The Writing

The following was written for English. Just thought i'd share

“…to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse.”
–Annie Dillard, “Living Like Weasels”

Dillard writes such a line on the pretense of a weasel finding the fleshiest point at which to subdue a prey, and yet the implications of the one line seem to carry much more weight. Dillard says to find that one spot and plug into its pulse, just as one would find his or her niche and never cease to live up to it. In my mind, and soul I see the words falling upon the page with the intent of trying to find one’s purpose in life, perhaps my own purpose in life. How conceited and corrupt to think of such implications, and yet I cannot pull myself away from it. Purpose. Purpose? How to point down one’s purpose when I do not know my own. Each morning I wake up, with the intent of doing well in whatever course I may choose to pursue. It is the same course every day, and I do not realize my purpose yet. I do decently well in school, I play decently well in tennis, I keep a decent physique, I acquire decent relationships with friends. Purpose? How to pinpoint this pulse? This spot in which I may plug in.
I turn to my brother. Pulse. It reminds me of heart, and every implication of heart makes me turn to my brother. He owns a piece of my heart, and I hope I own a piece of his heart, and yes, he’s had heart problems. He was born with a heart deficiency. Something my parents knew not how to handle, but they did. They were told he would have to have open heart surgery every few years, until adulthood. They were told he would need a pacemaker. They were told that he had a heart problem. I was told, my little brother, of whom I did not meet yet, was sick. A surgeon was called in, Dr. Lax. He told my parents, he had a found a way around it. He told my parents that my brother would only need two surgeries, and of all things, he told my parents there was hope. Two years passed, two surgeries took place and my brother was fine. He had a scar, the size of his spread out hand on his chest. He was fine though. Concerns have always arisen over his physical activity. Whether or not he should give every effort his all, as Dillard would suggest, out of concern of whether or not his heart could handle it. And it has. Every day. Every single waking moment, his heart pulses to rhythm of his body. It gives him life, where there might not be any. It gives me a brother, where there might be a void.
He is twelve now, twelve and strong, and tall for his age, very tall for this family. I can hear his steps as I write this. Walking to and fro upstairs, getting ready for tomorrow’s day. He is healthy. He is normal and maybe something more. He dresses in the same manner I did at his age, and talks very much as I do. His interests correlate with my own, and his will is strong. He is physically strong, and the only hint you will ever find of his heart problem is his scar.
Pulse. He always has a pulse. I hear it when I press my ear to his chest as he sleeps. I know it is there. I find my pulse in him. He is my pulse, in which to plug into, in which to find my purpose, and maybe much more. For what makes me wake day to day? I find little enjoyment in school, which once loved. I find clashing relationships between me and my parents. I find luck has abandoned me when the work never seems to end. And he keeps me real. He keeps me down to earth and sane. He keeps me thankful that there is someone else to love and care for. He keeps me selfless. He keeps me good, because I know he looks up to me. Because I know each day I wake up to, he must also face it as I do. We are brothers, and he is my pulse. My purpose, and I plug into him as the weasel into a prey’s neck.
Dillard sought to portray instinct and voice, she sought to say, “Never let go.” My brother is that hope in me. And he allows me to have that voice in me. And through it all, he is what is keeping me holding onto this rope.
Thank you, Justin.

For once, silence is a necessity. A desire to find myself, within myself.

For once, a void has cut itself deep, digging into my chest. A scar.

and maybe for once, I have lost what should never be found again. because each day, is one less day. and each tear is one more than i can handle.

The sleep of night.
and nothing more.

The day beckons, light shining out from the bleak horizon, through the curtains. Shone upon a man, boy. Shone upon the dust as it flutters in the light. Shone upon the maple floor as the room warms up. Blessed with a new day, a new opportunity, to relinquish potential.

Good morning he mutters to himself, or else no one would. Friday morning, how decent the day. Steps creak the floor as he makes his way out of the bed. Home. It was nice. A shabby room, decorated by experienced eyes. A maple bookshelf filled with classics, like he reads.

He reaches for his glasses, and for a brief moment, he is reborn into the world. Thoughts. Silence. A walk into the shower. A brief scribble of a brush in his mouth, and a quick run of his hand through his hair. A blazing smile, that's often too shy to inhabit his face.

A slow pace past his guitar. The one he long forgot how to play. Into his kitchen; he grabs his shoulder bag. Slung to his side, broad strides and the shut of a door. Gone.

Level 1 is fingered. Scratched off from the numerous people that pressed it, it was a mere blotch. Lost in his thoughts, it hardly registers to get out, when the ding is heard, and the doors open. He leaves the contraption, unsure of what to say. Always unsure of what to say.

His head is down as he leaves the complex, and enters the crowded streets. Making his way to who knows where. A quick stride accompanied by a look of incompetence. He enters the restaurant, one he was never too fond of. The Frenchy place on the corner. A look around and a quick word with the hostess as he spots his eye's target. There she is. In all her beauty.

