I know it’s been quiet a long time since I haven’t even
thought about blogging or maybe it’s just side effects of lack of inspiration
or maybe too much inspiration stuck in between my tongue and lips. I gotta say
my head and heart both didn’t get rest in the past few weeks for thoughts were
back in forth, making a whirlpool I was always giddy by. My world was litteraly
upside down. I never thought that a storm can strike too harshly and so
unexpectedly and yet destroy everything. Well, I hope not everything. I mean
it’s weird that I’m still clinging to this shred hope I shouldn’t even be
thinking about because I’ve always believed that once something is broken, it
can’t be brought back together. Or at least not easily.
A beautiful surface I may seem, I’ve said that many times,
sounds quiet cocky but I’m okay with that, though this beauty have been altered
aiming to make it more appealing. The outlines of the face, the curves, the
expressions and everything that comes with it haven’t been totally real, I mean
not totally genuine,which is odd because not being genuine about my feeling has
never been my thing for I prefer to always be cristal clear, transparent.
However, builing up a facade against everyone’s judgment when a stab of sorrow
hits you is utterly necerssary. Well not always but just in case you don’t
wanna talk about it, which was my case.
The facade did me good for it spared me a whole lot of
questions but I still was moody a bit. Like bipolar. One minute I’m okey and
one minute I get angry for the silliest of things. Seeing me, people would
think I’m some kind of pshycho with some serious scar tissue, or under the
effect of morphling. I wish I was under morphling to feel nothing but mere
emptiness.
Back to the facade because of which I remained a beautiful
surface. Normally, I dwell in silence when it comes to people that I actually
care about but this time was so different that I couldn’t go on mute. I’ve
burried that sorrow I montioned in the depth of my inner self, just like mines
are subterrenean and needs digging. The pain of the heart is the most terrible
thing, I mean ugly thing and it has the potentiel to return and appear as
fissures all over a body if not hidden with that facade, which I did. So you
see this beautiful me isn’t that beautiful after all for all the terribleness
inside makes the beautiful of the surface. This leads me to where I want to
arrive. « Nietzsche » about beauty. He said that something beautiful
implies that something is not. So accrding to him, beautiful things are
actually terrible ones. Does my case ring a bell ? It does to me,
anyway. I molded my own beautiful
surface that consists on burrying the terribleness gnawing me deep down,
unreashable unless I let it out. Well, I won’t . Maybe I did but i won’t, again.
It seems useless.
Though supressing the feelings is never the right thing to
do. Slamming the door at everyone’s interferance and being rude won’t make
thing better. Well at least it didn’t make me feel better. Maybe what is hard
isn’t the storm that hit me but what comes after it. Usually after a storm,
there are no flowers springing. Maybe that’s something I’d rather not live,
maybe I’ve been in the goulish path of neglect, indefferance. The light of that
shred hope sometimes glints but fades away before I can revel in it. It’s not
like I want all this to happen, but it just happens and I couldn’t/ can’t stop
it.
The storm hasn’t destroyed everything just yet. I’m slightly
wistful about all the beautiful memories that flood back, rushing in my mind the
second I start to meditate. « Meditate », do I really do that ?
Well, I tried not to, I actually for a second wanted my memory hijacked. Just
like what happened to Peeta in the Hunger Games. His state wasn’t pleasant at
all but his memory was altered. I wanted that for a nanosecond. And then, I
realized running from problems isn’t in me. I adore those memories, not a
single inch of my being wants any of it away . I had plenty of time to
meditate with the ocean keeping me company and actually speaking to me.
How ? The ocean reflects my thoughts because all the answers are inside
me. The ocean reflects them as a mirroir reflecting the replica of a face.
Within those answers and thoughts or whatever that it, I actually find what
always made me happy for who I am, as I
am with all my flaws and imperfections.
But what does it mean ? How did that storm even
happen ? Maybe that happiness was too good to be true and the storm was my
wake up call to leave. Or maybe I’m the one who is too protective and selfish.
Those are questions I don’t have answers for.
I sound too complicated reading what I wrote, because
despite the fact that I’ve said too much, I still didn’t say anything. A storm
hits, sarrow stabs, then what ? When something hurts, we let it go, don’t
we ? When a storm hits, we run away for a refuge. The thing is the the storm used to be the refuge.
