I Have Travelled 6,600 Miles Away

I have travelled 6,600 miles away from all I knew before. From the familiar lifestyle and culture. From the familiar food and roads and places. From everything I had left behind from my life there before. But I have travelled so far and possibly found myself back again at square one.

I arrived here and cried wretched tears that night. Bitter, wretched tears that poured out of a broken heart, spurred on my memories of what was supposed to be and reminders of what was. I took one look around and descended into a puddle of sobs.

As the days went by and the week ended, I was asked the question of whether I missed home. And somehow to my surprise I found that the answer was no. Within 7 days I had managed to start running again. Because back home was where I sank into the comfort of my daily routines and built around myself a comfort zone consisting of my daily activities and distractions. I wrapped myself in my routine like a blanket and hid. I pursued distractions like it was going out of style. And I left it all to oblivion. I hid from everything in the comfort of my familiar routines. And upon arriving here, I was wrenched out of that comfort zone, out of that routine and the warm blanket I had curled up and hid in for so long. The pain was real and raw and brought about the tears like those of a baby from a womb but burdened by more than just the shock and cold of the new world.

As the week went by since I was forced to shed my protective emotional blanket, I realized that now back home felt and seemed like the past to me. It was where I hid, where I curled up into a ball and hid and sank desperately into my comfort zone and my routines. Burrowing desperately to seek some reprieve from something no place or routine could truly give.

I didn't wanna go back to the place where I hid and burrowed so desperately seeking comfort. The memory of it depressed me, the haplessness, the desperation, I wanted to turn away from it all. And I wanted to look outwards, further ahead to future and better things. But then I realized, my time here in this place is short. Regardless of whether I like it or not, staying would be a difficult option. Work is difficult to find, and I would only be here for one year depending on various external factors and circumstances. And with that realization, I felt like there was nothing I could look forward to either.

So then I felt lost. Untethered by either a pull or a desire to go back to where I was, but not led or pulled forward by a dream, a hope or an intention. I felt lost, floating freely, un-anchored and adrift. Some would call it freedom. One could also call it a lack of direction. I didn't know where to turn for truly in that moment, all that existed was truly just today. No yesterday, no tomorrow, only today.

To a certain extent I wondered. Was it better to have longed for home since it tethers one to something and gives you something to hold on to, a certainty and a constant, as opposed to this directionless drifting in an ether of uncertainty and confusion.

Love brings us to funny places in the end.

I thought I had run and was running away from what had tethered me to the sorrow and the heartbreak that pervaded my life back there where I left. But it occurred to me the other day. I was running. I was still running. And I'd probably continue running. That wasn't the way. Because it doesn't matter where you go and what new life one carves out for oneself wherever one is. You can't run away from what's inside of you.

Fallout.

We all sat in a circle on individual arm chairs, and we all sat in silence.

I could feel the quiet buzzing in the air, an electric tingle and prickle as I sat down and took in all that has come to pass. How things have changed. And I, for one, was stunned silent.

Mademoiselle sat languishing in shadow, the silver wisps curling slowly from her stick. The shiny black heels less shiny, the powerful polished veneer chipped and cracked at the surface. All that was once stark and bright about her seemed to have gone. The dominance and the certainty, faded into a mere shade and where it once gleamed like polished steel, now just seemed weak and plastic.

I looked over to where Missy sat, her head in her hands and the shine of tears in her eyes as she looked up at us both. The sun gleamed over her hair like a halo, illuminating every inch of her, bathing her in a warm golden glow. Such brilliance and I looked on sadly as a single tear fell from her eyes and slid down her cheek, dripping from her chin to land on her t-shirt.

I knew why she was crying. And why Mademoiselle looked on in silence. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing I could do. At least, I didn't think.

"What am I going to do?" Missy whimpered softly.

I squinted slightly as I looked at her, the glow too bright. Too bright.

"Mademoiselle, do something," she pleaded. Even her name fell flat on the tongue and ears.

Mademoiselle sighed and sat up, "There is nothing I can do Missy."