There she sits upon a table of all white, dressed casually, yet there is something to her. Something that capture his eye, heart...soul. She patiently waits, staring at her hands. How bare they seem. How he wanted to change that with a ring.

The smile comes back, this time much wider. A grin of satisfaction as he makes his way towards her. His hands are placed over her eyes, as he had imagined in his head. She sat with a smile and a hint of surprise.

"I know it's you," she says behind her smile.
"Indeed it is," He replies.

He pulls out his chair and sits across from her, his eyes never leaving her face. Excused to the restroom, he walks with confidence in his step. Only to return to see an empty seat and a crumpled note upon the empty China plates.

"bye"

Nothing spoke more clearly to him. It was indeed a Friday morning.

There's this burning passion that subsides within me. A reminder of what I think I have lost. A love for a girl I don't know. But maybe that is the true lost. She walks beside him on summer days, and I'm sure she will in Winter as well. It makes her happy, and there's nothing more to it; how can I be so jealous as to have the thought of ever impeding that?

Words don't match lyrics, and likewise my pieces do not live up to his songs. How he adores her; how it makes me jealous. It is his smile, his boyish charm, his suave that entrances her, into the deepest affection. A fondness I may find unbearable, a growing relationship that's cute.

I don't have his voice, but I'm sure my heart sings of the same song.

Writing is my pastime, my passion, my expression of everything.

But how to express this feeling when I'm sure it is too late; when last week I would have embraced every minute that I could talk to her after school, I now wait for the minutes to pass so I don't have to bear the sight. The her and him.

They smile when around each other. how cute. something that should last forever. Something that shouldn't be taken away.

Music in the form of words. Long overdue. but maybe that's why I won't write them. At least not publicly. Words, inscribed in my mind tell me of how much I miss the friendship if nothing more.

Brought me small smiles, bits of light in a day of darkness. Maybe that's all I should ask for.

I once saw beauty in your eyes, a hazy glow that i couldn't describe. replaced with a certain blindness it was.
Leaving me to wonder how. The lovely aura that once surrounded your presence, replaced with a field of my contempt. Repelling me to the furthest extents. of the room, of my heart. Understand how i once couldn't resist your smile, your gaze. It is gone.
Plagued with utter confusion and stubborn hubris, I see you as you are. As you have been. How far have I been, gone.

I met you when I was young. Far too young to know you and far too young to like you. When my naivety made each malicious act a shock. When the words love and beautiful were used often, but meant nothing.
Far too young to call myself a man, let alone a boy.

I met my father when i was born. Far too young to know that I was his reflection. Far too young to know that I was him.

I met my brother when he was born. He was far too young to know that I'd be his older brother, his role model.

I never met someone like you. But I wish I had. For maybe you'd be the one to calm me when I was angry, to love me when I was lonely, to quell my pain when I was hurt, to understand me when no one did, and to smile when I hugged you.

Sixteen, hardly a man, hardly a boy. I speak of such words as though I know them too well. But words are words. actions are distant. and love is a word, and an action.

Sixteen years of life, far too young to know who i'll meet, or what will become.

Funny that people tell me its cute. this like. because cute doesn't seem to cut it, at least not now. this like. of someone i seem not to know.

before me lies my heart for you to desecrate, do it quick before I get hope or a maybe. this like.

give me back my key.

Corruption of the writer as his hand touches his heart. The pulsing letting him know he's alive. And yet it is the heart that hurts and he does not know why.

They met, if only for a second. Before walking off into the world again, as strangers.

Lets ride into the cold, and let the black blanket our bodies. and watch as our shadows grow longer and the light seems to dim. until only streetlights are left to light the road and the only sound is of our wheels.

and maybe somewhere down this road, I will find you.

your smile glimmers as the road winds, and something tells me that you are different.

The time isn't quite right, but my hand reaches for yours, and somehow it finds it, through the darkness, through the sound, through the entanglement of thoughts.

Light pierces the horizon, and you are gone.

I'm kinda just here. and why not there.

resuscitate. so I can breathe again. and maybe so I can live again. because life is worth the second chance. and maybe the rebirth of me.

and I drive down this ocean road. cruising at a smooth twenty five.

Stings my face to say the least, the darkness colliding with it. The asphalt rushing beneath me as my body pulses. art. because it's different. Carving out the face of the street, strumming against my ears. So forth lies my soul, and my being.

Nothing is found but the empty space. The desolate ground that only I knew. Reaped the fruits of my sorrow. Seeds.

Empty space, the desolate soul.

Composition.
Of very few words that may embrace me. And fewer people that may know me.

Walk the halls, empty of people. lay down the gun in your head and find it was never loaded. Forget the faults, remember the fortunes, but still it is hard. To know that they are off somewhere. Enjoy yourself.

Run away, to your forsaken land, to your house. and leave me here.

Leave me be and change will have its way with me. A grudge gone too far, but not far enough. The gun is loaded, and here I am on the edge. Push me, and I'll fall but not without looking back to shoot you.

Bullet out the barrel, me, off the edge.

