rocket

rocket · Trimis: 28/03/2008 22:33�� Titlul subiectului: rocket

Serendipity

I was once asked a question. At first, I found it to be simple, quite silly, actually. But as it happened, the answer didn't come to me immediately, which irked me a little, so I quickly labeled the question as ridiculous. I mean, who in their right mind would ask you what your favorite word is?

I took time and thought about it. No word had popped into my mind, and I was confused. I thought all I had to think about was what I like - if I love the thing the word defines, it has to be my favorite word, right? The first word I thought of was 'wolf'. However, I reasoned, that's my favorite animal, and not my favorite word. I didn't have to reflect much longer to find an answer: twilight. It was my favorite time of day, and I had already compared life to twilight once. My answer was given and I found myself moderately satisfied with it.

It wasn't until later, during an English class, that I was first faced with this word. It caught my attention right away. I had no idea what it meant, but I decided I would look it up. Naturally, by the time I arrived home, I had completely forgotten the word, or even having heard it that day. But it had already left its traces in my mind and my soul, and the second time I heard it, I could not forget it anymore. The first thing I did was look it up.

ser�en�dip�i�ty (sěr'ən-dĭp'ĭ-tē)

1. The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.
2. The fact or occurrence of such discoveries.
3. An instance of making such a discovery.

I took an instant liking to it. Maybe I liked the way it sounded, or maybe I was aware of the naivety of my new found belief, that something like that could occur, not only to others, but also to me. There was no conscious decision for it to be my favorite word. It just was.

I met you.
_________________
We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.

rocket rocket

rocket · Trimis: 28/03/2008 22:37�� Titlul subiectului:

Memoryless

Excited voices reach my ears as I leave the depths of my personal musings and rejoin reality for a moment.

"Do you remember when that teacher... ?"

The small group of people, laughing delightedly, seem to have retreated from the real world themselves.

"Memories... how I despise them."

Only one pair of eyes turns to me, intrigued.

"It might seem peculiar to you, my obvious dislike towards them. In the end, it is a widespread fact that memories add up to the very essence of who we are."

You believe that, don't you? Your previous encounters and undergoes dictate how you should act in a situation, one you may or may not have faced before, you react according to knowledge you have obtained in the past, during the span of your life. We are the sum of our life experience - thus, memories make us who we are.

"But what if I do not like my memories, and what if I do not like who I am?"

A small furrow of eyebrows, mirroring the disagreement tinging the eyes. The voice seems almost as soft as they are.

"You are intelligent, are you not? You grant yourself that much. You do it because you believe you are a better person now, that you possess the ability to learn from your mistakes. And still, you call those mistakes bad memories, and do not like to recall them. You only treasure good memories, the times when you felt happy and contented. How you wish to forget the bitter moments of your life, even though it is them who build your character and from whom you learn the most."

I try to think back - yesterday, one month ago, six years ago. My memories are vague, as if they were a boring book I once read, a long time ago.

"Cherish your memories. They are often the very reason you continue to fight when you think you cannot go on any further, they bring your friends close to you when you fell loneliest. They make you smile in the toughest moments, when it seems that all your dreams are coming undone, they give you hope when things are not going the way you planned."

It is I who frowns in protest this time, trying to turn away from the mesmerizing stare, yet it holds me captive, hypnotized almost.

"Well, maybe it is not quite so. All those memories, labeled by you as good, are glimpses of a perfect world we can never know, they are nothing but small pieces of pure joy, like the shards of a broken mirror, bringing seven years of bad luck. Thus, I let them fade, and they obey, leaving only their shadows behind."

A small, warm smile greets my silly views.

"Think. Think of anything, of everything. Let your thoughts run free, the way you only sometimes allow them to. Are they not all memories? It is because you cannot remember the future, and the present turns into the past with each passing second. We all live in our pasts. Yet you must also learn to live with yours, and not in fear of it."

Breaking the hold of the gaze, I let go of reality again, and begin to sink back into my thoughts, away from searching eyes.

