陽炎

Saying goodbyes, once again.

Dreamed of you once again, and it was the trigger.

Now everywhere I go, I see your shadow. More and more, it's getting stronger.

Re-reading past entries, and wishing that all will just end once again. Why am I still bound to you? Why do I still have to cater to these thoughts of you, even when we are not together anymore?

Explaining things is never my strong point, and I prefer to mumble my words in the middle of it. I am not a person that I was four to five years ago. That person is much better than I am currently.

Re-routing those thoughts into other things that I enjoy. I find a brief peace in doing so, but I then remember that the one thing I am focusing now is already tainted with your touch.

I am imprisoned inside my head, and I thought that the shackle around my legs weren't mine. I am the one that is responsible in putting it there.

I don't want to sleep now. I do not want to see you now. Dreams lately are pleasant, without my guilt interfering, and yesterday's tormented me. Waking up to an aching chest, there was this sharp, piercing pain throbbing against my rib-cage.

Listening to Tomoko's voice right now. Only to remember that you used to like her as a one-time role model. I wanted to stop the music, but running away is useless. Until when am I supposed to abandon the things that I like, just because it is associated with you?

Idle at night, not sleepy yet. I go out to see the night sky. It is cold, but I don't feel any wind. The cigarette pack in my pocket contains only one, and I am fighting the urge to light it up. Not that I am addicted, but I am punishing myself for being like this today, by refraining the pleasure of this cancerous stick.

It has been so long since I contacted my old best friends, and even now I feel guilty for not doing so. Will it be better to fade away and just leave them with good memories of me instead of showing them my current self that is riddled with filth?

I know them, though. Two will listen to my troubles and one will offer advice. One will just listen attentively and try to relate my predicaments with his own and figure out the best way for me to tackle this.

"Cry," one of them said to me many years ago. "Even we males need to cry every now and then. It makes us realize that we are weak, and by being weak, we will know that there are some things that aren't meant to be."

A very passive outlook of life. Instead of fighting over and over again to achieve what we want, accepting that it is over is much easier.

Conflicts are ugly, and I wish that it is over even when it has not started yet. I am a pacifist, and I hate confrontation. I joined Kendo because it teaches me to tame my desire to step on others and learn to respect one another regardless of ranks. Taking up the sword to spar is much better than swinging it to cleave flesh.

I am not sleeping now. All for the best. I need a distraction, and the guitar looks like a good option for it.

"It's what the demon wants."

Living here, born into a typical family in this country, we are instilled with the idea that everyone is inherently good. All that is foul comes from the demon that is inside everyone.

Why, then, we execute those people that kill others instead of exorcising these demons out? Wouldn't that be a better solution? No harm done, just the demons being chased out of their physical container.

Deciphering my own thoughts, filtering out the ideas that other people force-feed into me since my childhood. It takes too much time. Protecting something is good, but please ensure that you can outlive those that you protect, if you are planning to cut off their ties to the outside world.

Here, the opinions of the young is easily ruled out as rebellious attempts to break out from the traditional mold. This is wrong, do this instead. That is right, but I won't tell you why. Keep doing that, it will sustain you in the future in ways you can't perceive.

I am tired. Trying to fight against the current is really not what I am suited to. However, I do not like the feeling that someone is holding a leash wrapped around my neck.

Am I something that this place declare as a failure of a generation? Of course, they rephrase it so that it doesn't come out as a negative thing, but it doesn't change that there are already labels being attached to everyone, like how they tag  the cattle in slaughterhouse.

If having thoughts of my own is a sin, if chasing after something that I really want to is wrong, why am I not being told why? Instead of admonishing it, dictating that it is unacceptable, an in-depth explanation would suffice.

What this place wants is people who would just wait for orders. Someone that cannot function without a higher-ups pulling their strings. Someone who lacks the desire to live for their own, and is fine being restricted as long as they are being paid.

Brain-drain is becoming much more common nowadays, and I feel that what I truly want is not from this place. I cannot say that out loud, though. We are shadows, and is forever locked into a vice that doesn't want us to grow.

No, stay here, they said, we'll provide for you, as long as you don't complain that it isn't enough.

I am sick, delirious, and is really wanting to rest, but peer pressure said I need to starve myself in order to be accepted into society.

Well, fuck off then. Such society filled with plastic bodies and faces, I don't want that.

Though, as I said that, it is the only society I have access to.

窓

僕の名前は何だったろう。
Being at home, confined inside my cold, dim room.
Gazing onto this interchangeable window we call monitor.
Mirror to my left, a reflection that I want to ignore.

It is silent.
Very silent.

I can't shake off this heavy feeling from my chest. It feels like I have lost someone as well.

My name doesn't matter now. Only my intention and emotion count now. Those words that you said, it was as if it was me that said that.

Syncing other people's emotions to our own. Feeling their sorrow like it is ours. A tragedy strikes and everyone is one in mourning.

I know. It wasn't me who has lost someone. These tears are not for someone I was close to. For this moment, I am rewriting my name into someone else's, and putting on a mask that is not mine.