So what ails you. So what makes me.

I would like to tell you that you are too late. You have not done nothing but pain me and it is too late for me to hold back. There is nothing irrational about it, I am as I am, and change is not easy. Hate is hate, understood and not questioned. Yet it is always questioned. Immature? I disagree, I know exactly what I am doing.

It is true there is no point in hate, only a sharp edge. And with it I hope to severe ties, for standing with none is often better than standing with those you dislike.

It does not matter if you do not understand it, I do not ask you to; Respect my feelings and accept them.

Say you know me, but you don't. You cannot accept the fact that I want nothing to do with anyone. Ignorance is bliss. Remove her from my life and my mind, yet the only ignorance present is that towards my feelings. Know me not, for if you did, you would not ask me day by day why I feel this way. You would accept it. Know me not, for if you did, there would be no confusion present. Know me not, for if you did, there would be no opposition to how i feel. Understanding was never required, only a sense of support. Lack of support is what I receive, for you cannot see what i see, and you can only see what you see. How do you expect me to become like this? Have I not liked her as you have. and now i am here. I see both sides, and you see one, yet I am wrong.

I am wrong, always wrong, because emotion overcome my logic? No. it is not so, my emotion is driven from logic. Tell me that hate is immature, and I will tell you, that you have not lived. If you cannot hate then you cannot love. For true love is derived only from a sense of hate in a previous stage.

Tell me that hate is not to be used, and I will tell you that I hate. I hate.

And what was this hate derived from? All i asked for was ignorance, and you could not respect that. Every conversation, every time, had to include her. Driven me to anger. Driven me to hatred. And like that, you have driven me out of this world. Entered me into a dimension of hatred.

Accident or not, it was done. You cannot tell me after you stab my hand that it was an accident. My hand was still stabbed. Still severed, and bleeding. But i was born with two, and in the other hand, will come fourth the seeds of revenge, in every form I can imagine.

Know you not, for I do not know you. For if I did, I would have seen this coming.
Stop me before I do something stupid?

I think not.

and how he loved her. How he adored her. how he cared for her. and no day passed that he wouldn't find himself lingering in thoughts of her. and yet something was missing. still. still missing. slowly this gap was filled with love. love from her heart when she gazed into his eyes. It amazed him. and it seemed everything did at some point or another. amazement, she amazed him, but words failed to fully express this feeling. and it happened often that words escaped his lips to be replaced by long gazes. long silences. but in his head, these silences were symphonies of his feelings, his growing love, his joy.
Basked in thoughts of glory, of love. basked in fantasies of her fondness for him. it was a mere dream, a figment of his head. he dreamt of nothing more, and it only killed him that she was no closer than she had been years ago. yet the same feelings still arose when he looked at her. but she knew nothing of it. she knew nothing of him, and he knew little of her. through the hallway he walked every day stopping briefly to glance at her, a flicker of his eyes was all he needed. silence.

I found my escape in this boy. found my escape in a person that i used to be me. found no resolution to the problems that plague him tho. found nothing because i was not meant to. not yet.

A girl, daddy's little girl engaged in her own dreams, her own problems, her own issues. and vaguely searching the crowd for someone to understand. For someone to hear her as she cried day by day, tear by tear. She cared for no one, for no one cared for her. no one believed in her. tear. lost desire. eyes, search the room. and no one seemed to gaze back. drop. her feelings had vanished replaced with emptiness. and yearning. no longer for her parents to see her, no longer for herself, no longer to be heard. yearning for each day to pass so she could see the night.
So she could gaze upon the moon knowing it was the same moon someone else gazed on. dry tears ripple into the pool of her mind as she lay, eyes locked with the moon. mind lost, heart locked.
Passes through the hallway and looks at a boy who looks at his toes. she imagines the things she would say to him if he spoke. imagines who he might be. love is foreign to her, but he makes it seem so natural. she passes. unsatisfied.
and the yearn came back for someone to love her. hold her. care.
and again tears shine in the moonlight waiting to drop
her eyes sparkle, wet as she sits on a swing. moonlight shining, darkness enveloping the sky. and there sat the boy. on the swing next to her. smiling.

A tear, a drop ran down his cheek and landed on her hair. Her forehead held closely to his lips as he kissed her.

A boy, a man sixteen years of age and wandering the abyss of life. Intrigued by his own shadow, his own thoughts, his own achievements. Yet he sees no others and it is his demise. He knows no one else and it is to no surprise that he knows little of anyone other than himself. And even then, he cannot reach into the depths of his being. To answer the questions he asks himself.
Simplicity is fragile and in moments he can unlock their complications. It is the virtue he has, the vice he carries. It seems too much, but not enough. He seeks none other than the missing piece in his heart. A piece he long sought for in friends, family, in himself. And to no success. It eludes him.
A girl, a beautiful woman. He likes her. Her eyes scan the room but never lock on any one pair. And he yearns for that brief moment. He sees her, but does she see him? Empty gazes. They mean nothing and he is left to search the room himself.
Questions arise. never quelled, but always arising.
a hall. a locker. and he stands near her but never said hi. and she never saw him in the right light. she never took him as he took himself. she saw him how others perceived him. and he questioned that. but questions never seemed to do him right.
Persistence never paid off.
The man walks away lost and confused. The boy stays and ponders. and to the boy, the girl said. hi.
and the boy looked down at his toes.
a gaze upward again and she is gone.

questions never seemed to do him right. never quelled his thirst

To write now seems so out of place. But I find myself yearning to do so as i sit here.

