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Wednesday, June 18, 2014

What is this loneliness you speak of

I think I should start being prepared to tread this world on my own.

I feel lonely as it is already here in Malaysia this semester, and I frankly don't know how I'll fare when I get to the States. It seems as if every second of the day is spent looking for something valid to fill the next undertaken one, and it surely is daunting.

I really don't know why I'm suddenly saying all this. Maybe it's because I'm listening to Gem Club, which God knows can incite weird, trance-like and emotional vibes within my veins. Or maybe it's because I'm starting to realize that every step I take in life has mostly been taken alone, and I'm afraid of growing up because I won't have anyone to hold onto anymore. Or maybe it's just the aftermath of discovering a best friend's current romantic and secure attachment; and realizing that I'll lose him soon. I can't single out any one of these factors and name them the culprit of these emotional strings, but I know they still tie me to the past and I have yet to relieve myself of them.

A part of me wants to run to my parents and tell them I love them and that I want to spend time with them. I don't want to be alone in these next six months, in spite of the fact that I see them every single day and yet I barely say a word to them. I don't want to leave home, I just want to go back to being three years old all over again where I had the happiest days of my life, evoking mischief and being forced to take a nap. These days it seems as if every word I write comes with a tear, and I just cannot bring myself to physically admit that I am weak and falling apart inside.

Each Coming Night by Iron & Wine,

Each coming night is filled with football madness; trying damn hard not to curse at lousy football players (such irony), checking Instagram at half-time to keep awake and largely, prying my stubborn and sleepy eyes open for the sake of using the odd-houred match as conversational currency. I feel empty, really. I open the bible on some days to find nothing, and other days I hear the Holy Spirit speaking to me ever so loudly and allowing me to inspire and minister to others. But the fact remains that I do have days where I feel infinitely alone and miserable because I am a workaholic and there is nothing worthy of my attention or action.

And yet I am happy that he has found someone, and that that someone has found him too. I am glad that they are both in love, although I'm not sure what to make of it. I also think people overrate my responses to the nth degree, thinking that because I am known infinitely for my temper, its intensity must override every other area in my life. I really am not amused these days. I know far too much than I should, and sometimes I wish I didn't. Sometimes I wish I was stupid, I wish I was silly, and that I would love, and love, and love, and love, and love, and love, and love and love until I could love no more. I want to give and give and give and give and give and give and give and give and give and give until I have nothing left to leave you with.

I have tried to love so much that I am growing tired. Ironically you can derive tired from tried. But that does not amuse me at all. No it doesn't.

I'm trying to sort out this poetry thing but it's not working out. Is this a work of prose, or is this poetry? Or is this semi-prose or semi-poetry? How can one tell? What does my work resemble? Can I even consider this to be a work of literature? An ongoing and unstoppable force, a silly and strewn about mess in my head. I am lost, and I am found. I need Jesus.

I think I have listened to too much ambient indie music. Spotify, please go away. I need good sleep. I need love. I need my parents and I need my family. I don't want to be alone.

I need Jesus. I need you, God. I NEED YOU.

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