Motivation

138.

Achluophobia; a fear most horribly misnamed for it isn’t the fear of darkness that fixates one in their footsteps, but the absence of light that paralyses.

There is a vast difference between the fear of something and nothing, though some may not be able to tell. While darkness may be a common nemesis to most, it is wronged to the worst extent if one actually thought about the matter properly. For this absence means that something became nothing, and that a number diminished into a nix, and the absence of light would inadvertently equate to the end of a shining source of brilliance. So while the fear of something is extremely understandable, it would be absolutely humane to fear the unknown; of subjects above our petty perimeter of knowledge.

In a world in which we are unable to stand alone due to such undying uncertainties, it is for reasons like these that we have the shadows sewed to the bottom of our feet during the day and the heavenly spread that bewitches one’s mind during nightfall, hours in which the light does not exist. But one thing remains clear is that fear, be it of nothing, something or even everything — companionship played and will always play a colossal role. For in the midst of great disquiet, of doubt, it is there the presence of another would ease that emotion, even if it’s only for a little while. Albeit the fact that such a presence is only temporal, one is never left completely alone and unescorted in the dark.

For what other reason then should silver stars exist?

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131.

“She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a cork board like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew.”

— Jerry Spinelli’s Stargirl

129.

Why do people speak in the midst of a breaking?

Waiting for the boom of fireworks, the roar of a thunderclap

By the bedside of possible death, a wave of congratulations

 

Maybe this is it:

That humans have a softness for honesty

To see truth leave one’s trembling lips

To speak the unsayable because that makes it so incredible

 

Yet we fear consequence:

The rejection, the disgust, the ardent whispers turned into despicable shouting

 

We forget that consequence can also have a wellspring of affection:

The leaning of heads, an iron-grip hug, the removing of a dried leaf from one’s hair

 

We are animated dust kicking up a storm

Leaving sunshine and rain wherever we go

Footprints in the sand eventually swallowed by the mighty ocean

In spite of it all we aspire to be more than just this

 

We climb mountains, we search for new horizons

Finding for a place or someone reminding us to simply be

A map lost, and no place to return to

 

Yet one day, there will be a time when you will watch the sunrise reflected in their quiet eyes

Sleepy yawns gently tugging at the consciousness before a dangerous falling in

And when they ask why you have kept your eyes on them this is what you will say:

 

Once upon a time when no one knew

You defied the odds and became the neglected miracle in the dark

In a world filled with incalculable possibilities we are both here

I thank my God a thousand times for this incomparable moment

 

Blush they will, or turn away

Yet the sly sneak peek will show your shadow melting into theirs

This confession coming clear in spite of your speaking in the midst of a seashore breaking

 

Pick up a seashell, more than one

Build small emblems of devotion with driftwood and hard stones

Let them know, let them know, that even as you are playfully carving names in the ground

That their diminutive smile is a compass, mirthful laughter its tracks

A sign that there might be a home to go to

 

There is so much in a glance

Even as it lies wide open or a furtive sneak

There is so much more

110.

Hush now, they say, I see someone in the store. Oh, it’s just a mannequin left unattended. Who cares, we’ll just put her back into the closet where she belongs. Wait, woah! Why is she lashing out? Perhaps she is a robot instead of a mannequin, but they’re all the same.

Women are walking catalogues, don’t feel personally harassed if eyes are watching every moment. If you are wearing white, you’re challenging the rain to make it translucent. Don’t wear skirts that are too short, you know people are waiting for that gust of wind to blow a little too strong. Walk in an alleyway if you dare, pray for it to be empty or else be prepared to be drugged. Girl, don’t be too friendly at the party or you’re flirting with trouble.

When people pinch your bra strap or steal your hair ties, let them get away. It’s a small matter, and as they always say, boys will be boys. Boys tease the girls they like. Feel the sting on the cheek and whisper that it’s okay, sometimes people get mad. The partner always buy roses the next day. Kiss and make up, no?

Keep your mouth shut, it’s not proper for a lady to speak unless they are spoken to. Did I ask you, asks an authority figure angrily. I don’t think, perhaps you will begin to say, but the Mad Hatter says, if you don’t think, then you shouldn’t talk at all.

Pretty one, you should remain a flower on the wall. Walls can’t talk.

You play with gold glitter as a child, scrapbooks messy but grow up with pepper spray simply for wanting to go out alone to watch the midnight dance of a thousand stars. Sometimes it’s beside your pillow as you sleep, for even home is not the safe place you hoped for. Picked locks and rummaged belongings, does privacy even exist anymore. They say that being in a crowd will keep you from harm’s way, such as family reunions and shopping malls. But can you say no to that older relative who insists that you sit on their knee? There are hands that brush too close.

Yet, this is the cry of the lighthouse: (more…)

108.

For this long I’ve been alive, strength sufficient to indent these thoughts in a space semi-tangible. What else can I say but thank you, despite receiving servings both beautiful and ugly, brutally honest and honeyed double.

Moments are all I am, and my memory, no matter how decidedly powerful, cannot serve as an anchor in life’s unpredictable tides. Yet I am aware of the compass from above who leads me on even into unchartered waters. The crown of stars I await in my waking dreams glisten charmingly.

This I know in the voyage: to try and try, to write and write, to love and love even more.

99.

So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?

Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.

In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.

93.

This is a love letter, and it was written for you.

Do not scoff or find it a gimmick, for love is indisputably one of the strongest forces in the universe, if not the most.

Just because there are no names and no descriptions of your face or physique, it does not mean that it is not relevant at all.

If the idea and existence of love in your life is a void now, then take heart.

This piece transcends both space and time, a traveller from the future.

It comes from a place of love deeper than the entire ocean.

Builder, healer, selfless, patiently enduring and gracious.

So many loves, all with their quiet power.

This is a love letter, and it was written for you.

91.

She dreamt of a stranger, his fractional smile a mere flicker before he disappeared over the building’s edge.

This wakes her up, filling her with irrational tension. A haunting peculiar for it is a place never seen before, with a faint touch of the ethereal.

Who are you, she quietly asks with an arm outstretched, but her words are simply mixing with oxygen.

Weeks go by, and it remains a sequence that slips in uninvited from time to time. The same wakefulness will capture her utmost attention, but there is no clue. Until one day, in the most ordinary of ways, she sees him in a street full of people. And mad is she, certainly, to have glimpsed a cordial curl of the mouth?

His gaze averts, and she pursues. Though foolish to endure without reason, she will not be deterred. They arrive on the rooftop, a scene startling alike. His foot leaning by the end of all that is.

She walks slowly, terribly afraid to see that moment. When she is but two steps away, his voice breaks.

Do you trust me? are the words uttered.

Take a deep breath. Nod of the head.

Close your eyes, he murmurs with a faint smile, and she does.

Hands curve themselves and then, the lightness of being. A scream. They are falling into gravity’s coarse arms. There is no comfort in the aforementioned thought.

He whispers against her ear, believe.

And believe, believe in facing the unknown courageously and this is when they fly upwards by the spread of his wings. Her eyes widen.

You’ve always been too afraid to face the end of your dream, he says with a gentle smile. And now you finally know.

73.

Bewildered by beauty, I gave broken pieces and You built me a palace of glass.

You remind me of my inheritance, that the shine of the heirloom on my head is a symbol of Your interminable love.

Lift your eyes, my child, are the words You gently whisper, for often I forget to stop staring at my damaged feet and instead to sight endless glory.

What else can I do, but to always try my best to grasp the depth of Your faultless love?