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Drowned in my own beseeched voice.

Sol LeWitt to Eva Hesse – Read by Benedict Cumberbatch


Halfway through the year of 2017.

What an amazing 182 days of every day.

On this occasion, allow me to reveal one secret story behind my continuous vent and friendship with this blog. 

It all started with a loss, the loss of home, the loss of heart.

After an unexpected, terrible breakup, I needed the most sensible way to stop crying those meaningless, abdominal tears. I needed to re-learn the faculty of love, laughter, and living once again.

I needed a pious, plain, precarious, precious perspective of what had happened, why it happened when it happened. But mostly, I needed to decide where would I let it drift me — to the shore for the next big adventure or rather settle in for that one easy resort, that mighty, the tiny, the tight trash corner.

As words talked to me, as they slowly fill in my notebook, pages after pages — I reckon my luggage, the pain, the larva of rubbish ideas, once pulling, plummeting, penetrating me had turned lighter, a least pain-in-the-butt hole, a water liquid slipping off from me. Words rescued my feeble lost self with grace, gratification, and an astounding generosity.

Writing saved me!

Honestly, I don’t care if my grammar, the words, sentences, plots are imperfect. I never cared about likes and comments. I never really cared if someone read what I wrote; cursed, agreed, disagreed, validated, whatever. All I wanted was to save myself from my own thoughts. Except for that I didn’t care anything a darn dime.

I am,… I was so drowned in my own beseech-ed, belittled, beloved, riveted, ragged, and the real voice.

And, still, I am so sorry because I want to be here for myself, only myself and very selfishly, mostly because for the moment no one dares, cares and only rare will..

Looking back, today I am proud of myself and know and feel and comprehend and reassure and digest that I have gained so so much from that gigantic, pity loss.

As Sol LeWitt (September 9, 1928–April 8, 2007) offers in a spectacular 1965 letter to the trailblazing sculptor Eva Hesse.

“You belong in the most secret part of you. Don’t worry about cool, make your own uncool.”

I am fine with my ferreting, freckling impulse.

p.s. an unsolicited advice — let’s all be fine with our each other’s unique self.

Let us all save ourself first before anything, anyone else.