Okay

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

Remember that.

You're safe, where you are.

Nothing can touch you.

Nothing can make you betray yourself.

No matter what happens, it's okay.

You're okay.

You're gonna be okay.

Because you're strong enough. Brave enough.

To do what you have to. To do what you know is right.

Because you can. And you will.

Broken

You go down the path you swore you'd never take.

A momentary lapse in judgement.

You ask yourself, "Why?"

But you can only answer, "Because I was lost in the moment."

You lose control. When you swore you never, ever would.

You become the very thing you fight.

You don't know what to do now. Because you didn't know what you were doing then. Because there's nothing you can do now.

It eats at you. It haunts you. It makes you question everything.

"Why did I let myself do that?"

"Why did I let that happen?"

"How could I have let myself go?"

"I did it before. Why couldn't I do it again? In fact, why didn't I?"

"It was stupid. How could I have been so stupid?"

"Why, why, WHY?"

But the ultimate question is, "What now?"

But you don't know. And you don't think you ever will.

You break down inside.

Can you turn back? Or have you reached the point of no return?

When you fail yourself. When you let yourself down.

And you swore it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Aftershock

Crisis. What comes after?

The shock. Aftershock.

The fallout from the unravelling of the world and life as you know it. When the impact starts to set in and spread its effects like a virus. When it sets off a chain reaction of events that come crashing down like an unstoppable tsunami, mercilessly destroying all in its path.

You move into damage control, trying to right the wrongs before it's too late. Desperate times call for desperate measures. You do things you'd never imagined yourself doing. You go down the path you'd sworn you'd never take, and there's no turning back. You're forced to come clean with the lies and secrets. But can they handle the truth? That's something else completely.

The collateral damage spreads. Like a shockwave that ripples through the earth, pummelling everything to dust. Everyone and everything is affected. It's taken on a life of its own. It's out of control.

You can run, but you can't hide. It'll come back for you sooner or later. Like a living, breathing entity looking for vengeance. There's no escape. There's no respite. There will be no rest until you're dead and buried six feet under.

Aftershock. One wrong move, and everything falls apart.

The road less travelled, once more

I can't stay here.

I have to get out of here.

I look around me, I know and I tell myself: I have to leave.

If I'm to make anything of myself. If I'm to make anything of my life.

I don't have a choice. There's nothing for me here.

I have nothing to lose.

I've done it once. And I can do it again.

I can't look back. I can't turn back.

If I don't leave, I'll never know. And I can't let that happen.

I can accept failure, but I can't accept not trying.

I have to leave.

Memento mori

Remember you will die.

We don't live forever. Our time on Earth will eventually come to an end. It's an obvious fact, but one that's easily forgotten and taken for granted as we go through the daily motions of our lives, only striving to get through the drudgery of each day in the futile hope that some respite will come the next.

Countless days of grey, punctuated with fleeting moments of happiness. We waver from wishing things would last forever, to wishing they would just end right then and there, or perhaps had never happened at all.

But things never happen as we want them to. The things that bring us joy are ripped from us at the moment when we least expect or want it, and those that darken our days seemingly invite themselves into our lives without warning or reason.

In those moments, mortality seems like such far-off issue that isn't worth thinking about.

It's what makes us human; it's one of the defining parameters of our existence that stays with us always, blending into the background either like a malignant shadow or a benign presence, depending on your individual view of death as something to be either feared like the plague, or embraced as part of the natural order of things, no matter the circumstances surrounding your leaving the material world.

Perhaps the decisions we make and the actions we undertake everyday are all subconsciously influenced by our awareness of our own mortality; that one day, we will all die.

"I still have so much more in life that I want to achieve. What's death like? Just thinking about it is scary."

"Bring it on. I'm not scared. We'll all die anyway."

The two schools of thought that surround the idea of death. The very fact that life itself is defined by death.

But, what if we could live forever? What if, by some scientific or medical marvel, we could be immortal?

If offered the choice, would we take it?

We could watch civilisation and society evolve before our very eyes, and watch as all our hopes, dreams and fears for the future either come true or dissipate into thin air. If our loved ones also chose the path of immortality, we would be with them forever. "Till death do us part" would no longer matter; getting sick of one another would do you part.

What would be the meaning in our lives then, if we lived forever? We would have no purpose to fulfil before our time is up, because it never will be. Those of us who believe in fate and the deterministic forces that shape each and every one of our lives without our knowledge would start to question why we were even born into this world, if it was to be that we would ultimately choose the path of immortality. We would have true free will, in every sense of the words, as time and age are no object. But at what price?

Come what may, bring on my death day.

You

"It is very difficult to know people ... For men and women are not only themselves; they are also the region in which they are born, the city apartment or the farm in which they learnt to walk, the games they played as children, the old wives' tales they overheard, the food they ate, the schools they attended, the sports they followed, the poets they read, and the God they believed in. It is all these things that have made them what they are, and these are the things that you can't come to know by hearsay, you can only know them if you have lived them."
- W. Somerset Maugham, The Razor's Edge, 1943

We are who we are, there's no question about that. But ultimately who we are is the total sum of our experiences throughout life as we have lived it so far. We are the place we grew up in; the values and beliefs we were taught by our elders; the things we learnt at school, both in and out of the classroom; the friends we've made and lost; the loves we've found and let go, and so on and so forth. All these things are as individual as we are. We cannot judge someone based on these experiences without having gone through them ourselves, in that exact same moment in time as and when they experienced it.

