To truly live

To suffer and merely suffer—this is true suffering.

But to suffer and simultaneously realize that it’s the only thing that makes this existence worthwhile—this is simply what it means to truly live.

As If

With every reason to be happy, and with none to be unhappy, I still somehow end up choosing to be unhappy.

As if there was a choice.

As if there was reason.

Volatility

My emotional volatility is generally very low. In the vast majority of circumstances, whether in work, daily life, friends, or family, I am content, stoic, and grateful that I’m able to be here at all, even to suffer.

But there exists one catalyst in particular that never fails to instigate a relentless and inexorable chaos within my heart—love.

My mind is inundated with the heart-wrenching thoughts of finally finding my soulmate, of the warmth ensconced within their soul, of satiating the surly and voracious beast that prowls within me. And in that moment, I realize that I cannot control how I feel. My mind can only intercede, but this intercession is but a measly rock amid rapids, merely diverting the torrent of emotion that rushes downstream.

In that moment, it is a fateful choice between full-fledged, brutal war with the heart or submitting defeat entirely, consigning myself to be being helplessly dragged along by it on an unknown path.

How Are You Doing?

When someone asks me, “how are you doing?”, that is, with the genuine desire to know how I am actually doing, how do I answer?  

When the mind is at peace while the heart is at war, how do I truly feel? Is it exclusively the former, the latter, or a combination of the two? From the perspective of my mind, are those feelings truly mine?  

Often, I find myself feeling ashamed to feel a certain way, as if I am enduring an ailment or some embarrassing condition induced by some external source. Insofar as I seek to live my life with a rational clarity and emotional sobriety, there is little doubt in whether I need to quell these feelings. But—and there always seems to be a but when it comes to how I feel—the truth is that how I feel is not induced externally, but completely internally; it is fundamentally who I am. The question then becomes—is it worth embracing every aspect of myself? Have I been far too strict in extricating every facet of the mind from the heart? What is the purpose of this ambivalence that persists in my consciousness?  

But yes, I’m doing just fine.  

Ambivalence

My mind reorienting itself in a state of emotional chaos—

is it like a policeman catching a thief red-handed?

or is it like a shepherd guiding back sheep that have been led astray?

So Much

So much to do, so much to experience, and so much to think about.

Lest I forget that if I somehow lose it all, I might just be better off.

With a perpetually heavy heart and a resilient mind,

I will always find my way.

The choice

If the choice to live a good life—to be grateful, to be joyful, to be content, to live with straightforwardness and honesty—is indeed a choice, then I will choose it.

If I Said

If I said, from the absolute depths of my heart,

that I don’t long for the radiant warmth of another’s heart,

that I don’t yearn for another’s grace enveloping my consciousness,

that I don’t crave the taste of soft lips and the invigorating gaze of a lover,

that there is no ravenous beast of lust and desire lurking within me,

that I am not completely and utterly starving for love,

there would be no greater lie to have come out of my mouth.

Nothing but a slave

The heart remains unperturbed by the fact that I have more important work to do in this life, unfettered by the notion that I might just be making a fool of myself, unfazed by the very distinct possibility that these feelings are all but an elaborate delusion.

Nothing I do internally will change the way I feel.

Amidst thoughts of you, I am nothing but a slave; I am left to conclude that if time fails to dissipate these feelings, there is no one but you that holds the keys to unshackle me from this oppressive ball and chain that bears down on my heart every single momentous hour of this strange existence.

Nothing feels more right

To fall in love with someone I know nothing about? Absurdity.

To incessantly envisage emotional intimacy and connection? Delusion. 

To believe that they just might be the one and only? Stupidity.

And yet, in my ghostly heart, blinded by love, coaxed by possibility, determined to find redemption,

nothing—nothing feels more right.