Beg you not to leave,
But I'll be left here waiting,
With my Heart on my sleeve,
Oh, for the next time we'll be here,
Seems like a million years,
And I think I'm dying,
What do I have to do to make you see,
He can't love you like me,
Why don't you stay,
I'm down on my knees,
I'm so tired of being lonely,
Don't I give you what you need,
When he calls you to go,
There is one thing you should know,
We don't have to live this way,
Baby, why don't you stay,
- Sugarland, Stay
*****
It's been a long while since I updated. I'll blame that on a lack of inspiration. Though maybe it's more a lack of will, lack of drive. I dunno. For now I guess we'll stick with the "lack of inspiration" one. It's a convenient enough excuse. I'm usually not a big fan of editing song lyrics, because that's not how the song is supposed to be. But if I'd left the above lyrics as they were I'd sound so gay. So yeah. I edited them. Just a tiny little bit.
I heard the above song on the Grammy's. It's so melancholy. But not pathetic malencholy like Taylor Swift's "Fifteen." It's like...a crying song. Haha. Well if Jennifer Nettles can cry when she sings it, I can cry when I listen to it. Not that I have cried. But it'll be a good crying song all the same. It's very good crying material. Anyway, off of that subject which I know Soon Seng will tease me mercilessly about later.
I was reading my old blogs today. I find that my writing used to sound far more...educated. I mean, my sentence structures, the words I used and such were far more appropriate. And the tone of my writing was different as well. I find it very odd. But I suppose it's because on those blogs I took it as writing articles of interest, whereas on my blog the writings I post up are of a personal significance to me and those to whom I matter in any way. But I want to post up some old pieces from my old blogs here. There won't be many, and you get a story at the end, so bear with me.
I heard the above song on the Grammy's. It's so melancholy. But not pathetic malencholy like Taylor Swift's "Fifteen." It's like...a crying song. Haha. Well if Jennifer Nettles can cry when she sings it, I can cry when I listen to it. Not that I have cried. But it'll be a good crying song all the same. It's very good crying material. Anyway, off of that subject which I know Soon Seng will tease me mercilessly about later.
I was reading my old blogs today. I find that my writing used to sound far more...educated. I mean, my sentence structures, the words I used and such were far more appropriate. And the tone of my writing was different as well. I find it very odd. But I suppose it's because on those blogs I took it as writing articles of interest, whereas on my blog the writings I post up are of a personal significance to me and those to whom I matter in any way. But I want to post up some old pieces from my old blogs here. There won't be many, and you get a story at the end, so bear with me.
*****
"Love, real true, honest-to-God-love. Is a conscious decision. A decision that you are set aside for this person, that no matter what other hot chick comes past, what hormones may rage through you, you belong to someone and them alone. And you will wait. A decision you have to make every day, every single time that person annoys you or hurts you, you make it again. And it runs deeper than anything I know."
*****
I posted that as part of a post directly after I was dumped. I just like the way this paragraph was written and the tone taken in it. It's so passionate, a flair I fear I've lost a lot of in the past six or seven months. There doesn't seem to have been much to be passionate about. Or more accurately I feel like I've lost the capacity, the desire to be passionate about something. It's called associative learning. Like when you touch a fire as a child, you learn it hurts. So ever after, you associate the fire with pain and steer clear of it. And like so many people, when you've gotten into a relationship and been passionate and gotten hurt, ever after, you associate that feeling of passion with impending pain.
It's a digusting circle. But it's so, so easy to get stuck in.
Next excerpt.
It's a digusting circle. But it's so, so easy to get stuck in.
Next excerpt.
*****
"So does that mean I can stop wanting to cry everytime I hear a love-song I used to sing? No. Does that mean everything is suddenly okay and I'm completely fine again? No. Does that mean that I stop hurting in any way? No.
But you know what? I'm going to keep singing my song. Because nothing, NOTHING and no one is worth keeping my song from the world. So I'm going to lift my voice strong, I'm going to run with all I have, I'm going to love with all my heart, going to live with all I've got. Bring it on. Hurts are going to come, no one ever promised life was going to be easy, but no one ever said you can't make yours count for something.
Seriously, these past few weeks, I've learned that giving up is easy. It's so easy to give up on life, so easy to give up on love, and people, and just everything you ever hoped for. If anyone ever tells you that giving up is hard? They're lying through their teeth nothing is easier. You just lay in bed until 1pm, then you get up and shuffle around the house wondering if anyone will talk to you. Or wondering if anyone is thinking of you. Then you lay in front of the TV for the rest of the day, eat if you remember, think about throwing yourself in front of a car or off your balcony, then go to sleep. It's really easy.