We could try to relate our experiences in a conversation to someone else who wasn't there at that time, only for them to say that they have no clue what we're talking about, or that they cannot imagine what it must've been like to be in our shoes, and so cannot empathise, no matter how hard they may try. It's like a war veteran recounting his/her wartime experiences to their grandchildren; as much as the younger generation might be moved, fascinated and horrified, they will never truly be able to properly understand the soul-destroying reality of the battlefield and the trauma of its aftershocks. All simply because they were never there at that time, and never experienced it like their grandparents did.

Who we are is something that's so familiar like the back of our hands, yet so profoundly inexplicable and unexplainable, like the very mysteries of our souls. There's something about being you, being the very person, the very individual you are, existing on this planet, that makes you so similar, yet different to everyone else around you.

You're one of the 7 billion-plus people living on this planet. You may be just one, and only one insignificant human being, but you're still a part of it all. You're still a part of...everything.

But what makes you different, is your own experience of life, something that's so individual and personalised, you could say it fits like a favourite pair of old blue jeans. It's something that defines our existence in this world and shapes us all, no matter who we are, what we've been through and what we've done or will ever do. It's something we know, but struggle to understand. It's something that knows no bounds, yet is constrained by the limits we set for ourselves.

But what makes it so special, is that it's something others will never know, and will never understand.

Of

Of idealism and cynicism
Of passion and restraint
Of calm and rage

Of music and noise
Of solitude and company
Of peace and chaos

Of fear and bravery
Of strength and weakness
Of hope and despair

Of surety and confusion
Of faith and disbelief
Of acceptance and denial

Of love and hate
Of all or nothing
Of life, and death

When nightmares become reality

The thoughts that occupy your mind during the day, play out in your dreams by night. And when you wake up, they all but consume you, from the inside out.

They make you question everything. Your motives. Your feelings. But most of all, your sanity.

You have a lot of time to yourself to think, so you do. And you can't help it. They slip into your conscious mind ever so slightly, without you even noticing, before bursting forth seemingly out of nowhere and startling you as they flood your waking thoughts. The more you think about them, the worse it gets. But worst of all, you can't make them go away.

Your thoughts become dreams, and your dreams haunt your reality.

It's a living nightmare.

Judgement

"They've always told you to be yourself; they never said they wouldn't judge you for it."

Judgement. We're all guilty of it.

We question and critically judge the decisions of others; why are you like that, why do you/don't you do this or that, etc. We urge the outsiders to conform, to do what everyone else does, even though they're not entirely comfortable with it, or don't even understand it.

That's when they start to think that perhaps there's something wrong with them, or perhaps the world's gone mad and they've just stayed sane all this while. They don't necessarily hate themselves or the decisions and choices they make; they just hate the fact that the world is flying in the face of everything they believe in, for demanding from them what they cannot bring themselves to do or give.

They know they're different. They accept that. But what they can't accept is the ridicule that comes with being unlike the others. They never said they hated the norms and practices of the world; they believe that everyone should be able make their own choices and decisions. But they hate how those choices and decisions are seemingly forced upon them, in a blatant attempt at conformity and to simply make them "do what everyone else does".

They just want to make it all go away. They may not agree with what everyone else is doing, but they respect it nevertheless. They accept their differences and are proud of them, but it's hard when everyone else disagrees and incessantly forces them to conform to things they know will only cause them harm.

But all they're really looking for, is some semblance of sanity in a world gone mad.

Inhibitions

Ever heard the saying "A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts"?

It's an interesting notion; alcohol lowers our inhibitions, making us say things we either longed to say but didn't have the courage to, or things that were best locked away securely within the confines of our mind.

The things we were always afraid to say, come spilling forth from our vocal cords the moment we ingest more alcohol than we ought to have. The barriers of our mind that hold our dark, secretive thoughts back are broken down by the drug, as we blurt out our deepest, innermost thoughts about anyone and anything, and perhaps most embarrassingly, to the people who least want (or need) to hear them.

But why do we hold back? Why do we not do or say things that we've longed to? Why do we keep them closed off in our hearts, unwilling to get them off our chests?

Is it because we're scared? Of rejection? Of tears and sadness? Of anger? Of misunderstanding?

The moment we feel like doing or saying the things that we've been dying to, we censor ourselves. "Don't do it, you'll regret it," we tell ourselves. We refuse to seize the opportunity that presents itself right then and there, for fear of the ramifications if the other party doesn't reciprocate, or takes it the wrong way.

That is, until alcohol gets added into the equation. What happens from then on becomes out of the control of your normally level-headed, sober mind.

But when the drug wears off, we try to apologise, to explain and clarify things. "I was drunk, I wasn't thinking straight, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry," we say to the affected party. All is forgiven, they say "It's okay, don't worry about it", and everyone moves on, although a lingering, embarrassing memory still remains.

In the end, though, who are you to believe? Are a drunk man's words really his sober thoughts, or is it merely the alcohol talking?

I don't have the answer to that. But when it comes to inhibitions and holding back things you're dying to say or do, I'm sure you know the saying: those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter.

In other words, go for it. :)