Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Dear Diary: A little cheer.

Recent days have been seeing slight rainfall... it's strange how something i used to regard as an irritant now becomes so precious to me. I've never been more thankful for the rain, blessed heavens that finally allow me to see some green in the desiccant, impoverished fields.

God has been so good, allowing me to see the little things that are given to me so freely, even extending such grace that i might behold light at the end of the dark, ominous tunnel that i have been lost in for the past few months. It has never occurred to me until recently to be particularly appreciative of the most elementary of things, i suppose because i have never viewed senses such as sight, hearing, etc. as a "gift" per se, more of a given. Exposure to the less fortunate have opened my eyes and my nescient self to perceive the multitude of blessings extended to me, and i realize there might be more good in this world i previously thought so heinous.

Thursday, 13 March 2014

Dear Diary: A ray of sunshine

I looked at the road ahead, convoluted and winding, and wondered how i was going to walk out of this impenetrable forest. But then i felt a warmth that kissed my skin lightly, a touch that made me feel adequately emboldened from within...and i saw light. A ray of sunshine. I was not cognizant of its source, but it lifted me, higher and higher, until i was surrounded in all its magnificent splendour. I remember feeling strangely inspirited, as if i was drawing strength from the brilliant majesty that surrounded me...and then i woke up.

I never know what my dreams mean, although it is rare that i have remembrance of them at all. Most of the time i am left with a faint inkling of its general gist, good or bad, and that is all. I've always thought the concept of dreaming amazing, being transported into some other-world. If only i had control over them, i would be considerably better off, at least for the few hours my body lies recuperating. Because i promised myself i would never shed another tear over insignificant matters, that happiness lay in my very own hands. I am going to be happy.

Although sadness...it is a strange word, one i hold very fondly. I don't look upon it as a negative matter, although i suppose its very definition implicitly suggests something "bad". I appreciate sadness, occasionally allowing it to consume me entirely, wrapping me in its all too familiar embrace. I haven't the faintest idea why people look upon grief as such an uncomplimentary affair, because in my humble opinion i find it rather expedient to one's growth, when applied in healthy amounts. Being sad has allowed me to better appreciate times of happiness, each memory a treasure, a gem held dear.

I suppose i should not be in the least bewildered, upon the finding that people i am better acquainted with find me slightly morbid. I suppose i can be...but I really am quite contented with life, apart from the occasional matters that worry me slightly. Life is comparatively quieter to its state two years ago...it seems such a long way back, i feel an entirely different person altogether. Perhaps i am growing up at last, although it would be far too audacious to make such a claim with any certainty at all.

Too often and rather inaccurately i think i have it so bad... a friend rightly pointed out there are people who would give anything to have what i now possess (not that it is very much, but that it is more than what a considerable number are accustomed to). I have only recently accepted and internalized the fact that loss is not only inevitable but also all right... it is perfectly okay to lose. Because in losing we gain, if not a relationship then at the very least a lesson learnt. It is also okay to be sad, to grief over loss...perfectly natural in fact. But that grief must not be allowed to last very long, so much so that it becomes a hindrance for potentially happy moments. And i guess that is what they mean, when they say happiness is a choice. Not that one is never sad, but that one, having undergone such an experience, is able to see past that melancholia. Because sometimes, you'll never recover enough. You'll never be okay, but you'll get better. And maybe that's reason enough, to get up and face the world with a smile.

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

Dear Diary: Misanthropic

I know not what i truly feel... it seems each day i am extricating myself from my thoughts, running away from them before they run wild themselves. The attempts to reign in my muses are more futile than ever, my mood fluctuating between extreme highs and lows. I do not like what i see in my head...i do not like it at all. The mirror is a deceptive trap, telling me everything is perfectly fine where in some depths unknown every part of me is screaming against this injustice, the veniality of it all.

It is said that one should not expect much of this world at all, for in living humans gratify themselves, which in itself really bears no wrong unless it is regarded the sole purpose of this evanescent life. It would be rather tragic, if one reaches a phase where he no longer believes in any form of human relation beyond superficial investments. I have been disappointed time and again, to a point where i question if there is purpose in hoping after all. I suppose that is the very definition of hope, looking forward in the face of all odds. It defies logic much like love does. Perhaps it would be wiser if slightly delusional to accredit people for what they do, to give them the benefit of the doubt. It makes us feel hopeful, happy even. Or perhaps... perhaps i have no right to be saying any of this, the ignorant young lass that i am. I dare not place much expectation on any singular relationship, for fear it disappoints. But subconsciously i suppose i must have, for me to now feel this betrayal so keenly.

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