You know what's hard? Living. Picking yourself up after a fall that seems so bad you just want to lie there and hope you die. The hardest part is never falling, or laying down. It's getting up. Because when you start walking again? You still hurt from the fall. But in the long run, it's not worth it, she's not worth it, he's not worth it, they're not worth it. Nothing and no one is worth wasting your life for."
But you know what? I'm going to keep singing my song. Because nothing, NOTHING and no one is worth keeping my song from the world. So I'm going to lift my voice strong, I'm going to run with all I have, I'm going to love with all my heart, going to live with all I've got. Bring it on. Hurts are going to come, no one ever promised life was going to be easy, but no one ever said you can't make yours count for something.
Seriously, these past few weeks, I've learned that giving up is easy. It's so easy to give up on life, so easy to give up on love, and people, and just everything you ever hoped for. If anyone ever tells you that giving up is hard? They're lying through their teeth nothing is easier. You just lay in bed until 1pm, then you get up and shuffle around the house wondering if anyone will talk to you. Or wondering if anyone is thinking of you. Then you lay in front of the TV for the rest of the day, eat if you remember, think about throwing yourself in front of a car or off your balcony, then go to sleep. It's really easy.
You know what's hard? Living. Picking yourself up after a fall that seems so bad you just want to lie there and hope you die. The hardest part is never falling, or laying down. It's getting up. Because when you start walking again? You still hurt from the fall. But in the long run, it's not worth it, she's not worth it, he's not worth it, they're not worth it. Nothing and no one is worth wasting your life for."
*****
That was a pretty long one. But I like it. It sounds so rebellious. So fierce. A feeling I could probably do with more of these days. I feel so passive at this point. Like, you know the point when, you haven't exactly given up yet, but you know your final surrender is imminent? Yeah, that's pretty much how I've felt for awhile now. Those paragraphs are something I needed to read. I don't feel that fire I used to carry around with me anymore. Reading what I wrote back then rekindles it just slightly.
I read recently that one of the things a man needs is "A Battle to Fight." I can agree. I feel like I've been giving up little by little. I need to start fighting again. I'm really really tired of it all. But if you stop fighting you're as good as dead. So I can't stop, can't ever stop. It's like that line in the first Riddick movie "Pitch Black" they have to get through the night and keep away these monster things. The monsters' weakness is light so they burn alcohol to make light and keep the monsters away. And as they run Riddick shouts back at them "Don't stop burning." My favourite line. It's as good as saying "Don't stop burning or you'll die." Don't stop fighting, don't lose that passion or you might as well die.
I'll be truthful here because this space is mine. This blog is mine, in the vastness of the universe it's barely an inch of significance. But within this inch, I am free. To pour my entire being, my soul into the words that flow from my keyboard. I wrote once that "Writing is a blood bond between the author and the story." That means you have to pour your blood into what you write. Pour everything you have into the words that come from your fingers. Your life has to be a part of what you write. And that is what I write here. My life. In small portions, bits and pieces, I'm pouring out my life to you, dear reader.
The highest aim of the author is draw you into the world they have created. J.R.R Tolkien did it with the Lord of the Rings. C.S Lewis did it with The Chronicles of Narnia. Can my aim be any less? The greatest writers draw you into their perspectives. They attach you to the characters of the story, they make you feel the fear, the excitment, the sorrow, the exultation of each and every heartbeat the characters experience. And that is what makes you love them. That is why the works of those writers will endure.
What separates me from them is a tiny, trivial detail. The world I endeavour to draw you into, is mine. The character whose feelings I try to get you to feel is me. That's why I can't write when I stagnate. Because I'm not feeling anything. Not in the strict sense of the word. I'm not living and so how can I invite you to be a part of my life? A life that, at that point in time, doesn't exist, or at least, isn't going anywhere.
The truth is, I've been afraid. In the same book as the "Battle to Fight" thing, I read that what each man fears is that he is not really a man. Is that his all is not enough. This is taught to him through experiences. Maybe he played baseball and he wasn't very good, but that was the limit of his ability. He could probably learn to be beter, but at that point in time, that was his best, his all. He gave his all and it wasn't good enough for his father maybe? At my youth group, once in awhile, when there is a new song for the band to learn or something, I get a ribbing because I don't know how to play the lead lines on the guitar. For those who know what I'm talking about, they will know that there is a difference between lead and rhythm guitar. Lead is way harder to play, when you hear someone doing a wicked solo, that's lead guitar.
