being human

To love and to be loved are both very earthly acts of notions that defines us as humans, a higher form of species that sets us apart from our mammal counterparts.

To be accepted, however, is an universal notion on how any and every living thing perceives itself and the act of trust in a being.

I admit that I am never the person that I always perceive that I am. I am not smart, neither am I 'cool' nor robust in emotions. I am weak, a soul in need of a new host and a mind that is so fragile, a single thought could break it, leaving it in small, prickly pieces that no one would want to pick up. 

Defamation, altercations,  alternations... Every single thing that I did, every act that I am about to do is never rational, because life is not rational. Life is an never ending pool of self reflection, and what I see is that of a spineless cur, a villain that has no motives, but rather to seek and destroy anything he or she sees just because the almighty Life told him or her so.

I am not perfection. In fact, as any normal human would explain to you in various different ways, no one is never, ever perfect. 

So why do you view me as a model of stereotyped imperfection?

I do not get it, and perhaps I never will. Maybe I am devoid of emotions, after all. 

Maybe.

rift

It's been a while.

Writing is an easy but profound task for me to perform. Emotions take over, and words that stream out of my fingers are near replacements to these thoughts, to these excess disadvantages that we humans have. I am all but torn apart and dead for the past year or more, and today, as I revive this blog with my words once more, I can only tell all of you this.

I am alive.

Alive, but with consequences. Death has given me things to think about, and more humans to rely on. The circle of friends that I used to have has dissipated, and gone to nothingness, for only one remains, and he has become a nomad of his own future. I am revived not by vigor or by emotion, but by enlightenment, by visions of me being absolutely awake, and clear in view of what am I supposed to do with my life back in my hands. Rift after rift of palpable thoughts are now gone, and all that remains is a clear state of mind, the one that I once had when I was still a young man back in Singapore.

During the tenure of my revival, I have met people. Friends. Important people. My circle has dwindled down considerably, and veins of life, peers who has given me wise opinions stayed, giving me what I need to stay alive. I am now more than awake.

Awake.