Not too long ago, my posts were filled with anguish and bitterness, yet i found today i have close to none of those thoughts. I believe it is a result of a new outlook. One that i tried to force upon myself earlier. I feel that maturity has endowed me with a new sense of pleasure through the medium of revived eyes.

For I once viewed situations so pessimistically
For I once saw minor problems as major conflicts
For I once did not see what lays here before me today is all i could ask for.

And maybe that's where i went wrong. Asked. i expected a little too much of my surroundings and felt all but disappointed when the end result was not to my liking.

Happiness was fostered from the seed of acceptance. Accepting situations and learning to overcome them. The more I remember how i was, the more i begin to regret. Yet it should not be so. I feel great, revived, happy. And i cannot be more thankful.

Thankful.

HI ALISON!!!

Today I feel like crying,
But tomorrow you will not see
That inside i am dying
Discovering what it means to be me.

And today I am myself
Wandering this world alone
But tomorrow i will look back on myself
And see how much i have grown

And today I find nothing
That seems to pleasure
Because I lack the one thing
That beats inside of another

Today I am me
Slow and gracefully deep
And no one will see
The me that doesn't sleep

And no one will know
Of who i am
For i search to and fro
The boy looking for a friend

And in this world he feels so small
Just waiting for himself to fall.

I haven't written here for a while, and its to not particular reason, other than the usual school and life's course. And yet i feel like i needed to write, for so long, but couldn't bring myself to it. And I could not figure out why this was.

Now I know. It was out of my wanting to write that I began to conjure up ideas of what to write on, and that was wrong. I could never write with the confinement of a topic, and yet it was not this idea of a topic that kept me from writing.

School and Life never led me to stop writing. But I believe I just needed a break. A break from it all. And now i return with better thoughts in mind.

Inspiration does not come easy, and it is when you seek it that you will never find it. And that's exactly what i did, sought that which should have been left on its own. And now i am here, writing on who knows what on a Friday night. Tired, and lonely, yea but nonetheless happy, because I know I am loved, somehow.

The road has been straightened out, leaving me a straight path to follow. To follow into the horizon, the sun, my dream. To walk and walk, and need no more than walk.

Walk. A walk was all I ever wanted, and now I have it. New goals set and new roads forged. The one I take is obscure, even to me, but i want to take them both. I want to experience everything, but time confines me to one road. And once it is taken, I shall never look back. Never wonder how I came to this second crossroad. Never wonder how I came to be so happy, so sad, so me.

And you meet a friend or two, leave a few behind, keep the ones u like. Road. to nowhere and everywhere.

I sit on my brother's bed, inspiration running its usual course, and find my positive thoughts have failed me. Situations have gotten no better, but i still want to think they will. I still want to say they will. I still want to think with that warmth that others carry so easily. But maybe it isn't my thing, but i still try.

Yea, this is a new layout. I felt it was time for a change, and after a few hours of struggle, I came to this. I titled it "Walk the Walk", as if to say that to know me, you need to experience me. And I try to evoke that experience through writing. On some days, it seems easier than others. I realize my writing has its own turn of ups and downs. but here i go again.

Sometimes I question my own writing. As if to ask why i need this blog. Why i need this public space, this attention that i yearn for. But I know the answer, I always knew the answer. I want someone to listen. To listen to what I have to say, and tell me it will be okay. I need someone to listen to my ups and downs and tell me that it will be okay. I need someone to listen to me complain and tell me it will be okay. To tell me...everything is going to be okay. And yet i feel that missing in my life. I feel that voice gone at the moment, and I see myself losing the people that I once held dear. But you know what...everything will be okay.

I need someone to care for me. To care for what I have to say. To care for what i have to write. To care for my well-being. I seek more than just attention, I seek care. Care. Like that teddy bear I once held. Care like how I care for my brother. Care like how I care for my friends, but they don't know that, we hardly talk anymore, any one of us. And its saddening. But you know what...everything will be okay.

I want someone to know me. Know me for me. Know me and accept me. Know me and love me. Like how my parents do, like how my family does. I need someone to know that I'm not always going to be happy, that I'm not always going to want to talk, that I'm trying hard to be my own person, to be a happy person. I want someone to know when i care for them, and I don't want to lose them, then maybe they won't drift from me. I want someone to know how sensitive i am and how quickly they might hurt me. hurt me. hurt...me...But you know what...everything will be okay.

Everything will be okay, Alex...Trust Me.