Walking up the stairs, I don't even see anyone here with me.
There are eight doors, and one is wide open. An abandoned kitchen that now propagates my fear of the dark
Another two are places to cleanse me.
Three that leads me to different worlds.
One that leads to my own world.
The last one is for me to go back.

Opening the door to my world. Outside my window is a white wall. Another window about a meter away from mine. It's approaching night time, and the sky is dyed in purple.

My words are swallowed by the evening, and I know that I needed release. I have to pour everything out right now, or I risk of returning back to the point I had left before.

And so this piece of writing came to being. Do I feel much better now? I don't know. At least, I can breathe easier now.

落ち葉

A person an acquaintance holds dear died yesterday. It's painful for me, even when I don't know both of them that much. Sadness is contagious, I think.

To know that he lived his life to his twenties, and left the world a just hours ago, and to be loved by many...

I really don't know what to say to express my condolences.

To the person who just lost her beloved one, I know I don't talk to you much but please know that I pray for him.

To the family of the deceased, I shed a few tears and feel your pain as if he was my family member.

It is sad, really sad, and I know nobody can replace him. All we can do now is pray, and pray.

Marie

Another silent ride. Not even the radio dared to break the silence.

He drove, and I stared at the screen of my phone, pretending to be busy reading something but I was actually waiting for him to say something.

Are you ashamed of me?

Someone lit up a firecracker just now, and light up the moonless sky briefly. I am watching this from the window of my bedroom, a shut world miles away from outside. There is no sound from the firecracker, but the trail of light it left as it streaked across the night seems to be burned into my retina.

I am sorry, I never meant to be like this.

I have spoiled myself lately, breaking a few rules I set for myself, just for the fun of it. Went out to do some activities that I refrained to do because they would remind me of the past. Talking to people that I avoided for months in fear that I would cling on them too much. Disorganizing my tidy desk just because I want to see if I can make a mess out of clean things. Digging up old books and flipped through the pages to see my scribbles and notes.

Everything that I used to hold dear, now reduced to things that I want to replace. Our desire is never fully sated, and I am a servant to it.  All I can do is to keep it at bay, and never withdraw more money than needed from my account.

Seventy nights ago, I thought everything has ended. I was wrong. In that time, when I wanted to give up, a friend kindly offered help.

"By being kind to others, you become much kinder to yourself."

I had it all, and I couldn't let go. My grip tightened, and I ended up opening a crack that cannot be repaired. And so it all began. My story ended, and the other story replaced it.

Waiting for a miracle is not a healthy way to heal myself. I am still feeling betrayed, but letting go of this negative feeling is crucial for me to change. I wanted to focus on hating, because to red hot anger distracts me from feeling hurt all over again. I wanted revenge, but after I achieve that, what would be left of me?

The city at night. Streets are still wriggling with people. All around me is the smell of cigarettes and damp early dawn air. I wish that I am talking to someone right now, but one thing I know is, it won't be you. I want to escape your phantom, thus why I am going to places that I don't regularly go at times I rarely go out in.

Rewind and re-live the past. Moving forward, and agonize over the mistakes. Focus on the present and fail to learn from the past and mistakes.

Marie, they shouted, why are you still here. No, I am not Marie. I am still myself, not this Marie you think I am.

Of course, they are not talking to me. I know that.

Wanting to head back home, I want to leave a few things I carry right now. I still don't know why you can be this strong? Detaching things that you have for so long, it takes a great determination to do so. Moreover, this feeling of mine has been there for years, it won't be easy to just drop it.

The river by the road. I can see the reflection of the yellow neon streetlights on the surface. If I look closely into it, can I see myself there?

Why am I put here? I still don't know. They say, I will find my own purpose here, but not the one I think I ought to do. Why? Can't I decide what I want to do? Can't I trust my own thoughts now that others are trying to shove theirs into my own brain?

I am not a computer. My mind is my own, and I don't want to be a copy of others. I want to be myself, and be able to fade away whenever I want. I do not wish to remain in the open for too long, therefore now I am walking away from the light.

I am going into the dark, and smell the damp earth as I step onto the wet soil.

A mind marred with defeat.

There were 10 worlds, each with their own prominent color. And I was moving from one to another to find something that I can't recall what.

My time was mostly spent on a world where the prominent color is bluish-gray. And after that, I made a jump to a world of yellow.

My head hurts as soon as I woke up, I need to rest.

Ashen Sky

Breathing once again. Feeling alive once again. A year without the sun. Lurid sky that attempts to take me away from my hiding place.

Give me the strength to leave this world behind. I don't want to return anymore. I need to move forward.

Because holding the memories close to our hearts will make us blind to what fate has prepared for us in the future. Memories are nice, but that is as far as they go, and nice things tend to not last as long as its counterpart.

Trying so hard to reach out from the sphere of influence that has engulfed me since years ago, I couldn't see anything else but the way forward. I couldn't see the obstacles in the way and ended up crashing as I did many times before.

Viewing the world through blurry eyes, I wear corrective lenses to see this twisted world better.

Living without you, I can live without you. Even in the dark, I still feel safe by myself. I can still walk without touching the ground. Not afraid of anything, repeating the words you used to say to me every night over and over again. I am creating a copy of your mannerism inside me so I can never feel truly alone.

