Twenty- Five, Eyes, Swings

Dear V

I'm getting older. I will never be as young as I was when I wrote these words. I'm older now. Older again. And just because I don't feel the atoms in my body disintegrating, there is a wizened part of me that realizes that I will not be young forever. I don't mean the physical aspects of being young, though I don't think I will miss certain things like acne and angst, but rather the mind set of being young. Finding joy and enthusiasm in passions that I will eventually characterize as immaturity. I want to be young in this way and though the thought of being physically older like not being able to run, jump but rather confined to wheel chairs, dinner tables, special toilets until someone retrieves me- is somewhat daunting. That I can't run as fast as I could when I was younger. I know this is life, that it is a fact universally acknowledged that all things living will decay because they are temporal. I can see myself however, with my vein-y hands grasping knitting needles recalling the wind rushing through my hair and violently caressing my face as I sprint down the track- crying, cursing my bones that are weary after such a life time.

It might sound strange or not so strange but I think I should like to die before it comes to that stage. But still things change like everything and I might regret writing that. I hope I do. 

A few years ago in Physical Development and Health class, someone off handily said; "you know you start dying once you reach twenty-five." I don't think anyone was as shell shocked as I was. I silently contemplated this idea for the rest of class- and the week. At times I wished I didn't hear it, that I didn't need to know that. Sometimes mysteries are good, it keeps people hopeful and where there is hope there is no potent fear. Fear of course is always present. Lurking behind a facade that we ourselves conceit ourselves with. No one can be truly fearless, only to pursue a state of being in harmony with one's fears.

I fear time so much. And it actually took a very long time for me to get over the twenty-five dilemma.  

I'm taking a day off school today. I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. It's hard for me to day that because people don't associate me to stress or anxiety. So I don't associate myself with that. Its a hard standard to follow. I'm a bottler, but I like that sometimes. Its just me and my thoughts. I find that sometimes when I'm talking to someone, I'm thinking about something else but still managing to sustain a substantially complex conversation with another person. Its all about eye contact. Its not that I'm not interested, it just I have to think about something but I'm too much of a people pleaser to reject you.

Enclosed is a picture of me that I would like to remember when I'm older. The plaits in my hair heavy on my shoulders, my scarf twisted around the rope, the sensation of flying with the sudden hitches of free fall at the maximum of the swing. When I can remember things so vividly that I fool my heart to beat like the moment I was recalling, I leave the reverie and feel my heart beat. Thump, thump, thump, thump. I just hold my hand there letting it vibrate through my skin, reminding me after each beat is life. And Life means decay and tragedy because we are all doomed. But life goes on. It is far greater than one individual life.

P.s  "Those who fear life are already 3-parts dead"- Bertrand Russell

True self, Waffles, and Floaties

Dear V


Sometimes I worry about you. Sometimes you give me the impression that your invincible, in the sky with your own thoughts where no one can touch you. For that I'm jealous, until I see you vulnerable. If I look at you in a particular light I can see it real well. No one sees because that's how you fooled them. I'm beginning to realise how good you are at pretend.
Sometimes I wonder when you are you. Really you. But then again is anyone ever themselves. The true self is such an illusive subject that's so fleeting when your mind almost has a comprehension of it.

Like your mind has a light bulb moment and when you rush for a scrap of paper to write it down, the words won't come, or what you thought was coherent language was rather 'brain talk'- something that only has a definition or awareness in the mind. It would be otherwise confusing when human intellect is applied.

Ironically I've lost my trail of thought.... Alas my case exactly.
Let me return to your circumstance. You V are a 'floater' at school you don't belong anywhere or to anyone criteria. Chameleon soul. Is it something to hate or rejoice that you don't find your home, your affinity. Do you long for a meaningful connection? Or are you content in your disposition? Both? Knowing you, you would have answered the latter. But hey... Ok no there is no hate, I see the appeal actually, the freedom and the clarity of independance. But you did confess to be a two faced enity. Soo many bad connotations. But I think everyone is two faced. There are soo many dichotomies from this... Let me elaborate;
- the face for the public and private
- for the private and for the self
- for the self and the true self
The self I believe is who we kid ourselves to be. Private is our intimates ie family, close friends etc. Public is anyone else.
What I hate is that there is no certainty in finding the true self. Only our brains can reach that awarness. Do we achieve it when we are very happy? Is that how our body signals such a profound moment? I want to know my true self and I understand that I am only very young and that people take pilgrimages to the deep recesses of the Amazon to 'find themselves' but really? Can one find themselves? Let alone in the Amazon?
Humans are curious, and deep thought makes me feel euphoric and melancholy.
V, we might put our backs to the future but time still impaled us, and certainly it hurts too much sometimes not to be certain and sure- But we can't let the pain spoil the rest of our lives because you and I are still very young and shouldn't even be thinking of these things but we are cursed to be too sentimental or others too vain.
Throughout life humans humor ourselves with finding truth in mystery, when the punchline is the classic, good ole' death. We are so ephemeral, like tissue paper to the cardboard of the continuum of life.
P.s remember only young children, intoxicated or really pissed off people ever tell the truth
Enclosed photo is my idea of food for thought
Love,
Michelle