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574 words flying in a 5-minute cage clothed by French songs I do not understand the lyrics of: I was talking to myself.

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It feels like forever since I last saw you here. I thought for once you were never gonna come back. I often wondered if you ever felt the urge to tell me things in detail again, even if it gets confusing—even if your train of thought gets lost in its way at times. But now you’re here. You’re here one more time, and my hope is quickly being resurrected from the dead, like a phoenix who has now been brought back to life after burning in flames. You’re going to tell me things again. You’re going to tell me, whether in metaphors or straightforward sentences, like a storyteller, how you suddenly felt the urge to cry one early morning on the way to work, when you, for a second, swiftly passed by an ancient tree and felt so very grounded by its presence. You pondered for a minute or two how old the tree might be. Maybe it’s much older than your ancestors. It’s certainly older than the sky-high buildings you’re more used to being around every single day. You wondered what the bygone tree would...
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Hello, hello. A moment with you after a long time.

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  Sooo, I have not been here for quite some time. How did the holiday season go for you? Was it cheerful or depressing? Either way, you survived another year, and that’s something to be really proud of. If you’ve reached this point, I’m proud of you. Also, I hope this year will be a good one for you and for those you love. Hmmm, a bit of catching up, then? D’you already have your cup of coffee or tea with you? Fun fact: As much as I can and as long as time allows me to do so, I start my daily life with a generous cup of iced coffee that I make in our office pantry. :)) The current last entry of this blog, as you know, was sort of like a long letter written by no one else but me, bidding farewell behind paragraphs of metaphors. Obviously, and very candidly speaking, I cannot be certain of being exactly thankful for still being alive with a body and all my responsibilities as a human being, but all those thoughts notwithstanding, I am still here, and so are you. How do you feel at th...
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Good night, dear. Good night.

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  I have been crying non-stop for two days now. I wonder where my tears come from. I wonder how I can be hurt like this—it isn’t humane. It isn’t humane for anyone to be in this much pain, yet I’m here. I’m here and that hurts so much. It hurts so much that I can’t stress it enough. I’ve been hurting so much for myself to realize that words undervalue everything. I’ve kept thinking about how much of it is felt, how much of it is heard when I say every night seems like the last. Each lonely passing night is a torturous quest to reach another day. I wonder how people do it, life. I take a look at everyone and can’t help but go on and on questioning how they can do life that way and I’m here. And I’m here and I stay awake, eyes and mind wide open, hurting so terribly, crying endlessly. How can I ever get out of this prison. In a state of being human as cruel and excruciating as this, it’s almost impossible not to feel alone.  In one of my sessions with my psychiatrist where I sob...
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To feel unseen in a world full of eyes

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       The longing to be seen with depth, spoken to with depth, touched and embraced with depth, and understood with depth. And, by the same token, to view the morning sunlight and the indefatigable passing of time with depth; to look at my reddish, stinging wrists and ask what kind of beauty could be found in a dozen cuts; to speak in a cheerful tongue that doesn’t bleed; to have the ability to move with bouncy, unafraid feet. With teary eyes closed, I imagined a life in which I do not hurt so terribly; where I had petals in bloom and not a stadium of thorns; where I had it in me to talk without sobbing; where I was unabashed and courageous enough to look at someone in the eye and tell them how I feel, what I think; to make an auspicious attempt to explain why it’s so dark everywhere I go even if all the lights are on.  It’s maddening how no words are ever sufficient to cover my pain. In all ways, I am in great suffering, but I could not tell you why exact...
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Disappearance, coming soon

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There’s a kind of exhaustion that any temporary rest or sleep or pause can’t eradicate. It cripples you from head to toe; extinguishes the teensy amount of energy you have left; it takes away your ability to think and speak and move the way “normal” people do. It’s the kind of exhaustion that grows prolific, hefty branches of depression, helplessness, frustration, and melancholy–their stabbing weight hammered upon you. I don’t know how to tell everyone how painfully tired I am. What do you do when no words are enough to express how you feel? Where do you run when you’ve already reached the very edge of the world? Or, what do you do when you feel like the entire universe has left you alone, and yet, expectations still barrage you?  There are millions of words. We can form a supernumerary of oceans with them. To think of the right words is almost always overwhelming. I have been sitting here wondering why among the multifarious number of mixed letters out there, I couldn’t...
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Don't get wasted if it's Monday the next morning and some other hopeless things

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They say alcohol makes you forget. On the other hand, some researchers have studied how alcohol actually helps prime a specific part of our brain that props up our ability to learn and remember things. Interesting contradictory points, huh? Either way, sweetie, here’s the takeaway from another fecund in misery, totally unwished-for day; hey, cut yourself some gentle slack, and don’t get wasted when it’s Monday, the beginning of yet another bustling, loud week the next day.  I wish some words could be heard even if they’re just written. Like, I wish if I write the word ‘sigh’ right now, you could register how deep and despondent it was in your ears. There are days when speaking seems as if it’s an incredible superpower that I cannot grasp. If my voice is a place, it would be on another planet I wouldn’t get to before my existence here on Earth vanishes. If it’s a person I would take pleasure in being friends with, they would be that kind of human being that you’ve always a...
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