I remember a time when I used to think I had the answer to every pain in life. Every setback I had, I knew an answer, or if not an answer, an attitude most conducive for finding one.
“The choice is up to YOU” Duffy had said two years ago, and perhaps since then, I took his words to heart. They were good words, and they were true; how much power do we have to affect our own lives? I’ve since realized that if you know answer to the great secret, life in fact becomes more of a game than a battle. Be smart, realize that happiness isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be; that being comfortable with the truth and the limits of our lives is THE key to understanding how much control we really do have of our lives.
It’s work yes, but no one said life was easy.
But sometimes… even now, I want to run away and hide away, surrender to sleep–maybe just to wonder who’ll come after/find/awaken me. Sometimes I want to be stupid, stubborn, and feel things I shouldn’t, just to see who’d come over to tell me I’m wrong. Sometimes, I wonder if anyone will, or if I’m truly fighting a battle on my own.
Are all these answers really just in my head?
Yes, it’s easier to ask questions, especially when you’re afraid of some of the answers. And while you wait, maybe hoping for someone else to cut through the tape, and pull you out. Just give a call and realize you’re not alone.
My blogs haven’t really been keeping up with my life now has it? I always wondered what it would take for me to stop writing entries every couple days, chronicling my life for myself as much as those who read it. Xanga has served me well, being by its nature such an amazing catalyst for introspection, and of course, for helping me realize that the struggles I face are rarely mine alone. I write also with the hope that perhaps my experiences are worth more when shared with others. That someone out there has something to gain by reading about my boring life–and also, to keep a written record of how I came to be the person I am now. A common motif in many of my entries is my outspoken desire “to live”. That is, to feel the passion of life (as I think Mr. Shih’s father had once spoken of me as having). Yet now that I think i’ve finally begun to feel it, I’ve slacked in keep track of how. Perhaps because it’s too much to live and know that I’m living at the same time. Or maybe it’s because of the unspeakable details of existence that living entails.
Hmm… oh well.