the art of letting go

being a grown up
the super ego prevails
heartbreak of the id

Good with words

I love listening. I used to think that listening was more important than talking, that I talked to get people in a position so I could listen to them. With a certain kind of arrogance, I used to think that being good with words is knowing when silence, when listening, is more important than what you have to say. Being good with words, is looking through the unique turns of phrase or accents that each person has, and being able to understand what they are saying, and empathise with what they actually mean.

With time, I realised that the obvious was true: being good with language wasn't just about listening, but about talking. I wished I had a more engaging charisma, a more appealing timbre and accent - to be the kind of person who actually could engage people with my insightful words of comfort, or witty repartee, or dramatic tales, or effortless small talk. Instead, I'm the kind of awkward that can't even finish the punchline to my own joke before cracking up.

I realise now that being good with language just isn't about having the widest vocabulary or the most lyrical turn of phrase. It isn't about having an appealing vocal timbre, or enunciating all your ending consonants. Being good with words is knowing what to say in love, just as the good book says (1 Cor 13:1). Being good with words is knowing what to say to make someone else understanding you, to get on board with you. You might not have to use big words or fancy high-falutin' phrases, and in fact you most probably won't have to. What you do need to do is know the other person well enough. You need to know what words to say to so they understand, not your words, but your meaning.

With time, and as it turns out, with almost with no bearing on language at all, I realise that in the best relationships, being understood is just as valuable, and important as understanding. Yet with sadness, I realise that may never exist.

Dialectical: Hide/Seek

Is face value too skin deep?

Or do I need to psychoanalyse?

Should I trust my instincts?

Just dive in?

Drowning babies won't survive

while doubting Thomas dithers five.

Doctors hide behind diagnostic labels

and paternalistic care disguise.
Patients hide behind false confidence:
Doctor, doctor, yes, I'm fine -
but when the truth gets out,
instead of empathy,
the doctors try to hide

And there's 

nothing I can do
but learn from other doctors,
learn how to hide

behind paperwork,
and behind-the-scenes condescension,

We avoid lawsuits,

and avert blame.

When all I want to do 

is hold you,

tell you I'm sorry,

you're wanted,

please don't hurt yourself,

please don't try to die.

Song of solitude

(A crooner)

Those that I have loved
have never loved me back -
If you love me, let me go,
they say. In old romantic movies
people always come back 
in the end. Out in real life
no one ever comes back.

Silence never leaves me
Solitude's breath is ever on my neck
Smiles and laughter deceive me
into thinking there is nothing that I lack.

Thousand Islands

So I sit in swells of solitude
as the current says goodbye.
each of us marooned 
in our own lot 
in a Thousand Islands -
in constructs of wood,
encased in stone,
or seated bopping up and down
on a dinghy, one of many
festooning the shore.

Those that I have loved
have never loved me back
in quite the same way.
Better to have lost in love
than never to have loved at all
they say, but they don't say
both leave you, leave you lonely.

Silence never leaves me
Solitude's breath is ever on my neck
Smiles and laughter deceive me not -
for the something that I lack.

Words unsaid

We want to say 'I forgive you'.  We want to say 'I understand'.  We want to say 'I know you've been through a lot, and I get that'.  We want to say 'I'm sorry'.  We want to say those three words.

But these words rise up inside of us and get caught at the back of the throat, like a fishbone that refuses to be coughed up or swallowed down.  Instead we say something easier, hoping that by the slightest of changes in attitude, like by being slightly nicer to someone, or by sharing our problems with a third party, somehow, the other person will know how we feel.

People say that it's pride that gets in the way.  But sometimes it's just the awkwardness of saying something as if out of the blue.  It's the fear that in expressing a sentiment, you might find yourself unable to follow through.  It's having experienced something together, but not knowing how to deal.  It's seeing the person, and not knowing what to do.

Love like a double-edged sword.

'There's a reason I said I'd be happy alone. It wasn't 'cause I thought I'd be happy alone. It was because I thought if I loved someone and then it fell apart, I might not make it. It's easier to be alone. Because what if you learn that you need love and then you don't have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It's like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever.' 

