These Memories – Hollow Coves

I was an asshole.

These days,.. today, I am less of an asshole.

This, is my truth.

This, is as closely real as I can be.

 

I am flawed,

and we all are.

However, despite of it all, I can unequivocally choose to be — all the more generous towards myself about the fact that I will never be perfect.

I can always choose to self-correct, learn, unlearn, and adapt.

…

All i can say is,

I can promise a tenuous, continuous, graceful Shift.

Period.

Taking from David Hume,”Be a philosopher, but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.”

 

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Before you read any further, I just want to say that I am not proud of writing this.

And, as far as, the WHY I am bringing this today is concerned; It is solely because I need to spill the beans evenly on the table.

For the sake of better clarity. For the sake of justice in unjustness, fairness on unfair bias-ness.

For the sake of impartiality, and more importantly to move on. 

I have, have to let the words flow; have, have to let the feelings follow.

.    .    .

I must be the legend of the break-ups.

A Picaso of ‘Letting  go ‘ sorts.

I confess, I have had many failed relationships, so..… many.

Sure, I broke hearts. Seemingly, manipulated with feelings and just walked away without a scratch.

And for all intents and purposes & inhumanely, in all likelihood — no fucks given. 

This, this right here, presumably could be one version, the one side of the story, isn’t it?

Perhaps yours’ side.

And Theirs.

.    .    .

On the other hand or say, what about —  I have justly swallowed the pain that the deafening vacuum, the pleased misunderstandings, the mocking dilemmas and the ill allegations had swimmingly created.

What about lugging all the weighing judgements, the criticisms, the hard slap of uncooked blames and opinions, however, still walking & wandering the empty aisle, in restless, utter silence. Not to mention, what about the badly wailing, waiting me, in hopes of the day to arrive whenin, i could recuperate from The End Of The ‘Moving On’ Game, once and for all.

 

p.s. not blaming anybody here, not even trying to justify myself.

More or less, unpacking all the condensed emotions and denuding vulnerability.

Lastly, to those who left the thread of my life, remember, you are all beautiful, beautiful
   souls here.   

For all one knows, It might just be, the fault in our stars thing.

Vale.

🙂 🙂

 

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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.

—

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