Another unsaid goodbye

Another obituary, another farewell to a long lost friend. Succinct yet eloquent, a life's worth of achievements epitomized in black and white, obscured to all save for the precious few who knew to look for it there. How strange it is, a person who was once larger than life itself reduced to a few short paragraphs, relegated to the past. Perhaps more disturbing is the mug shot, cropped from a group photo, a final act of isolation from the living. 

So is this how it will end, an obscured byline on the morning post? How tragic it is that we never get to hear our eulogies;. but then, am I ready to hear mine? Would mine be confined to a few lines? Would my memory fade fast? How long would they be able to recall my essence, and conjure my presence amongst them? Perhaps not long. 

Alas, old friend, I remember. Even if I can not eulogize you with all the glory you deserve, your memory shall remain strong. I shall remember your jokes, your style. I will not let you become ephemeral, even as news of you are old by the time they reached my ears, they rekindle all that is timeless. 

Farewell, for I know you to be in a better place, and that out of selfishness I mourn. I pray I will be remembered as fondly as you are now... I pray others will be just as shocked and saddened over my passing as I am with yours... you have been a good friend, and I hope I may be so fortunate as to share in that same nostalgia when it is my time. 

Move On

They say for me to move on, turn the page, close the door, get on with life. But what if I don’t want to? What if I wish to linger at the door and take it all in- the pain, the sorrow, the suffering? Is it unnecessary grief? Is this something I can live without? Perhaps. Yet, what if this is life itself? What if I moved on and not own this moment, then how can I ever let go? 

It is true that I may seem to be returning to the well of pain, but it is pain only because it is coupled with joyous memories, memories that I do not at this point want to be lost should I move on so shallowly. If I must endure pain so that such happiness can be engraved forever in my soul, so be it. I can not explain my actions rationally, nor should I need to. I will not deny that it hurts me, but at least I know I am alive because of it. 

I will not move on for this will always be a part of me. I am not stationary in growth because of it. I live with perhaps one less regret because I stood and faced the storm, and though I may be flung about violently, I know I am a better person because I caught a glimpse of that heaven within the eye of the storm. 

Here's the thing

Because here is the thing, one of these days, you will look at me with those wide, doe-like eyes of yours, all shy and timid, head tilted and all, and tell me you have fallen in love with some guy. 

And I, I would be happy for you because I am your friend, but the reality is my inside would be tearing up because all these years I have loved you most. 

Whenever you were reduced to tears, you would come and place your vulnerable, shatterd soul in my care. You would whimper, and tell me how your boyfriend just dumped you, and what a jerk he is. And I would nod my head, and agree with each word you say. I would say something funny, I would join you in trashing your ex-boyfriend. I would praise you to the skies until I tease a smile or giggle through your tears and sorrow. You would look the world's most gorgeous woman to me then, but still I can't tell you how much I love you because the truth is, you have never seen me as the One. And I know if I attempt to be the One, things would become awkward. And I love you too much, and hold too dear the relationship we have now, so I will be silent, and watch as you trial and error you way though numerous relationships until you find that guy... I will stand silently by, a sturdy rock, a confidente to your crushes until some day, you come to me, the cutest can be and tell me that you have at last found him... and I would be happy for you... I really would, but the sad thing is, it wasn't me you have found. 

I would toast that lucky bastard, I would pat him on his back on your wedding night.And unbeknownest to you, I would have pulled him aside, and laid it upon him sternly that he better treat you right, because if he doesn't, he would have me to reckon with. And he would know, because of the way you talked about me, that I am not someone he would want to cross. So you will end up happy, and I would be happy too, sort of... 

That will be the way things go down between the two of us.

Hope in Dark Times

Bad or good, all experiences only serves to enrich us... that is life isn't it? To take the plunge down whatever roller coaster we may be on, eyes wide open, screaming, laughing, crying, and at the end coming out feeling more alive than before.

If life can indeed be so good, why can't we accept that it can be bad? After all, when you really look at it, often time life is relatively good, so what is a few moments of pure badness in comparison to that? Besides, I think that bad and good experiences are actually alloted quite arbitrary. Hopefully they balanced out in the end, or at least we find some way to perceive them as even out when they don't necessary do so. 

Try hard not to make it a personal tragedy when things don't go right, I know this is no easy feat. Most likely, you will have to suffer a long while, possibly to the point where you get sick of feeling sick,and you become better. After all, you reserve the rights to moan, and gripe. You reserve the rights to wallow. Chances are, your emotions will continue to take you on unwanted roller coaster rides for a while, but that is quite alright. In the end, you become more human because of it. You learn the full depth of what you can feel, bad or good... and that only serves to expand your experience, and your capacity in the future to endure and accept more. It makes you truly human, to know the extent of your humanity.

Just remember in your hour of darkness, that this too shall pass. I know it sounds trite, but it is true. I know you would like to think your personal tragedy is so significant that no one else can comprehend it... and I don't deny you that believe, because to each his/ her own alloted significance... but significant or not, eventually you will overcome it... the torrents will ebb, you have just got to hold on to whatever "trite" positiveness to keep you afloat until then. 

Painting of an old man

In the art gallery somewhere hangs a painting depicting an old man strolling along the water's edge smoking a pipe. There is an overall quality of pensiveness to it, even in the stillness of that painting. When one looks at it one can almost envision the whiff of smoke that follows with each thoughtful puff. The facial features are unclear, and in truth, there is an overall nebulous quality to the scenery. The details are somewhat blurred, ensconced in artistic haze... but somehow through the sublime, all details become more acute, more salient. 

It is not a spectacular painting by any standards, but it is one that never fails to captivate me each time I visit. It calls out to me, there is an affinity which draws me to it. Perhaps it is the old fogey, he seems to have an air about him that I find quite fascinating. Something disturbingly familiar.

A dignified anchorite I presume, there seems to be purpose in his gait. I can see him now, striding carefully, and economically along the beach as if each step is the product of prudence and years of fine tuning exercises. The sounds of waves crashing upon the sands, and the symphony of gulls resounding in his ears, he strolls on. He seems to radiate an air of erudition, but at the same time, it reeks of loneliness. How often I sat before this painting and find myself wondering why he is out there alone along the beach. Where are his grand children? Where is his spouse? Where is that faithful furry companion that I so expected to see running about? They are absent, and it is that very absence of life which makes the portrait even more haunting. 

What if I too am destined to be him, alone and forgotten on that beach front? What if I remember everything, but the only memory of me is a painting- a painting of me strolling out one day alone on the beach remembering everything. And some day, years from now, another young fellow would stumble upon that painting, and speculate as I have about this one.

Alas...I don't think I would enjoy the prospect too much. I can not deny I shall grow old and become a fogey... but could I have something more than a bit of dignity that captivates the artist's eyes? Maybe a sense of accomplishment evident by the foot steps of laughing grandchildren in the sands before me, a glowing house with smoke coming from the chimney in the background radiating with hopes of returning to a loving spouse baking pies. I would gladly throw away that pipe if it means my heart should be so set ablaze with love and companionship.

But for now, I fear I relate more than I should to that old man with a pipe. The facial features may be blurred, but I see myself clearly walking in those footsteps, the bitter winds upon my chest... This is no stroll but in fact a lonely march, a march until the alloted time is up. Turn back old man.