- Meredith, Grey's Anatomy Season 7 Ep 22

Constantly torn between the romanticism of love and the reality of it.  One minute, one day, one moment in time, you're filled with the possibility of love.  The next, reality hits you in the face and you realise its impossibility.

So I face reality, and I realise that as much as I make out of my friendships, there is a gap between my ideal of friendship, and the reality of what kind of friend I can be.  We're supposed to feel, then think, then act accordingly.  But there's a gap.  A gap I wish I could fold like a piece of paper to make two ends meet, but I can't.  

Then, there's the gap between what I make out of the friendship, and what my friend makes out of the friendship.  We all have different ideas of intimacy.  There's always an imbalance somehow.  And as much as I'd like to bridge the distance that exists between one person and another, there's a gap.  A gap I wish I could fold like a piece of paper to make two friends meet, but I can't.  I'd rather not break the ice if we both get caught on the shards.

Meredith: We are not better! [pause] Cristina, a psychiatrist given several opportunities has deemed me unfit to do my job.

Cristina: Well he'll get over it, just go back in a couple of days.

Meredith: You are not better!

Cristina: Well, in a couple of days I'll be better too.

Meredith: In a couple of days you'll be married.

Cristina: Are you trying to talk me out of this?

Meredith: Look at me and tell me you're sure.

Cristina: Okay, you know what? You don't get to do this. All you get to do, is help me break the tie between the lilies of the valley and the peonies. That's it.

Meredith: No, I do get to do this. Derek is the love of my life, but you're my soulmate. I do get to do this. I mean, why can't it wait six months? Your flowers aren't going anywhere! You broke up with him because he couldn't choose you. Just why does it have to be right now?

Cristina: I think, I think you should tell Derek about the miscarriage.

Meredith: We are talking about you.

Cristina: We are talking about us not being better? Then you need to tell him.

Meredith: He's not ready. He's not okay.

Cristina: You're not okay! You should tell him!

---

Cristina: I never gave you any crap about your post-it.

Meredith: You look beautiful.

Cristina: I know. How's Owen? Is he good?

Meredith: Owen's perfect. He's perfect.

Cristina: Thank you.

- Grey's Anatomy Season 7, Ep 1

If only life was the way they portray it on television.  To have the soulmate, the friend who sticks closer than a brother (Pv 18:24).  To have the kind of friend you can crawl into bed with at the end of the day, and be welcome, even when they're married.  To have sentiments toward each other that are equally reciprocated.  But reality is that such friendships don't exist beyond the silver screen.

And if I already feel that way about my friendships, what of love? What is love?

They say it is better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all.  But if all I feel is an emptiness that belies my sense of loss, maybe I've never really loved at all.  Maybe, I never will.

There's a reason I said I'd be happy alone. It wasn't 'cause I thought I'd be happy alone.

Paper/cuts\

Where the wor/l\d/s
daggered, jagge(re)d edges gently cut -
sublime douleur exquis!
        Perhaps too close to the bone.

S/witch worlds for word/s erration
The pain on
        pane of\f/
                     Frostian glass\flash of light pierced up- /
                  on the darkened ash-filled fireplace re-
       flecks off/on\ the burnt-out soul.

---

As I trudged home today, I noticed the bark moulting from the trees.  The smooth white veneer above was tearing away, strip by strip, to reveal the jagged, browned unevenness below.   Thus laid bare, the trees seemed wearied with the pain of growth.

I don't know, but it seems to me that growing up feels so much like giving up on your dreams.  It seems like the more you learn, the more you lose.  And I feel as though I've lost so much of my life that the rest of it barely seems worth fighting for.

Fed up of the endless feeling of angst, of frust.  Fed up of seeing the hopelessness and the helplessness of life - the fallen, sinful nature of man, magnified in chains of action and reactions - reflected images disrupt on shards of glass.  Full up on being fed up.