list of 5.

My body’s doing well, physical endurance has been good to me. But strong as I can choose to be, I can’t rise above this fourth episode. It’s four too many times, and I feel all kinds of sadness I never knew existed.

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