Dearest,
When was the last time you cried yourself to sleep? Not that I long for you to be emotionally distressed, enough for you to shed tears… Remember, you used to tell me, “Such a beautiful release it is to strum one’s emotional strings; to bathe naked one’s soul with the swelling eyes.”
Yes, it truly is human nature. Mama’s baby cries hard upon his first choking gasp of air—and I guess, it pays, sometimes to be mummy’s teary eyed grown-up. It brings back a sense of a new beginning—much like a re-birth.
But it’s hard isn’t it?
In this contemporary time when many are in physical, emotional, spiritual, social and even internal pain, and many thus find a sense of comfort in sobbing, shouldn’t I be thankful that I haven’t had found reason to cry?
As I grow older, I feel more fortified from the “sea of emotions” that I once attributed to life. Innocence lost leads to numbing out, I guess. It’s no pretty picture, but right now it is what I see.
I feel like singing now:
Hush little baby don’t you cry, mama’s go’nna buy you a Mocking Bird.
And if that Mocking Bird don’t mock, mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
Matter more than ideas has concerned me a lot lately. Not that I am focusing my energies into making myself rich. No sir! But, I hadn’t had the luxury of time to breathe-in figments. I miss doing this.
I remember myself cry every time I finish writing something which truly reflects my ideas-- but not lately. No time even to write. How come, when I have owed much from this art, why have I deliberately allowed myself to find a block… a valid reason not to attempt writing.
The obsession of material concerns have taken control over subliminal forms of compulsion: crying, writing, deep-breathing, praying… keeping attuned with self. I truly miss my self.
Perhaps, it’s not just me. Maybe even you, my dearest, had you had time to cry whilst someone goes to buy you something so you could just hush… Be a child. Pretend that your diamonds do not glitter. Cry your heart out.
Four days have passed since I sprained my left foot ankle. Finally, it is no longer swollen. Tomorrow I am back to work. Am I glad to have slipped on the bathroom floor, though I didn’t cry because of pain, I was forced to have time to myself… and finally, write. But not cry =)
When was the last time you cried yourself to sleep? Not that I long for you to be emotionally distressed, enough for you to shed tears… Remember, you used to tell me, “Such a beautiful release it is to strum one’s emotional strings; to bathe naked one’s soul with the swelling eyes.”
Yes, it truly is human nature. Mama’s baby cries hard upon his first choking gasp of air—and I guess, it pays, sometimes to be mummy’s teary eyed grown-up. It brings back a sense of a new beginning—much like a re-birth.
But it’s hard isn’t it?
In this contemporary time when many are in physical, emotional, spiritual, social and even internal pain, and many thus find a sense of comfort in sobbing, shouldn’t I be thankful that I haven’t had found reason to cry?
As I grow older, I feel more fortified from the “sea of emotions” that I once attributed to life. Innocence lost leads to numbing out, I guess. It’s no pretty picture, but right now it is what I see.
I feel like singing now:
Hush little baby don’t you cry, mama’s go’nna buy you a Mocking Bird.
And if that Mocking Bird don’t mock, mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
Matter more than ideas has concerned me a lot lately. Not that I am focusing my energies into making myself rich. No sir! But, I hadn’t had the luxury of time to breathe-in figments. I miss doing this.
I remember myself cry every time I finish writing something which truly reflects my ideas-- but not lately. No time even to write. How come, when I have owed much from this art, why have I deliberately allowed myself to find a block… a valid reason not to attempt writing.
The obsession of material concerns have taken control over subliminal forms of compulsion: crying, writing, deep-breathing, praying… keeping attuned with self. I truly miss my self.
Perhaps, it’s not just me. Maybe even you, my dearest, had you had time to cry whilst someone goes to buy you something so you could just hush… Be a child. Pretend that your diamonds do not glitter. Cry your heart out.
Four days have passed since I sprained my left foot ankle. Finally, it is no longer swollen. Tomorrow I am back to work. Am I glad to have slipped on the bathroom floor, though I didn’t cry because of pain, I was forced to have time to myself… and finally, write. But not cry =)
My X'mas pressie..
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