I get a ribbing because I cannot play those lead lines. It's not that I don't want to, or that I won't. I simply cannot physically move my fingers fast enough. It's outside the range of my ability. With practice and hard hard work, yes, I could probably get better. But at this point in time, those lines are outside the range of my ability. My best is not good enough.
The same translates to the my life recently. After my rather spectacularly failed relationship, I've become so afraid to offer myself to anyone, even as a friend. Because it wasn't enough before, why should I believe it will be enough now? Thus it becomes easier to just hide. To stay away from anyone who can hurt me. I like someone. I like them. You could say I'm in love with them, but I wouldn't be so dramatic. And the thing is, I'm afraid. Before? I'd have given my all, my all to win her. Because, that's another thing men want "A Beauty to Fight For." That means you have to fight for her. But you can't fight with half of yourself. Like my friend Silas once told me when we were sparring, "If you even want to touch me, come at me as if you want to kill me."
I thought he was being a little melodramatic, but he was teaching me a life lesson, and he may not have even known it himself. If you want something, someone, you have to fight for them with all you have. So if you're afraid of offering your all, afraid it won't be enough, you'll never know.
I am still afraid. Because in all honesty, I don't believe being hurt on that level again would be in my best interests. I'm afraid. So afraid that I can almost feel that girl I like slipping away. Further and further, simply because I'm too afraid to fight for her. Simply because I'm afraid my all won't be enough, afraid that if I show my, all people will see that I'm not really a man.
I read recently that one of the things a man needs is "A Battle to Fight." I can agree. I feel like I've been giving up little by little. I need to start fighting again. I'm really really tired of it all. But if you stop fighting you're as good as dead. So I can't stop, can't ever stop. It's like that line in the first Riddick movie "Pitch Black" they have to get through the night and keep away these monster things. The monsters' weakness is light so they burn alcohol to make light and keep the monsters away. And as they run Riddick shouts back at them "Don't stop burning." My favourite line. It's as good as saying "Don't stop burning or you'll die." Don't stop fighting, don't lose that passion or you might as well die.
I'll be truthful here because this space is mine. This blog is mine, in the vastness of the universe it's barely an inch of significance. But within this inch, I am free. To pour my entire being, my soul into the words that flow from my keyboard. I wrote once that "Writing is a blood bond between the author and the story." That means you have to pour your blood into what you write. Pour everything you have into the words that come from your fingers. Your life has to be a part of what you write. And that is what I write here. My life. In small portions, bits and pieces, I'm pouring out my life to you, dear reader.
The highest aim of the author is draw you into the world they have created. J.R.R Tolkien did it with the Lord of the Rings. C.S Lewis did it with The Chronicles of Narnia. Can my aim be any less? The greatest writers draw you into their perspectives. They attach you to the characters of the story, they make you feel the fear, the excitment, the sorrow, the exultation of each and every heartbeat the characters experience. And that is what makes you love them. That is why the works of those writers will endure.
What separates me from them is a tiny, trivial detail. The world I endeavour to draw you into, is mine. The character whose feelings I try to get you to feel is me. That's why I can't write when I stagnate. Because I'm not feeling anything. Not in the strict sense of the word. I'm not living and so how can I invite you to be a part of my life? A life that, at that point in time, doesn't exist, or at least, isn't going anywhere.
The truth is, I've been afraid. In the same book as the "Battle to Fight" thing, I read that what each man fears is that he is not really a man. Is that his all is not enough. This is taught to him through experiences. Maybe he played baseball and he wasn't very good, but that was the limit of his ability. He could probably learn to be beter, but at that point in time, that was his best, his all. He gave his all and it wasn't good enough for his father maybe? At my youth group, once in awhile, when there is a new song for the band to learn or something, I get a ribbing because I don't know how to play the lead lines on the guitar. For those who know what I'm talking about, they will know that there is a difference between lead and rhythm guitar. Lead is way harder to play, when you hear someone doing a wicked solo, that's lead guitar.
I get a ribbing because I cannot play those lead lines. It's not that I don't want to, or that I won't. I simply cannot physically move my fingers fast enough. It's outside the range of my ability. With practice and hard hard work, yes, I could probably get better. But at this point in time, those lines are outside the range of my ability. My best is not good enough.
The same translates to the my life recently. After my rather spectacularly failed relationship, I've become so afraid to offer myself to anyone, even as a friend. Because it wasn't enough before, why should I believe it will be enough now? Thus it becomes easier to just hide. To stay away from anyone who can hurt me. I like someone. I like them. You could say I'm in love with them, but I wouldn't be so dramatic. And the thing is, I'm afraid. Before? I'd have given my all, my all to win her. Because, that's another thing men want "A Beauty to Fight For." That means you have to fight for her. But you can't fight with half of yourself. Like my friend Silas once told me when we were sparring, "If you even want to touch me, come at me as if you want to kill me."