So it's 1:30 in the morning (at night really), and i sit here writing. It seems odd to do so, considering I'm not really in the position to do so, but i find my writing is more free and fluid at night. Additionally, my thinking tends to be somewhat straighter, when not inverted by the hindrance of distraction and emotion.

Somehow, on this particular night, as i lay on my bed, I feel a bit freer, a bit of relief, of self-confidence slowly leaking its way into my mind. Its a good feeling I have to admit. It's a very easy-going pace that my mind seems to tread at...just slowly making its way from one thought to the next.

Quite frankly, it's hard to obtain, and even harder to explain, especially for me. Someone who seems to have the most pessimistic outlook on life, now experiencing what he believes is a euphoria. And words fail me here. Its not that I do not know how i feel, its that for too long I've focused on everything that i felt was wrong with my life, that this feeling seems odd, and all too unfamiliar.

Words that used to sprinkle my posts, and daunt my mind, no longer fit the criteria, and I'm left to feel a bit...out of place. My writing is hyperbolized, there is no doubt in my mind about that. I can take the simplest situations, emotions, objects and seem to create an endless flow of words to accompany them. Is it a virtue or vice? I feel the way I've used it serves to be a vice. I've used this to portray my anger, my resent, my malicious nature, and in doing so, I created a demeaning image for myself and the things and people that surround me.

And to what extent? Why not write of good aspects? of a wonderful family? of amazing friends? of the luck I've had to be able to live this life? So I continue to lay here, 1:45 now, writing. Just writing whatever comes to mind. And it feels good. To write. Again.

To write of a positive, a good feeling, and a serene mind. It seems surreal, and yet i want it to last forever. This feeling. And to what would I accredit this sudden content...i honestly do not know.

It seems to be the muse to my recent impediment. The inspiration I was waiting to obtain. And it has come to me now. At this hour, and I could not help myself. For writing in itself brings me joy. To write and read what i wrote, in amazement to the fact that i wrote it. It seems unbelievable. And to further flatter myself, I would say that sometimes, I cannot believe what I've written. Sometimes I can't believe the emotion I may provoke, or as a whole, the subject I have written upon.

They're all just feelings. emotions, nothing more than a hormonal imbalance or a psychological occurrence, and yet I may derive words from it. Derive words from nothing and turn it into something. Turn it into whatever i may like. Turn it into something positive or something negative. Its all in my words. And it seems so empowering to know that. It seems so unreal to know that. It seems so impossible to know that.

I write because I love to write. I love to write because...

And now i try and conclude this thing as best as i know how. I try to shut the gates that allowed my mind to flow so smoothly, and once again be unsure of the next time such inspiration comes to me again. Such uncertainty as to when i may find my muse again, as to when i may write again. And yet, I am willing to stop.

Note: Hey thanks for reading, I realize I haven't written in a while, and would like to thank my readers for keeping up with what I have so far. It means a lot to me, as stated in previous posts. Additionally, feel free to comment, I'm open to new ideas and thoughts, whether good or bad, they both help me become a better person, and write better. As for past comments that any of you may have written, please do read them, for i try to answer them (usually the long ones).

It is 2:00 now. and life seems to pass slowly.
good night.

Lies. and Deceit. Is it so wrong to lie, to be selfless. is it so wrong as to lie to allow another to be comfortable? and yet you feel you wronged of all people, yourself. You lied for another and in-turn hurt yourself. but its not too bad, as long as you care enough for the reason you lie.

Is it truly lying, if your reasons are justified? If you seek nothing more than to help someone else? I believe it is not so. but it hurts you nonetheless. to not be able to answer what your mind is screaming. instead you say the opposite, because you know this world's not about you, because you know you have to be selfless sometime, because you know that that person would do the same for you.

But is that enough to balance it out? to stop the hurt? to stop the yelling?
no.
you're still imbalanced.
you still hurt.
you still yell.

and to think its okay. everything's okay.
everything will be okay.
Because in the end, its all good.

All good.

just
good.

Give me the strength to hold in my yelling, my contempt, my temper, for i want to bash the tables and destroy people's spirit's. Hold me back. Hold me down. Stop me from undermining the lives of my friends, my family, myself. and yet i still want to. Yell at the top of my lungs until i can't talk anymore. until i lose my voice. cuz i don't deserve to talk. i don't deserve these friends. I only envy them. Take them away. Leave me to me. To be me. To unleash everything. To be able to yell, to scream, to crush.

Malicious thought's flood my mind. and i still want to yell, still want to break. Break something. anything. someone.

Why am i like this? why am i this monster, why do i write this with anger, slamming the keys.

I don't know. this is who i am. I am human.

