experiencing everything for the first time

there's a joy in wonders, a wonder in discoveries.

Is it human nature to take everything for granted? To accept something incredible as normal, I guess, is needed for our survival, where adaptability may mean life or death in prehistoric times. We should be able to build knowledge into our instincts, to work and move efficiently without minding too much about our surroundings.

Slowly the child in us matured. Perhaps our inner psyche deemed us enough to survive without having to continuously learn, that we can move on and keep being alive just fine.

But with it comes also the lack of joy.

There's this video I watched, of a story of a man who lost the ability to feel. A dull world of nothingness where everything feels, means, seems the same. To recover, he had to have everything redefined to him, rederscribed and reassociated. By doing this, the other person and himself is forced to pay attention to the tiniest bit of everything, rediscovering textures and colors and smell and warmth, the details of all the sounds, the combination of the damp air and vivid colors and wet earth. The way each and every of these simple, tiny things contribute to our way of percepting everything, the delicate and complex ways our feelings are formed.

Perhaps this video is parallel to the way we live right now. Rushing through things and ignoring our senses, the tiny bits of stories. Emptiness had consumed us all in this over-saturated world.

Need we time to re-learn everything, once at a time?

To be able to always feel everything as if it's new...

Source : systemofadowney.tumblr.com

I always wondered how I did it before.

Maybe it's easier to always experience everything when you hold no prejudice, of preexisting knowledges, of expectations to yourself and everything around you. Like a child, and like an alien. Unconnected to this world, uncaring and unassuming.

Can we connect without taking away our wonders?

Let we try

a day of (postponed) mourning

I'm not sure since when, and I refused to think why.
There's the fact that I cry at the weirdest moments, at the randomest scene or musical notes, of things I should be smiling about...

I whined to myself, and always scolded myself for being a silly crybaby.

But not that day.

That day, I said enough is enough. Mindlessly, I indulged myself with isolation; the kind of slow, lazy day I dream of; of musics and strange articles and videos of my favorite musician talking about strange stuff, of washing the dishes with no rush, of all the coffee, tea, milk and chocolate I can make for myself, of books and movies I watch alone in an empty house.

I told myself, now we are alone. Now I allow you to feel anything. Now you don't have to hold back.

And I cried.

I cried at everything, at the music and the smiles, penguins and stars and baby giggles and tag games on the mountains. At the identity I shunned, at things I hid away. At the childhood I lost, the family I never had. At the image of partners doing their best against the world. About families supporting each other, about undying love and the purest of expressions. About death and life and everything in between.

I mourned, mourned and mourned, everything that I am, and everything that I am not. Everything that I have, and everything I do not have.
It's alright, I told myself, you can mourn. It's fine if you are upset with the way things are, were.

Since when? I buffed up, saying I never care whether my family is broken or anything, what fucking bullshit. That I have no problem always achieving perfection, that I deserved all the beatings I got for not getting 'perfect', I was such an idiot.

It's fine, I said, mourn all you want. And so I cried, from noon to sundown, sunrise to fall. I cried out the weight in my chest, cried myself dry and cried some more. Until my head is light and the ache subsides, until my nose runs and I inhale deep, deep breaths through my mouth, that my body relaxes and I thought I could just die, just like that, with that feeling of strange 'okay'ness, I wouldn't mind.

Then I woke up, got dressed, headed out and stared at the sky for a long time.

I allowed the storm fall from the heavy skies, and although it's not yet a clear sky, the sun rays left a pretty sight of a rainbow.

It was a light, warm, and comfortable feeling.

And you know what?

In the end, no one else can do it. It was I who picked myself up. The only one who fully understood, the extent of intrication and sorrow I dare not tell anyone. The only one who won't mind them all.

like that, I delivered my gratitudes and sorries. It's a long way from being finished, but this is enough for now. You are enough.

You are mighty fine.

about life and choices

Do you remember when we talked about alternate realities?
If for every choice we could make, there exists a pararrel reality, where things are so much more different, and every reality may be shaped by the choice of countless different lives, did we end up by pure fate, pure accident, right here right now?

If it can be said, the true you exist in one of those realities, that you chose, did both of us choose this? Or am I an alternate me, living in your dream, and you are an alternate you, living in my dream?

Is this the best version of us that we could've been?

There's this story idea I once heard, of what if before we lived, we were given a library where each book tells a different tale, of a live we could have, and as we exist, we may choose one to live in? Well, it's kinda nonsense and unfun too to me because if I already read the whole book then I might as well try a different story for the live adaptation, if all I can watch is one movie. Except maybe if the book is so so good that I am so deeply entranced by it, that I become a fan, but yeah enough about that because apparently now we're steering offroad hahahah. It's a good concept, though.

The concept makes me wonder if Lauh Mahfuz is the same way. The way God knows everything that happens, but we still have free will, does it mean life is some sort of multiplayer visual novel with impossibly intricate story branches, all recorded in The Book?

Well anyway. Just another random ponderings.

i'm just wondering

how long do I have to bear with missing you all the time





#lemmebecheesyforonce