I thought he was being a little melodramatic, but he was teaching me a life lesson, and he may not have even known it himself. If you want something, someone, you have to fight for them with all you have. So if you're afraid of offering your all, afraid it won't be enough, you'll never know.
I am still afraid. Because in all honesty, I don't believe being hurt on that level again would be in my best interests. I'm afraid. So afraid that I can almost feel that girl I like slipping away. Further and further, simply because I'm too afraid to fight for her. Simply because I'm afraid my all won't be enough, afraid that if I show my, all people will see that I'm not really a man.
*****
"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
- Neil Gaiman
I can safely say I know just how that feels. I know firsthand about the hurt, about the pain that seems to seep out of nowhere, about that tight feeling in your chest, about crying into the dark every night, heck, I even know about calling your mom into your room just to have someone to talk to then breaking down and crying like mad on her shoulder. I know just what it's like to have your heart ripped out. But you remember that old adage? "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." I agree.
I know what love is. I firmly believe I do. I'm still afraid to fight for it now. It's so much more comfortable to just hide in my room, away from the world. Away from any more potential pain. But I know I won't hide forever. One day soon I'm going to burst out of my cage of fear. Once I'm good and ready. I won't let this feeling hold me back. There's so much to be afraid of. Like "What if I jump right out and fall flat on my face? What if I fail and never ever realize all the dreams I have?" But I can't afford to let it hold me back.
I'm going to be famous. I'm going to sing. I'm going to make millions and millions of dollars. I'm going to marry the most beautiful woman in the world by the time I'm 21, I'm going to have four children. I'm going to love my life. I am not going to stay this way forever. That's my dream. That's all it is right now, a dream. And right now I'm like a caterpillar hiding in his comfy cocoon. But soon, very soon, I'm going to break out. And I'm going to soar as high and far as I can. I swear.
Because there has to be more to life than this.
Now, I promised you a story, right? Some of you may know this one already. But it's one of my favourites. So I'll post it on this blog. It's a metaphorical story, the characters representing people I knew. But I won't spoil it. Here we go.
I know what love is. I firmly believe I do. I'm still afraid to fight for it now. It's so much more comfortable to just hide in my room, away from the world. Away from any more potential pain. But I know I won't hide forever. One day soon I'm going to burst out of my cage of fear. Once I'm good and ready. I won't let this feeling hold me back. There's so much to be afraid of. Like "What if I jump right out and fall flat on my face? What if I fail and never ever realize all the dreams I have?" But I can't afford to let it hold me back.
I'm going to be famous. I'm going to sing. I'm going to make millions and millions of dollars. I'm going to marry the most beautiful woman in the world by the time I'm 21, I'm going to have four children. I'm going to love my life. I am not going to stay this way forever. That's my dream. That's all it is right now, a dream. And right now I'm like a caterpillar hiding in his comfy cocoon. But soon, very soon, I'm going to break out. And I'm going to soar as high and far as I can. I swear.
Because there has to be more to life than this.
Now, I promised you a story, right? Some of you may know this one already. But it's one of my favourites. So I'll post it on this blog. It's a metaphorical story, the characters representing people I knew. But I won't spoil it. Here we go.
*****
The Moth & The Butterfly
Once long ago, in a land far away and unmarred by time, there dwelt a magnificently blue moth. He was the subject of adoration everywhere he went and was loved by all the creatures of the land. But one fateful day, this blue moth fell into the ashes of an old fire. The ashes clung to his wings, hiding his splendour from sight. And soon, the beautiful blue moth was forgotten, the now ugly and gray moth was despised and ridiculed.
But one autumn day, our ugly little moth meet a faded, silvery-pink butterfly. This poor butterfly's wings had been crippled since birth, as such she had never been able to taste the free air above the clouds like other butterflies, and was barely able to keep herself aloft. The two outcasts spent many a moon together, and soon, they found a love blossoming in their tiny hearts. They would spend hours together, the moth carrying the butterfly between his wings and taking her high into the sky she so dearly loved, yet was unable to reach. She loved the sky almost as much as she loved the moth, but no matter how many times she tried, he would not allow her to sweep the ashes from his wings.
Full of anger at the other creatures who had so harshly judged him by nothing more than his outward appearance, he swore never to remove the ashes from his wings. He told himself that he wanted to be loved for who he was inside, not what he looked like.
But alas, not long after this, the Queen of the Butterfly Kingdom learned of the romance between the moth and the maiden butterfly. The Queen was horrified, for you see, moths and butterflies simply do not go together. Angrily, she summoned the crippled butterfly to her throne-flower and ordered her to work twice as hard throughout the long, cold winter.
