EPTIf you're unsure of what this blog is about, it's just generally food for thought [of my day] so 1. ease back and get out your utensils, 2. don't fill up on bread and 3. tip your waiter with your own thoughts or sentiments.
Thanks
Winter Parmesan and Myself, Tortellini
The things we fear.
Throughout my life, I found myself to be fearless, courageous and strong through the moments or points in time that it called for some kind of mustering. Sometimes puffing out my chest, punching the air and chanting words of encouragement was enough for me to propel through the hardest exams, the biggest interviews and the toughest social confrontations. Sometimes simply lying to protect myself from the very truths I choose to ignore demanded such a will and strength that not even I could realize or behold.
However, as I dwindle consciousness, count the time I have left with one hand, I can't help but wonder of the true aspects that cause me to fear life, my life in particular. With these few moments, I am going to enumerate them, neither to impress nor haunt you, but purely for the lie that there is a hopeful tinge of relativity of my confessions to eyes who read each pressing line with anxiousness to not be alone.
1. Since children, the night was a time of silence. A cold realization that all we could hope to smile at is now over and a new day await surprises, without responsibility, for us to engage with; grow and learn from. The unknown is a tricky fellow, a mean jester that neither talks directly to us, but makes us laugh at the giddiness of the unexpected. He also besets near us in the dark where our artificial lights cannot reach and within the darkest corners of our room, a place where our imagination soars and our fears become animated. I always feared the dark, not because of what it could unveil, but rather the unknown that it hid from me. I always feared the unknown because it could be anything and everything. Why I just don't outline the shrouded with innocent things is beyond my own understanding, beyond my control. All I know is that the dark, no matter its form, will forever pierce thoughts of an impending doom onto me, socially, physically and as I think back, mentally.
2. As I grow up, I acknowledge concepts of life like cooperation, understanding and responsibility. These are not anything new or unknown to me now, but they do become almost leashed to my personality and its traits as I continue to fundamentally integrate myself into the society that overwhelms my senses. Indeed, one is almost attached to these traits; to the people they most deeply care about and likely depend on equally. However, what becomes a source of panic is perhaps when both these people reach a level we can't control. No, not quite manipulate, but become forms of irrationality that neither one's words can sway nor reject their spontaneous nature as something as natural as the uncontrollable. Whether she laughs at her own jokes, sincerely smiles with vegetables seething from her teeth or just bathes into my irises with her gaze, I can't help but allow this surge of timidness overcome me. I'd push my stare to sidle elsewhere, fruitlessly bend my grin upside-down or simply insult her. But it is this irrationality of her's, of everyone, that bury my values, my morals and rightful thinking. Even as my hands crawl into her own, my lips hard-pressed, ironed against her's, I see the wrongfulness of it all dissolve into obliviousness, a blissful ignorance fueled by our lack of composure, of civility. A sexual propulsion conquers us both as she stumbles for air and her body dawdling even further into the bedroom, onto the bed. Can I stop? No, we can't, we've gone so far, we've resisted for so long. This turmoil is but another thing beyond my realm of control, she's uncontrollable and thus, so I am. I cannot control her and she controls me, she controls the last part of me that I'm frightened to confront.
3. This whole regretful monologue has but one purpose: understanding. For whoever does read this, reads without judgment and humbleness; moments like these are filled with a scary nature I never could stand up to. I could never foresee the outcome of our get-togethers, similarities and overall connection once viewed as purely amicable. Indeed the third thing I fear are emotions. When we think of emotions, we fear of the tears, the anger that one event might invoke within us, etc. But no, emotions of an other person are of one I fear, the one who used to have me pine for her by the side of the window, glossed and fogged by the heat of my sighs, halted by the frigidness of the cool summer rain. Certainly, as I think back to what I have done, no amount of courage, pride or confidence could save me from these last moments of life, where I must confront the unknown, release what I can no longer control and confess an emotion I no longer have for you. This fear of an incoming humility will no be cross on my heart, but a relief of my conscience, however, losing you will shatter whatever shred of life and joy I could ever feel.
This hand will be the seconds to count the last fleeting moments of life I have and your hand will be the physical substitute for the depth of pain I have caused.
Sorry equally never has enough letters.
You write like a married man. Go live a little~