Missy shrank back into her halo and I felt a loss of control. Like things were out of my hands and they were slipping. Slipping every which way and where. Well, maybe they were. The strings I used to pull, that were taut in my grasp and that I manoeuvered swiftly and easily were now gone. As I looked down, feeling the absence of their familiar tension in my palms. It was all up in the air now. How had we come so far?

I looked at Missy, as she stared back at us with a slightly bewildered look in her eyes. She had never been in the spotlight this much before, in such a way and thus had never known the full extent of her potential. Neither had I. And as a result, I was reeling from the discovery. I looked down again and felt the familiar pang of my loss of control; and the bewilderment that followed it. Maybe once day we will all move out of this shock.

"We're learning quite a few things about ourselves aren't we," I intoned flatly.

"To put it lightly," Mademoiselle said weakly as she exhaled a thin stream that shot into the air and floated languidly, thinning out into nothing.

"I'm sorry guys... I'm sorry," Missy trembled and hugged herself, seemingly making herself smaller even as she glowed brilliantly against the sunlight. She looked particularly guiltily at Mademoiselle, sitting half-obscured in the shade.

I sat quietly, contemplating all that I have discovered. We had all learned much and all of us, had learned things we didn't like about ourselves.

"I can't believe I did all that. It was so disgraceful. I didn't know I could be so pathetic," Missy wept softly.

Until today I hadn't believed that Mademoiselle could fade so much into the shadows either. We surprise ourselves sometimes.

"It's ok Missy... It is what it is," I said resignedly.

"We all are weak in different ways," I continued. "And maybe you are weak, but so are we. There are things we all can't do."

We were all missing something. That's why we needed each other.

"Letting you take control was a disaster," Mademoiselle spat bitterly.

Missy turned away as silent tears coursed down.

"Look, she loved him and that's why we let her take over. It was a good thing," I said soothingly.

Mademoiselle just crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked hard at the both of us. "I told you nothing good would come out of it. Nothing."

I nodded, "Yes, it failed. But it was something that had to be tried." "Don't take it so hard, both of you."

Mademoiselle sniffed and turned away, taking a drag as she lounged on her seat. Missy just sighed heavily and bent forward, putting her head in her hands again as she tried to blot out the blinding light that was on her. But at least, she had stopped crying.

"We were in a rut before and now we're in a rut after," Mademoiselle muttered angrily. "I told you, her influence is degrading and destructive."

I glanced over at Missy who just sat there and stared solemnly at the ground, looking for all the world as if she agreed. But that was Missy.

"No, Mademoiselle, \" I sighed as I looked around at my friends who I have not seen in a few years. "We need her and you know it."

"I just say her decisions are unwise, that's all," she sniffed stubbornly.

"Yes, they may be unwise. But sometimes they're just the decisions we have to make," I said.

Perspective.

I have done many things that I regret in my relationship. And now when I look back on it I wonder. Was I really that person? Was I so comfortable in it that that was the real me?

Looking back now I can't seem to believe it. But perspective shifts. And now it has shifted back to a place I haven't been in 2 years. And it is with a heavy heart that I look back at the things that I have done. The way I behaved.

I was good. I was plenty good. And no one is without flaw. I recognize that. And I am not aiming to be perfect. Just sometimes I feel like I was foolish. I behaved rather foolishly. Rather immaturely. But maybe that is who I am.

I was a different person. So different now and then. Perspective changes.

~ When the wind is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case. I could offer you a warm embrace, to make you feel my love ~

Why Do I Write Now?

I haven't written in a long, long time. Why do I write now? Is it because I have fallen so far that I have resorted to previous haunts to sort myself out somehow? Does my subconscious feel desperate enough to reach out into any foothold it can grab onto be it something outdated and found in the habits of the past?

Why did I not write then? Why did I stop? ... Maybe it was because I was happy. And happiness does not need an outlet. It just leaks out of every single thing you do, like barely contained rays of light. Because happiness is not a lonely thing; it is not confined to the solitary spaces of your mind where they fester and beg for an outlet that is not so personal yet personal enough. Hence, writing.