Our little butterfly worked herself to the bone, all that winter, finishing her work before any of the others, just so she could spend time with her beloved moth. At times, the moth would sneak into the Butterfly Kingdom and help his poor butterfly with her work so that they could fly together again, free from all worry above the clouds.
Now one fateful day, our little butterfly was one her way to her moth when a storm swept in from the north. The rain and wind battered our poor butterfly, shredding her wings until it was all she could do to keep herself in the air. But keep aloft she did. With each painful beat of her wings, she drew closer to her beloved moth, until finally, she lay beside him weak and dying.
With her failing strength, she drew herself up and swept the ashes from his wings as he slept. Before her, lay the most beautiful moth she had ever seen, his wings shone brilliantly blue in the fading light of the sun, so blue that he added to the glory of the sky above, and she smiled to herself, laying herself down beside him and closing her eyes.
But one autumn day, our ugly little moth meet a faded, silvery-pink butterfly. This poor butterfly's wings had been crippled since birth, as such she had never been able to taste the free air above the clouds like other butterflies, and was barely able to keep herself aloft. The two outcasts spent many a moon together, and soon, they found a love blossoming in their tiny hearts. They would spend hours together, the moth carrying the butterfly between his wings and taking her high into the sky she so dearly loved, yet was unable to reach. She loved the sky almost as much as she loved the moth, but no matter how many times she tried, he would not allow her to sweep the ashes from his wings.
Full of anger at the other creatures who had so harshly judged him by nothing more than his outward appearance, he swore never to remove the ashes from his wings. He told himself that he wanted to be loved for who he was inside, not what he looked like.
But alas, not long after this, the Queen of the Butterfly Kingdom learned of the romance between the moth and the maiden butterfly. The Queen was horrified, for you see, moths and butterflies simply do not go together. Angrily, she summoned the crippled butterfly to her throne-flower and ordered her to work twice as hard throughout the long, cold winter.
Our little butterfly worked herself to the bone, all that winter, finishing her work before any of the others, just so she could spend time with her beloved moth. At times, the moth would sneak into the Butterfly Kingdom and help his poor butterfly with her work so that they could fly together again, free from all worry above the clouds.
Now one fateful day, our little butterfly was one her way to her moth when a storm swept in from the north. The rain and wind battered our poor butterfly, shredding her wings until it was all she could do to keep herself in the air. But keep aloft she did. With each painful beat of her wings, she drew closer to her beloved moth, until finally, she lay beside him weak and dying.
With her failing strength, she drew herself up and swept the ashes from his wings as he slept. Before her, lay the most beautiful moth she had ever seen, his wings shone brilliantly blue in the fading light of the sun, so blue that he added to the glory of the sky above, and she smiled to herself, laying herself down beside him and closing her eyes.
When the moth awoke, he saw beside himself, not his faded silver-pink butterfly, but a stunning, glossy butterfly who seemed to radiate the colors that spread across her crippled wings. The moth didn't understand, maiden butterflies usually faded as they died. In tears, he asked her why and she calmly explained that since she had died doing something for he whom she loved, she was whole. And with those final words, the maiden butterfly died. And the moth's heart shattered.
But that was not the end, oh no, where the butterfly's body landed, a beautiful silvery-pink flower sprang up. A testament to her sacrifice.
The moth was admired again, creatures from far and near coming close to be his friends. None remembered the poor, despised maiden butterfly and her stained moth. They were forgotten as if they had never existed. But memories of the days when love had sung its brightest song lived on in the moth's heart.
However heartbroken he was, our moth couldn't pine forever though, and eventually, he married another moth and they had many children. And one fine autumn, as the leaves fell and the flowers faded around them, he brought his family back to where the silver-pink flower stood, still shining like the sun. Together, they spread its seeds as far as they could, filling the valley with beautiful pink and silver flowers - flowers that bloomed proudly through every season.
The End
*****
There you go. I wrote that for Jern. It's been edited a few times since its first writing. But the story remains unchanged. The moth and the butterfly fought long and hard for their dream, for what they wanted.
I can't do any less.
I won't.
Jared
I can't do any less.
I won't.
Jared
*****
Why don't you stay,
I'm up off my knees,
I'm so tired of being lonely,
You can't give me what I need,
When he begs you not to go,
There is one thing you should know,
I don't have to live this way,
Baby, why don't you stay
- Sugarland, Stay (Chorus 3)
1 comment:
Keep fighting, don't give up. You'll get there. You will. I can tell. :)
Post a Comment