If today, that little veil covering the small steps of our lives is lifted, will we have enough of face to show the scars of time or stand tall and proudly display the plaques of amazing feats that we've achieved? Will we be able with unwavering demeanor, show the world the number of skeletons in our closets and those silent achievements earned over time? Or will we cower in abject shame as all is laid bare for everyone to see?
Today, under the fluorescent dimness of the yellow reading lamp, he slights his palates with the sweetness of condiments sourced from random walks around malls, albeit the cold; a mix of frozen vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry sweetens this 1 am circus. The halls are silent, except for some occasional slow and sometimes fast patter of a random night owl, going for a tinkle.
The new year is a bit laggy, maybe because of a long-awaited break from the normal constantness of haunting lecture halls, and the dreary atmosphere surrounding midterms. It's a relief, but for a brain that is used to learning new things, at fast-paced heaves and sighs, it feels like time is wheeling away in waste. Down the hallway, once in a while, doors open with creaks while some close with bangs; maybe some soul is unknowingly releasing pent-up stresses on an inanimate door; who knows.
The concept of space and time has never made any sense is such a long while until now. There's an invisible heavy fog, that hangs low on his shoulders; one that spells a mix of light and darkness. He shudders, amidst the ray of holding onto hope. In the few weeks leading up to this, most of the people he thought had a connection with him, have ended up pulling away, some leaving bare scars bleeding and some mutedly fading away into memory itself.
He's slowly learning that interest in a connection not earned or performed for is futile. Days spent thinking about what he is gotta do next and what buttons to press to be appreciated are daunting. Slowly but with a reassuring face, it dawns on him that the precious time spent analyzing others' behavior to the point of scrutinizing himself, trying to nitpick each little characteristic of his, wondering what is lacking is meaningless. It's of no interest to think love is where one has to continuously do something to make sure the other person is interested. There is a constantness to a small voice in him, one that whispers...
"I want to be raw and pure and real and not disliked, or questioned. Or pushed away for the love that I give. Oozing like a spring's breeze - completely effortless. And when that breeze touches others, they have an appreciation for what I give, like when they appreciate a spring after a bitting winter."
He just wants to be utterly, completely, and truly himself. Not like a wandering spirit, or someone from his past: not like anyone at all. He wants to be loved as a choice, on purpose, and not as a reward.
There is still a long way off until the healing stone is well set. For now, it's the nimble steps that matter.
Mýa - Space and time
"Breathe in, breathe out
Look up, never down
Feet on the ground
Be proud of wherever you are
Right here, right now
Stand up, speak out
No fear, no doubt
'Cause you're a bright star
Aren't we all just tryin' to get a little peace of mind?
Tryin' to figure out the right way to get to our best life
So when the world looks like nothing's really goin' right
Just remember that it's okay to take some space and time
You're gonna feel much better
When you can heal much better
You're gonna deal much better
If you take some space and time
You gotta live much better
So we can give much better
It's gonna be much better
Remember this
Life turns and twists
Don't ever quit
Be proud of whoever you are
Kill all the noise and every negative voice
It's your mind, your choice
Yes you're a bright star"
From the Memoirs of Pest.
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