Beautiful surface...

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.