dolorous interludes.

i bask in my security of possessing nothing.

The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery, we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity.

And it is with this that I write tonight, something that I haven’t done for awhile because happiness is difficult to articulate; the state of contentment and mild joys have filled my days with pleasant solitude, save for those moments where I am physically singular, but not alone- a result of the occasional delightful conversations I have with various close ones. With immense spaces of time (despite the exams) for thought and reflection, my mind recalls, rather flurriedly, phantoms from the past (and perhaps there never is a past because the past so often haunts us in the midst of our present day affairs that we cannot truly confess to have sealed old photographs for good): lovers who were faithful, lovers who abandoned, lovers who renounced love for faith, amorphous lovers, and amorous lovers. Pockets of memories plague me when a familiar song plays, or when I see a bus that reminds of you, or when I indulge in a dish you used to love, or when I wear an old t-shirt of yours, or when I travel west and see your tangerine home; Singapore is simply too small for forgetting even if I tried. Yet, even in the dark of unabashed throes of agonizing anger, helpless resignation, and tearful whims, I am unable to steel my heart from Love.

I digressed. I took my eyes away from this glaring screen for a second and clarity returns, displacing hazy, misty, old thoughts that should have long been kept aside; hints of halcyon days ahead have kept me holding on to what I want for myself now- to retain this inner calm and to be mindful of the demons that exist even in the best of us. Even worldly love has transformed itself into something perhaps less exciting, less passionate, less intense, but definitely more rewarding when one strives towards that love that 1 Corinthians speaks of.

I ache for this one stable love indeed, but before I do find it, there are a couple of things I first need to do. Steadfast: word for the year.

posted by voyeur @ 4/29/2005 03:29:00 AM