Would you go to the bottom of a deep, dry well?

Today I decided to look at your face, listen to your words wholeheartedly, and found myself catching the contagion of your joy. Most times I easily dismiss the notion of positive-thinking, because it really does sound like a load of hogwash. As if saying to yourself Be Happy repeatedly will bring love, joy, peace, happiness! But I suppose Descartes’ supposition, ‘I think, therefore I am’ has a ring of truth to it, because action changes with perception. There was a popular song playing on the radio today at work, about the lives’ of others not necessarily being better than the one you’re leading. And I suppose it strikes close to home, in that contentment starts now, and not tomorrow. I have to keep reminding myself I have the freedom to do anything I want, that I am not locked behind a life of bars, of restricted movement, of being subjected to constant injustice. And I can use this freedom, to run and dance for justice and make someone’s life a little bit happier. I think I can learn a lot from people who do not have what I have, but having what I do not have. Aren’t we living for more than our little hearts? I mean, who do we think we are to squander this time, this life?

No matter how sad you are, there is always a sense of joy behind the tears (the rainbow behind the rain?). And while you didn’t say anything particularly profound today, being in your presence lifted my spirits. I wonder why I don’t always listen more closely to you, instead brushing away precious time spent with you thoughtlessly. We always think there is more time. But what if we lose all today? Could’ve, Should’ve, Would’ve. C’s remarked stung, but I’m learning from him to appreciate the people I have around me now (not later) and to learn about their hearts - what makes it tickle and what makes it shiver.

I watched you walked away, and realised your spirit makes a difference. I want to be that sort of person, you know? To be more than idealistic, to dream beyond the horizon and not be disappointed even though life doesn’t always turn out the way I want it to, and people don’t become who I expect them to be. I don’t want to stay cloaked in ‘realism’ forever. It’s just a euphemism for pessimism.

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It’s not that we’re scared… it’s just that it’s delicate.

So why do you fill my sorrow
With the words you’ve borrowed
From the only place you’ve known
And why do you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why do you sing with me at all?

- Damien Rice

Lately

nowhere feels more comforting than home.

I miss direction most in all this desperation

(Note: please forgive my incoherent train of thought[s])

There was something about this twentysomething girl I met on Friday who did a degree in Social Work and is now working in mental health. I found that a lot of the things she said were very profound and wise yet so natural at the same time, as if it was learned from experience, through the passage of time and the coming of age, of becoming and beholding. I’m not one to remember exact words that people say, but one of the things she said that really stuck to me was how we have to throw away some of the ideals we have and decide which ones we need to keep. (Semi-sort-of: It’s The Real World, And It’s Not That Ideal).

I told her I was thinking of taking up an undergrad in Social Work later on if I see fit, but am still vacillating because I’m uncertain about my capacity to deal with the kind of people you have to deal with in social work (I know it’s a wide range, but still – no one said it’s easy). She encouraged me to face my fears (whatever it may be), because in confronting her greatest fear – “crazy people” – she found her greatest passion. Ironic, but doesn’t God like to work that way?

I watched The Last Kiss last night, which was about how this twenty-nine-year-old man saw his life all planned out since he was a kid and he’s afraid that his life will have no more surprises because he’s getting married to a beautiful girl who is having his baby. I don’t know what I’ll be doing five, ten, fifteen years from today, but I like not knowing; and wondering what the future holds for me. I only see a blank canvas and no ideals; just a hope that I can make a difference in somebody’s life, even if it takes me twenty years. (I am far too bloody idealistic).

polaroids please

Haven’t taken photos in such a long time, except for the occasional snapshot (Smile For The Camera Because It’s Rude If You Don’t). It’s freeing in many ways, not having to lug a camera around and worry about looking nice in the next photo or trying very hard to capture the ‘moment’, which takes away the ability to live in the moment. But then sooner or later you half-wistfully regret not having some sort of memorabilia to remember the night (or day) by.

I think I live too much in the past.

What would you say if I wanted to drink my sorrows away tonight

I don’t care that flowers grow for you,
And me, and me
You don’t know what love is till you see,
Her standing there
A web of skin and nails and hair
A web of skin and nails and hair
And bones and bones,
And thorns
Rushing in, out her hair
You think you are alive, but you are dead
You keep, on driving in your car asleep
I’m driving in your car
I dont know why flowers grow in winter time
The sky turns gray the sun don’t shine
And people rush to be on time
For warmth they wrap themselves in woollen cloaks
And hats and scarves
Like larva in their incubators
And drive and drive
And drive and drive and drive
Until they get away

- Regina Spektor , Lounge

I want to cry and hug and scream and shake and stomp and collapse and squish these days away.

I want to run away from everything I know, everything I ever knew: my fears, my dreams, my hopes, my promises, my wants, my needs, my desires, my passions, my faults, my flaws, my iniquities, my joys, my sorrows, my attitutes, my values, my beliefs, my mindsets, my strengths, my weaknesses, my principles…

I feel irrational and on the brink of doing something irrational.

I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Bittersweet, bittersweet. I’m slowly growing fond of Southern Cross Station.

Too many shadows, too little light. I can’t live in grey areas because I only want to see black & white.

Caught between madness and gladness of flight.

Please. Don’t bother.