Imagine breathing in, imagine leaving all your air behind.

“From here, the clean shafts of concrete and snowy rooftops. The work of men who died generations ago. From here, it looks like an achievement. I should have taken the train. I should be closer. I should see the enemy.”

- Bruce Wanye, Batman #404 

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Rooftop access. 

 
The privilege to the eye-opening horizon of the breath-taking scape bearing the passageway of an escape to the intricate psyche.
It felt like a relief to be feeling the mild zephyr against the turbulent prospects of fore-casted hail. The azure backdrop pasted with pale stratus of milky froth, alongside with streaks of golden flare, illuminated the anamnesis of the written memoir in progress.

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Chronicles of Rumination Part I.

Unreserved confessions of the heart-searching introversion.

Perhaps it was an overuse of the word “perhaps” – for there were too many possibilities to piece together as a puzzle or ponder over as imperturbable parts. Perhaps it was an overuse of the word “possibilities” and “ponder” – for the grand finale was still a written script in the making.
Yet again, the emphasis on the endless possibilities to be pondered over a “perhaps” situation precipitating within the power of perception. Perhaps repetition points out the accented beliefs of prospected potential among the puny paths to perfecting psychology.
Or, perhaps, it was an attempt made with too much effort in hope for a greater effect, but to no avail. The entire purpose of soul-searching began to lose meaning as self-reflection became a bore that was too much to bear and a chore that always kept me on the edge of the chair.

Note to self: Keep the words simple. Stop looking at letters and playing with words like it's a game. Life isn't scrabble, no one gets to just construct the words from the start to the end without encountering a writer's block.

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Chronicles of Rumination Part II.

Futuristic disclosure of retroactive contemplation.

While it is easier to deliberately dwell on the past and remain stagnant, holding on to the reminiscence of the almost-extinct memories closely to heart, it is much easier to simply throw it away and pretend that its non-existence was the sole purpose of its initial existence.

Getting entangled in the weaving flickers of hope and fears, it appeared almost too familiar. It felt like a child stuck in a phase of oral fixation with the utmost disappointment when the ice cream fell from the cone onto the floor. It seemed like a phase which was never going to pass, and the feelings that it encompassed was too much of a misery to withhold.

The trembling lips as joyful tears began to fall, once again, reliving a moment that replayed with resonating resemblance. It felt like a child enjoying the ice cream and didn't mind the waste of it as it fell. It seemed like a phase of having a moment to keep close to heart, and the regrets were almost  indistinguishable because they weren't even regarded as regrets but life lessons as a teacher who provided unconditional mentoring in the field of coping and adaptability.

Note to self: Keep the fateful events as a reminder. Stop going in circles about the incidents that have passed and stay strong and optimistic about how the future has so much more to hold. Life isn't just about the multiple nerdy moments of attending scrabble competitions and not clinching the top prizes or notable positions, rather, it is about remembering the errs along the way and make myself worthy to be hares that don't accidentally fall into rabbit holes. 

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Chronicles of Rumination Part III.

Revealing the profession of sentimentally-sententious translation.

Intimacy marked the familiarity of kinship. The basic contact of affirmation through a brief pat on the back, a reluctant hug, an unsuspecting explosion of anger, and the eventual unconditional acts done out of pure love and concern.

Disappointed with how people perceive “intimacy” to hold a stronger meaning that's over-sexualised by what they read off their social media feed, and even from misconceptions through the grotesque and cringe-worthy portrayal of love as elements of almost every single blockbuster movie or television series or even romance novels, trying to transcribe the definition of “ohana” in reference to the most heartfelt scenes from the Disney movie as “nobody gets left behind”. It is heart-wrenching to come to the point where empathy with an alien contained so much surreality that visualising the scene where it stood in the middle of the woods and sadly announced, “I'm lost”.

Being lost is one thing, returning home with tears in the eyes and being ready to let family into the troubled minds that has been stored away for more than a decade is another. Facing family everyday and having to pretend that nothing was wrong never seemed like an issue internally. Externally, it was almost as if it took a third person perspective to question the fact about how running in circles, and nearly escaping death for countless times, to finally understand what needed to be done. It wasn't just about facing the music and dealing with consequences, there was still so much to learn beyond the unconditional love within a family, because nobody ever gets left behind. Or at least, hope somehow went beyond crossing fingers and questioning faith.

Note to self: Keep track of all the unconditional actions displayed with the pure intention of love. While it is almost impossible to differentiate the motives of actions displayed by people around, what's the point in questioning that? Going back to the analogy of scrabble, the scrabble board amidst the chess set and multiple monopoly sets hoarded for memory-sake and stacked up in the corner of the room that has never been discarded due to the fond memories of sitting down and playing the board games without technology as a distraction, the laminating of each monopoly note to retain its durability, the chess set that was unnecessary and perhaps even a waste of money but the logic of all that is there – these little material goods provided the simplest form of unconditional love and an indescribable and invaluable feeling of joy.

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Chronicles of Rumination Part IV.

The expired statement of reinstating closure from induced deduction.

There is no final statement.

There is no need for a concluding statement that summarises the entire auto-biography of actualising from the initiative to take a good look within oneself; exploring the capabilities to remember, remember why experiences of betrayal should ever be forgot; clutching dearly to familial ties and forgot the Socratic questioning of unconditional love and its well-known associate, filial piety.