Why was I reluctant to continue? Why did I associate writing as an act of the fallen? Maybe because I did not like the darker spaces of my mind it brings me to. The sordid, melancholy, convoluted spaces where ideas twist and form into something that looks nice on paper but not in experience.
Maybe because I am disgusted by the habits and the mentality brought on by this activity of writing. Makes us feel like we are smarter. Makes us feel more superior somehow and in that we dwell, whether we know it or not because the expression in written form is a skill that must be good to possess. Makes us overthink things and in doing so, keeps us writing about it, thinking about it, instead of feeling it. Feeling in its purest form, uncontained by mastery of language, no matter how fluent.
Maybe I associate it all with darker days. Days when my written word was my only companion and listening shoulder for I felt like I had no one to talk to and no one to share with. Maybe it reeks of that sense of loneliness I carried around with me like a cloud and I don't want to admit that it's back. The heavy, oppressive disconnection.

Then why do I write now? God knows. Why do I write now? Because I suffer a broken heart which is while insignificant, is significant enough in the history of any man's life.

Why is there even a chance that this time could be different? There is no chance. I highly doubt that it's any different this time,

So why am I cataloguing insanity this time? Because I let one person open the floodgates and open up a very dangerous part of a person. Especially dangerous to one who has stupidly decided to seal theirs for whatever insane, cowardly reason there was. I let it happen and it happened and I changed. I became someone else and while I cannot be sure that someone else is a good someone else, or even an improvement from the previous, the changes happened and I just rolled with it. It was a good place. It was a nice, safe place to be where while one may still have one's problems, it was a good, safe place to try to fix them. In the embrace of a welcoming and understanding influence. Where one feels accepted and loved.
But it ended. And now everything is clattering in there because the one string that held them all together, the new improvements, the one thing that made them made sense and seem worthwhile has been snapped and everything clatters around in the mess. Where do I find what belongs where and how do I put it all back together in a good and coherent manner? Especially when the mess is so large and unprecedented that I trip all over myself trying to sort things out.

So why do I write now? God knows. Maybe I just need a way to help myself.

I learned today. That love can be difficult.

I learned today. That love can be difficult.

It is not the ideal that we write, sing and talk about or hear, watch and read about. I don't know if it ever was or if it ever will be.

Not to say that love isn't all those things and more. I'm just focusing on the "and more" part. Because it is not the ideal when we take a closer look at all the "sordid details". That's why they're called sordid details. They just ruin the ideal somewhat.

And love being an abstract concept, cannot logically, be blamed. It's a beautiful thing. It gives joy, meaning and humanity.

But it can't be the ideal. Because we are only human. And misunderstandings happen. Problems happen. Oversight happens. Life happens.

We sail past each other every day like two ships passing in the night, and where things get lost is where the missing pieces of the ideal go. We see what we want to see, what our paranoid minds tell us to see, what our truthful hearts tell us we must see. And in those gaps of understanding, where we misunderstand each other, where the heartache happens and the blame runs either way; where it is so that each story has two sides to it. That is where the ideal fails to materialize. And that is where the missing pieces go.

Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing.

We sat in silence around the wooden coffee table, each not really looking at the other. The tension hung heavily in the air as we somehow avoided each others' gaze, choosing instead to survey the wallpaper, the chai mug, or in Missy's case, the exit door instead of the others.

Mademoiselle sat languidly, still as a thin tendril of smoke curled tiredly up from her stick, poised unenthusiastically near the floor from equally unenthusiastic fingers, her expression tired and drawn.

Missy hunched into herself, quietly, her gaze fixed on the unmoving mug and I looked consequently from the table, to the wallpaper, to the wallpaper on the other end of the room, back to the table and so on. Finally, I took a deep breath and broached the question that waited expectantly but which none of us were too eager to discuss. I myself for one, did not know where to start.

"Do you think we're in over ourselves?" I asked.

Mademoiselle sighed but said nothing. Missy lips turned down in a sad frown and she looked like she was about to cry.

I sighed. "Look, this does not have to be difficult. We can work things out. What're we doing here?"

More silenced. I waited impatiently as the seconds ticked by. I did not like the waiting, the uncertainty. My impatience grew till I moved restlessly in my chair and the others must've sensed it. We all knew we had important matters to discuss.

"We may just be," Mademoiselle admitted at long last, raising her hand to rub her forehead slowly.

Missy just wimpered and looked sad.