Standing on the edge, trying to come to my senses after saying goodbye. I see the world in gray, a monochromatic realm of black and white. All colors drained from their essences and became incomplete and unnamed.

Now, they are slowly returning. The lurid shirts I used to wear now brings a familiar sensation.

Those years of our own, trying to comply to each other's needs, while seemed pointless now, they shone in their own cryptic way.

We are growing up in the end. We were but kids trying to mimic adults. Kindred souls we may be, but never soul-mates. Not the first, not the last either.

I am indulging myself in things I once refrained to do, and I feel like myself once more, even if it lasted only for a while. By the night, I feel so pathetic.

Why am I trying to pretend to be someone else out there?

I feel sick, and the light in this room seem so fake out of a sudden. I switch it off and try to make sense of what I typed in while looking out through my window. The window that is so far away from the outside world.

There's nothing out there for me. I need to take the initiative and make things as my own.

Ambiguous

It is 3:35 AM.

Wriggling alone, waiting for nothing in the empty white room. Silence. No one else awake.

I found me. In the midst of watching the shadows, I found myself staring at my hands. These hands once held hope for the future unbroken, had scribbled lots of words inspired by the whimsical mind. Now, they are reduced to the things that help me to drag myself forward against the floor.

I dreamed. Of rivers and the gurgle of the brook. Waves washing against the banks lined with perfectly round rocks. Of the sky so blue and adorned with fluffy white clouds. Of a lone tree not far from the curve of the river, offering shade to those who are weary.

All these good-nights, all these goodbyes, all these smiles. Why am I slowly growing tired of watching them?

A puddle of water at the roadside. A petrol rainbow reflected back an image of myself, muddied and twisted into something I can't recognize at the beginning. I am walking against the flow of cars, just for the heck of it. I don't have any clue where I am going. With the wind at my back, I continue going past many unknown faces in the evening.

I slept, feeling the soothing caress of the soft mattress. An umbrella appeared as soon as I closed my eyes, and underneath it stood a woman in red sundress, with hair tied up in a bunch while letting the bangs fall against her forehead and cheeks.

There you are, her smile said, I thought I'd never see you again.

Muted by the many words that hung at the tip of my tongue, I felt the heaviness of a guilty person settling down in my chest.

No. After all this time. Why am I getting back to where it all began, once again?

A hazy night sky. A huge wisteria tree above us both. Aren't you feeling cold, woman in red? With such thin dress in this night?

Not at all. I am glad that we are finally talking.

Imagining things. I don't know which is past and which is present. Future is too complicated, and I perceive it as something that is eternally out of my reach. There will always be tomorrow, and when tomorrow comes, another tomorrow will replace it.

I hear things that was said to me. Phrases that praised me. Insults that hurt me. Stories that tear me up. Ugliness of a being that refused to look at himself in the mirror. Picking up the foreign magazines to imitate the hair of the people whose lives are not real.

I should be asleep, but the woman in red is still there. I cannot simply forget that she is there. I should be sleeping in this dream of mine.

The warmth of another person. The relief that comes when you realize that you are not alone. The comfort of knowing that someone else is there for you.

Where are they now?

Leaning on my right elbow, on the cold metallic rail that keeps us from the grass. I watch as the woman in red sweeps the strands of hair to the left side of her face. I mimicked the action but I sweep mine to the right, instead.

Measuring the sizes of our hands. Hers is small and fragile, almost child-like. Mine is larger, and fingers crooked. Years of writing has made the right middle finger slightly slanted.

I look down and feel the weight of the hood of my gray windbreaker on my neck. The bangs that I let grew fell and obscure my vision. I don't tie my hair this time, I let them free. The faint fragrance of the shampoo I used earlier is still there.

You found me. I saw you, that's why.
I did. I saw you, too.

For now, let's just stay like this.
Okay.

I didn't wish for it, but you still are here.
It is a non-voluntary dream. I don't have absolute control here.

Do you recognize this place? It is somewhere that you want to be at. The picture of your desktop background.
I know.

Still wishing for the exchange of reality and dream?
I still am. It's a crazy world out there. 

Another depressing day?
Not really. Doing nothing tend to do that.

You wish that you are not real.
Probably I am. Being real subjects you to the rules, and it pressures you into someone you do not want to be.

Another red balloon, slowly deflating and still stuck on the ceiling. The world in here is raining, and I know exactly why it is raining. Time run fast, and an hour has passed before I know it.

It is fine. I am still alive. Through tears and happiness, I know that I am real. I am not just someone born out of desire. I am someone else that is still lost and not wanting to get out of the comfort zone, like any typical spoiled child.

I hear you just fine, there's no need to raise your voice.
I know you are not angry, but I insist.
Let me find me again.
And after that, maybe I am able to forget you.
Forget in a sense that I can finally see you as a non-sexual object, like a lamp-post or a book.
Be quiet, I am enjoying my semi-sleeping state.
Someone is singing, his voice reaching out from these laptop speakers.
The audio jack is broken, so I can't confine him in the large headphones with three-meter long cord.

I am dreaming, but at the same time, I am awake.