God. GOD. GOD?
preach to me of this being this person, this "everything". just preach to me about it. i love to hear it. Because my religion just isn't right? because my religion was condemned wrong in your book? and why so? if there was so much confidence in Christianity, in God, in heaven, then why limit one's religion, why create a devil, why create a hell. U think this is right? you think you can just tell me that God will solve everything for me? You think my religion is inferior? that I'm just someone who strayed down the wrong path of religion? Well let me tell you... is it inferior of me, to be able to tell you that i am not changing? is it weak for me to tell you that i am proud of being the minority? is it weak for me, to be independent, and proud of who i am? Don't tell me my religion's wrong, don't tell me God is my solution. i am as able and strong as any of you. and i am not christian. I am not a believer, i do not sit through church every Sunday. Am i not born with the same hands and feet and body as you? Is my mind not as able as yours? and for you to tell me Buddhism is inferior to Christianity? Am i unequal to you? any of you? I've never once imposed my religion on another, nor go as far as preach to any of you about it, without someone first asking. Without someone first offending me by saying that i should pray. Never. And do you feel its right to do so to me?

I grow a little angrier everyday, reach new heights everyday. it is piling up. destruction.

Frustration.
The very feeling of rising anger. the overwhelming weight of the world. Fracture in you heart. soul. being.

Envy.
The roots. Foundation. Basis. from which anger emanates from to reach its peak. A sturdy groundwork that keeps on growing, expanding, giving way to higher peaks. higher mountains of emotion. of temper. of rage.

Anger.
Its resignation in me. Instinctive. Its very prominence over logic. Its ability to take control. take action. defy morals. define me.

Rage.
Endless, in fire, in the excluded, in me. The rage. the pain. the voice.

Selfishness.
Me. just me. my life. everything. anything? me. me. me.

Dishonesty.
benevolent intentions. selfless intentions. lies. lies. lies. Closed book. Closed mind. Closed me.

Karma.
Balance and all the it entitles. Balance and all it explains. Natural integrity, equality, patience.

Silence.
Self thought. reflection. esteem. the hiding of feelings, emotions, of needs, of passionate anger.

Limits.
The very borders that circumscribe me. Limitations. Laws. Rules. Boundaries. The pressure holding everything back. The logic that keeps me quiet. The right from wrong. The only thing allowing me to write instead of break. speak instead of yell. silence instead of rage.

Words.
Because I don't.

Me.
The person. The writer. The student. The son. The brother. The expectation. The rise. The fall. The emotions. The issues. problems. The endless...

Yourself...

Do you understand emptiness.




A note: you may never read this note how i intend it to be read. And that's fine. The feelings i seek to evoke are far beyond my own understanding. and if you thought you understood it in one reading, then you are better than I'll ever be, for i cannot explore the depths of my words even as i write them.

Things happen everyday. They test your limits. Question your abilities. Reveal new traits.

Things happen everyday. And everyday you answer them. You find ways to overcome obstacles. Overcome differences.

Things happen everyday. And sometimes you get hit. You get hurt. You fall down.

Weakened and down.
a hand is held out. a hand of a person. a friend. a brother, sister.
and you grasp that hand and it pulls you up. Pulls you back up to where you belong. Gives you the posture you once had.

and sometimes you deny the offer. you brush that hand away, knowing it is for your own good. knowing for once you wanted to get up yourself. knowing for once you wanted to be able to help yourself. and maybe it takes you longer, maybe the process is slower, maybe you had to scrape your hands against the asphalt in the process, but you got up. in due time.

maybe you sit for a while. sit and think. stop and think. ponder. in deep thought. and maybe its what you needed. self reflection, thought, meditation. maybe its what you were missing.

Peace. with yourself; it left you.
Balance. gone.

Thought. stays within. resides within. lives within.
And thought. thinks for itself.

Karma.

Those friends, the ones that know when you're down. The ones that can read your mind, the ones that can fix your every ailment. They're rare, and I'm lucky enough to have two of them.

Jon, Jonny, jonster, jjk, jay jay, and Alison...uh...don't got 1000 names for you.

What more can i say? In times of need and times of entertainment, they're always there for me. and it's great. I love them both (most of the time).

Jon.
Though quiet, i enjoy your subtly insightful hints into my life. You dare to venture deeper into my feelings, yet respect my privacy, and i hold you in high regards for doing so. You are a great athlete, and i look up to you both on the court, and in real life, as a great person. You're always there for me, and you know I'm always here for you. till the end bro. Just like Pokemon. (pikachu+ash)

Alison.
Through stressful times in history,and the exchange of our problems. I love it all. I appreciate how you always know whats up with me, even if i don't tell you. Late night talks, and the confusion of historical figures/countries. Its basically what i live for. As with Jon, I am always here for you. Except when you need me to combat someone who's like 6 feet. Then...uh. idk.

Caring. the basic principal we learn in Kindergarten. I always thought i knew what caring was; but it is redefined as i mature. I find i care for my friends, almost as much as i care for my family. And honestly, i never thought I'd feel this way about others. It's amazing. These two are amazing.


What else can i say? There is no insight into this situation, no analysis, no over thinking. I don't have to.

Meaning. You 2 mean the most to me, and every day i am thankful for your company. I could really go on forever, but my writing is...not how i'd like today.

Thank you. That's all i have to say. I have the deepest gratitude for the both of you.