"Sometimes I wish I was back to where I was, when I made decisions solely for myself and I considered no one in making them," Mademoiselle said. "I'm not cut out for this. Maybe I've gone too long without, but I for one was happy where I was. You on the other hand..." She looked at Missy.

Missy looked up and said softly, "I felt like I needed it. It was just something that was never there, always missing."

"But I suppose it's caused us more misery than it has joy hasn't it?" I offered at last.

"Well if it causes this much misery, why have we not let go then? Relinquished it and went back to the way we were?" Mademoiselle asked pointedly.

Missy looked in agony over the turmoil of emotions within her. She hadn't the answer for it, and she knew that. They turned to me.

I hated it. I absolutely despised it so. The helplessness, feeling like I was stuck in the rut all over again, only of a different kind this time. Cycling through one rut after another, never really finding peace and solace anywhere that didn't yield to the battering of doubt, despair and uncertainty.

"Because we know it could be good. It usually is. For other people. Just that somehow, it cannot be for us. Not now. Not yet perhaps. And we are now afraid to go without it, having had it. It's just that sort of an addictive thing isn't it. Maybe it's the idea, planted by so many years of conditioning or maybe it is the truth of the human condition, but we just cannot really live without it. Some might be able to. We aren't ready to take that leap off. We are afraid, we are as always, uncertain but despairing at the way things are turning out and going about."

They both looked at me. "So what do we do now?" Missy asked.

"We soldier on. And maybe someday soon, we'll find a way to deal with it and we'll be all the more better for it. This upheaval, it is strange, it is unusual, and it is highly uncomfortable. But we must choose to believe that in the end, it will all lead to something good," I answered.

We've always had our set ways, all of us. And nothing had changed in a long, long time. I suppose when it did, we all just didn't know how to deal with it without getting lost within and without ourselves and losing ourselves. But things have to change, and in general, most would say they have for the better. It is a good change. A positive change. One cannot stay stuck in that same stage of life forever. So reluctantly sometimes, we all move forward. And we stumble, and we fall. Some more than others. But I do hope we will find our bearings and stand proud and sure again soon. We most certainly will.

On Weighing The Pros And Cons Of Denial.

It has always been a given, that denial is bad for the situation. And it does nothing to heal only to make things worse. And as a general rule, yes I do agree. It's true and it makes sense.

But there comes a time, when you see denial in quite a different light. It's a subtle experience, this. The time when you feel the fear creeping in and you don't wanna admit it. When you get the silly notion that somehow admitting to it will only confirm it and make it all the more real. Maybe if I ignore it, it'll just go away or it'll never actually fully form and materialize.

I refer to it here in particular to thoughts and feelings. Does writing it down and/or saying it out make it all the more real and encourage it to shape and take form? Does acknowledging it means closing the door behind you and creating a point of no return per se? Does it make a difference not to then?

This of course, is denial. You fear feeling it so much that you just don't wanna admit it to yourself. So does not actually talking about it or really acknowledging it keep the door open for you step back to the safe zone before you started getting these pesky thoughts and feelings? Or is the door closed anyway the moment you realized or suspected that this is what you're thinking or feeling?

I guess it depends on who you are then. On how you function. It seems this way that denial, effective denial might actually be a skill. That if you're really good enough at it, then you might just be able to make it as if you never even thought about it in the first place and sidestep all the possible inconveniences that might occur.

Very useful skill to have, I must say. Hmmm... Interesting. *shrugs* I had hoped to be able to come to a conclusion on this, but I suppose all I have right now is a hypothesis.

The hypothesis being, if you're really that good at the art of denial then, yeah it might actually be beneficial because it'll actually serve the purpose it was meant to serve in the first place. But if you're not quite so adept at it, then the hell, it makes no difference. See, this is where it gets complicated. The moment you realized it was when you stepped past the point of no return, and no amount of supressing it or talking about it is gonna really make it go away. BUT, talking about it, discussing it freely and announcing it to the world and to yourself might give you the feeling that you're free now to expand on this feeling that you wanted nothing to do with in the first place. And that might lead to actually encouraging it. So... Acknowledgement is ok, in moderation? Oh shit.

Now that didn't really make things any simpler now did it? *smiles*