There is no expiry date to the closing statement, as it can be repeated countless of times for the sole purpose of running in circles – wanting to do something about something, but not being able to do anything about anything.

Note to self: Keep account the debts to be repaid to the deserving, regardless of the extent in the provision of help. Everybody needs help at some point in their life, and putting practicality aside

 

 

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Rooftop Access.

The eye-opener which led to opening statement to a letter written with a scope of serious thought and careful consideration before a breathless moment of penning down the panoramic descriptions channeling the exact feelings of running away with accompaniment of views that subconsciously seemed too torturous to express.

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Dear Children of the Future,

It was almost too difficult to comprehend. From the basic language of speaking to the basic instict of empathic understanding, the entire process of breathing began to feel so foreign—right down to the mere movements of inhalation and exhalation—only except that this time it was different; no longer
a form of sighing nor did it incur a feeling of suffocation.

While the idea of asphyxiation being the better option, it begin to fade. The ongoing game of cruel torment that had always been self-induced, with the almost-choking sensation from swallowing blame that was uncalled for, and the mind had always been kept open; more so than the heart, in fact. The entire stint gradually slipped into an engagement of fascinating purpose-seeking for entertainment.

It was all wrong.

It was always wrong to fall in love. It always goes back a circle and you realise it’s the demon that’s running around you. That’s the core of the deprivation, and the biggest hindrance of enlightenment.

It was always wrong to think you could fight the villains in your head. It always goes back to square one with all the thoughts encircling the voids in the head.

It was always wrong for me to make the assumptions that everything was wrong.

For the children of the future who have yet to be alive to read this, I may be no wise person nor sensible enough to have kept the life alive, but perhaps my self-proclaimed wisdom could be enlightening after a refreshing invaluable experience from just one day.

Please love your parents with more dedication than I ever did with mine. It feels almost never enough to love them, yet I question unconditional love from parents―and questioning ‘yet’ at the same time―while failing to realise that perhaps I’m not there yet. This time, the ‘yet’ holds more certainty. I am sure of it and I can damn this clarity that the sensory receptors are picking up the all the intricacies that I feel like I deserve no additional affection.

Like almost every child whose parents want a perfectly normal child with great grades―literally, academically, and physically as a bonus―with additional pieces of printed paper otherwise known as certificates to prove self-sufficiency, I was placed under the high pressures of these demanding tests. The results of that test make the statement of identity and self-worth. I barely achieved any of that, and I convinced myself that I was not authorised to receive any form of love from there.

It was awful for the condemnation of having struggled with stress and facing the carefully concealed dark pasts, and how I’ve constantly punished myself for that.

I’ve deprived myself of love.

I’ve deprived myself of loving others, or letting anyone close enough to actually love me.

I’ve deprived myself of the basic human right to be respected.

I’ve deprived myself of life―almost―and I lost myself right there and then.

I’ve deprived myself of sleep in fear of the terrors of the recurring memory that refused to stop haunting my soul and my conscience. 
 

I’ve deprived myself of the right to have children because of one bad mistake, and I make up for it by trying to hard to contribute back to society by working with children.

But I fell in love with that.

I fell in love with children who weren’t mine. I treated them like my own―bringing education into their lives, dancing with them after school, talked to them when they had problems, stopped the weaker ones from getting bullied.

I fell in love with the idea of having children but I never dared to truly venture into that. I feared being the failure I once was, in the array of roles and responsibilities.

I fell in love with a man who I thought I might have children with, someday. I let go of that because I apparently didn’t love myself enough to build up my own self-respect.

I fell in love, out of love, and then swore to myself I wouldn’t fall in love once again. I couldn’t find the missing piece to my puzzle, I lost my self-confidence along the way and I lost all my conviction.

Where did I go?

Where did my conviction go? How do I find someone who could possibly bring me back up again?

Who would open up to me in kinder words, and let me in with a brave heart?

Who would be courageous enough to hold me and help me fight my demons?

Sometimes to stay alive, you got to kill your mind.

I wouldn’t need a word to be said; I wouldn’t need to say a word.

I would listen all day; I would sit in silence all day.

We could have sat in the dark with a candle placed in the middle of the room and you’d sing to me:

“Follow me, follow me when it’s dark out. I will be your lighthouse.
And if you’re lost, I’ll lead you back home.”

This all was only wishful thinking. 

I would stop the flow of thoughts, but it has somehow come to a standstill now. 

The insomnia wouldn’t have been able to be cured so quickly even so, I suppose.

This message is to all of you, my dear children of the future, if you ever chance upon this.

Remember to cherish your life and your body like I never did.

Remember not to have overly high hopes.

Remember not to fall in love.

Remember not to forget to love yourself first.

Goodnight.

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I thought I was special. I was wrong, again. 

The broken only fixes the broken.

Two broken people can't be together.

The collateral damage would have been epic.

Imagine fireworks from being broken.

Imagine how the broken pieces just fit together nicely.

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M.

Life can only mean hardly anything.
All I'll ever be is partly settled in.

They show you how to swim,
then they throw you in the deep end.
I've been learning since,
but it doesn't mean I'll float.