Thanks

I really should be doing homework right now, but i feel like i can't unless i get this off my chest.

There is this feeling in me that i have no admiration for. It is my selfishness. And from this selfishness grows jealousy. It is not easily expressed or seen on the outside, but its there, i feel it, i know it. I am without words to describe my feelings at this point. Its this subtle numbness. A collaboration of too many feelings.

This contradictory feeling within myself. A contradiction of feelings, that leads to conflicting emotions. It is strong. If asked the reason why the sudden displeasure, i don't think i feel like answering. It is just important for me to tell you, the reader, how i feel. The reason is not to be known yet.

It is not to be known until i resolve the issues that reside in me. When? i know not when yet. Hopefully soon.
Hopefully.

Thanks for reading.

-Alex Tran

In reference to the post "I've Seen Better Days". The original post has been removed due to the critique of certain persons. I felt this was a place where i could easily, openly, and freely express my feelings. However, i was oddly mistaken. It is only natural for me to feel somewhat resentful and powerless in this situation and therefore, the writing of this rant.

Although no harm was meant with the message, it was apparently implicated. Honestly, however i have no remorse for my writing, for its purpose was solely to reflect upon myself and my own issues. Its tone was created through my own feelings at the moment of writing, but was not intended to spark or initiate any feelings of pity or sadness.

This, is irrefutably my own space to not only write my mind, but also to foster controversial thoughts amongst my readers. It is therefore, surprising to me, that any sole person would feel strongly enough to have me remove the direct reflection of my own emotions.

Though this post in itself may prove to share the same emotions as the one deleted, I assure you it is not so. It is a basic justification for the removal of the post. I refuse to say what i do not mean, and therefore there is no apology.

Again, this was not meant to hurt anyone. Just thought I should mention that again. Just in case.

Future. Fast approaching, just like everything else in life. It seems that as i get older, my gauge of time seems to portray the passing of years too quickly. I am almost 16 now and fearing where I'll be in three years. Time has no limits, no barriers, no one to hold back its pace; it seems to past by quickly when we need it most, and stop when we anxiously await its passing.

Years go by as if seconds have past, and we are left wondering where it all went. We remember when high school seemed far off and college wasn't even in the question. And now we're frantically trying to make the most of our time while our final years as minors is quickly passing by, with no one able to stop it.

Three Years. and i will be gone from my family, visiting a few times a year on holiday. Three years. and i will be beginning my own journey into the real world and exploiting my own independence. Three Years. and my friends and i will go our separate ways, not knowing how distance will test our friendship. Three years. and no one to slow it down.

Fear. of growing up. of being my own person. of having no one to guide me. Leaving my parents, the very people who raised me, to become a reflection of them myself? It seemed far off as a child, but now its nearing, and though time has passed, and i have grown, i still feel like a child. It is out of my hands. Anxiety grows with no borders, no limits, and i am left to ponder its consequences and question my own maturity and independence.

Separate ways. Diverging friends and people. It seems too hard to handle. To know that you may never see that person again. To know that, you are leaving for a good school while your friend is going to Iraq. To know that there are people that you had so much to say to, and never opened your mouth to say anything.

Three Years. will come and go, and by then i will have forgotten my fears. By then i will have forgotten my worries and by then i will fear that future. I will grow to accommodate the losses that will occur, and i will do what must be done. Maturity will find its roots in my limbs and grow to encompass my mind.

"If not now, then when? If not here, then where?"...If not you and I, then who?

Time.
gone

A day, just like any other day. A single slot in time. Nothing

A bad day.
When no one seems to realize you don't feel quite right. That every single gesture you do is out of lack of sleep, out of being tired, out of hatred for school. And yet, it's not. It never is. Those who are close know how you feel, and probe through your darkness to find the source of your pain. And they are shunned out. Like any stranger. Like any person. And those who don't know you, give you a hard time. Scrutinize your life, like it mattered what they said. Like you take in what they said. And yet you did. and you took it a little more deeply, a little more darkly, a little more stolidly. And it replays in your head and you let it tear your very inner being limb from limb.

You say nothing is wrong, but you know you are lying. On the inside, everything feels wrong. and you don't quite know why. and your body language suggests you want to be alone, your slight utterances say everything is good, and your inside's screaming for attention. It's crying, crying out loud, with no one to hear. with no one to acknowledge its need.

Cry, cry, cry to no extent.

You are hurt, bleeding. dying. and you ask how you got this way?

You let something in. You let someone in. And she ravaged your very being. she tore you apart. she killed you. And you go into a state of survival, in which you shut her out. and she , as if it is not her fault at all, questions your actions. She questions why you would do such a thing. and you know it is for your own good. She acts as if it is your sole fault, your sole overreaction. and you don't blame yourself. you blame her. you blame her for everything she's done to you.

All you ever asked was to be left alone. Left to ponder in your own thoughts; she couldn't leave it it at that. she had to pursue the problem. She had to try and find out. If not from you, from your friend, and your other friend, and your other friend. You obviously want nothing to do with her any longer, and she persists. She does what she never used to do. And to what purpose? To annoy you? To make you mad?

You never knew her. She means nothing to you now.

No one should know so.
No one should feel so.

It is all too uncertain, where this path leads. I find extreme contempt and fast sprouting malice in my soul.

Anger.
radiates from my very skin to those around me. They feel it. Its no secret. Anger for many things. For no one ever taking responsibility. Responsibility for a task, a project, a paper, responsibility for causing pain. Its all the same. I am almost in this alone.

It stings.
Stings where it hurts most

I can't pretend I don't feel anger. I can't hear that she doesn't know what she's done.

Trust.
You can't trust people. People lie to your very face every day. you seek honesty, but you in yourself have no honesty. You lie to yourself, you over look flaws. You should never have done so. You could have seen it coming.

Resolution.
Slow approaching.

meaningful? for no one

This week has been quite the adventure. Staying up till 4 in the morning and screwing myself over the next day at school, oh boy. Now that its over though, i look back with happiness. Its such a good feeling to know its over. Then again...tomorrow's Sunday, which means homework, and the next day is Monday. Does it ever end?

I was feeling a bit...philosophical sorta.

I guess not. In this world, all the things that seem to good to be true, drift by all too quickly, and those dredging moments in class...all too slowly. It leaves you wondering. Whats the point? We go to school starting from the time that we can actually begin to remember and continue into our early 20's (late 20's and even early 30's for some). Then, we go into the "real world" work and work and work, striving to get to the top, to replace our boss, and our boss's boss and even the CEO if we got that far. Its all too grueling. Luckily at a certain point, when we are no longer able to work, we retire to a home in Florida. Then again, by that time, we don't have the energy to do much either.

And for me to say life is What can I say? beautiful, it seems to contradict everything.


It seems life is this never ending cycle of pure work and stress. Or is it? In my attempt to portray the malevolent qualities of life, I guess i have overshadowed the virtues of it as well. During this cycle, we have the chance to experience friendship, the all to indescribable feeling of love, and new life. We have those moments that take our breath away, and those moments that serve to provoke uncontainable laughter. Yes, we get all of this in life.

Friendship. One of the most powerful words that i have come to use. It is such an intangible yet normal part of life, that sometimes we take it for granted. It should definitely never be something that we accept. And yet i do, and maybe you do too. How often do we actually take a moment to remember all the things our friends have helped us get through and so fourth? In my case, it seems like not enough. I cherish my less than 10 friends (pathetic, i know) more than anything, but do they know that? I hope so.

Love. O love. How do i write on this subject? seems out of my ability to describe, for even words fail to portray this...emotion? Is it even an emotion, or does it have a category of its own? I wouldn't know, since other than love for my family and friends, I have never experienced love to the point of fully knowing what it is. Maybe someday I will, who knows.

New life. Most of us will see or experience the birth of a child. A baby. A new addition to the world. And to look at that baby and know that someday, he or she will experience everything that we have already prevailed and succeeded at. And to know that one day that baby will have the chance to experience all these intangible feelings of love and hate, of sadness and happiness, of anger and frustration. It, in itself is probably an indescribable feeling.

"What I know now will prove close to useless as i experience things later in life."

In other news. I've become addicted to uh...legal downloading services and in search of some soft acoustic sorta alternative music. mostly acoustic. Any suggestions?

So last night, was the beginning of 2009, a year that i hope to be as great as any year. I spent it at Chris Mclaughlin's party with some great friends! Fun stuff.

So 2008 has come and gone. A great yet tiring year. As I get older, more burdens seem to be placed on my shoulders, that result in more work, but in the end, greater rewards. So this year shouldn't be any different. A fresh start? not necessarily. Though the new year brings in a changed date, it doesn't necessarily signify a new beginning. I'm sure my reputation still holds, and my vices are still scrutinized. So is this a new start for me? No, not even close.

Anyway, it is no secret that for many, a New Year, also brings along a New Year's Resolution. Although they are nice, I don't really remember myself creating one.

I guess my resolution would be the same ones i have every year. To be happy. Its simply put. I want to be happy with my family, with my friends; I want to be happy at school. As a whole, I just want a year, where I can establish stronger ties with my family, a year where i can lay the foundations for lifetime friends with my buddies. And a year where I can get one step closer to fulfilling my goal of becoming a doctor. Simply put. Now how do i fulfill it?

Life's simple and yet complicated. It takes many twists and turns as exemplified by not only my life, but everyone's life. There is no way to win nor is there to lose. We just go with it and adjust accordingly. Life takes me and you to many places. Its what we do their that lays the foundations for the kind of person that we become.

So to my close friends, my readers, my family, and all else whom i cherish, I wish to you a Happy, Healthy, and Exciting New Year. May it be filled with fun, joy, and the answer to your desires.

A special thanks to those whom i spent my New Year's with (those at Chris's party). You guys have truly started off my year with a great BANG!