I forget. I forget the color of that classroom's walls, I forget the slight sparkle of stars on a clear night. I forget the cowardice and the courage, the streets of Vienna, the mountains of Scarisoara... the certainty that you love me.

I am memoryless.
_________________
We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.

rocket rocket

rocket · Trimis: 28/03/2008 22:39�� Titlul subiectului:

Twilight

Imagine a world, far away from everything you know, yet where everything seems so familiar. It is everywhere, yet nowhere. Here, time exists, but does not matter. A world where every day is always a warm, cloudless paradise, filling your heart with the joys you have always longed for, and every night is a clear myriad of constellations and planets dazzling your eyes, lulling you to sleep in a soft, comforting light. A valley, surrounded by high hills, trees dyed in autumn colors, a quiet little place. Peaceful.

What I enjoy most is just sitting on a bench on a clear, sunny day, closing my eyes and just thinking. I never stop thinking, because I do not need to, not even when enjoying something - I do not have to. Nothing manages to surprise me in this world, not anymore. Everything what needs to be known, I know, and any other information is just like a side note.

The warm rays, making me feel so contented now, are the energy produced by the chemical reactions in the solar system body we call the sun, the byproduct of nuclear fusions. The bench I am sitting on is made out of birch wood, from a tree that had been transported in a factory and cut into boards, then brought here and nailed together to cauzează a form that is comfortable to sit on.

I open my eyes and watch the dark green grass bend in the slightly cool wind. They look like the calm waves of the sea on a clear day, and I almost feel as if I were on a boat, drifting quietly across the open waters.

I am quite fond of this dark nuance of green, which the grass owes to chlorophyll, even though I am aware that it is caused by the plant slowly drying out. That is due to the planet's inclined rotation axis to its orbital plane, which causes the change in seasons, and the coolness of the gust of air is induced by the difference in atmospheric pressure.

There is nothing new here, because there is an equation for everything. Even I can be summarized to one, the one that caused the Big Bang, which in turn caused the creation of matter and anti-matter, which in turn caused the creation of the Earth, which in turn caused the apparition of life, which evolved into...

I have bored myself to death already. No, this is not boredom, what I am feeling now. It is not quite hopelessness either, for you cannot call me hopeless. Although I am saddened by this predictability of the world, it does not affect me so strongly as to cause depression.

I sit back, run my fingers trough my hair, allow my hand to linger there. An old man, a stranger, asks me whether I was feeling ill. I barely hold back a laugh as I tell him I am fine and thank him for his concern. No, I am not feeling ill. Maybe just a bit alone, that is all.

I try to evade that feeling, but the warmth of the sun is nothing but the result of chemistry, the green a result of chlorophyll, the bench the result of a cut tree.

But then, my thoughts drift to you, and I sink back into the warm comfort of your embrace, and even though you are not here, you chase away all loneliness. It is then that I realize, not all in this world is so predictable as I had originally thought.

There is no equation for your arms around me.

I let go of the imaginary world where everything is perfect. Everything I want is here. Huddled in your arms, I am free again.

Life has bright days, where the sun shines warm in the cloudless, velvety blue sky.
Life has pitch black, cloudy, heavy nights.
But mostly, life consists of that hazy twilight, that ocazie trapped between light and dark, and I never know what's going to follow: is it going to be night? Or day?
_________________
We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.

rocket rocket

rocket · Trimis: 11/04/2008 14:06�� Titlul subiectului:

Recreate reality

Look at me, and tell me what you see.

I see what I am.

I find it amusing, the way I watch myself, objectively and from the outside, from somewhere above my right shoulder, as if I were seeing someone else.

I must say, lately I have been a rather insipid person to watch. The strain from school had had a noticeable effect and I did not feel like doing anything. Sleep, eat, school, eat, sleep, school. I admit I have an affinity for science-fiction, but not quite enough to act like a robot!

One morning, I woke up.

I have always considered myself above giving up. I realized that right now, I was doing precisely that. Also, I opened my eyes to the ridiculousness of my actions. So self-absorbed and focused on myself, I had completely ignored what was happening around me and what the ones close to me were going through. When had I started relishing in weakness? Anger tore me up, and my mood rocketed sky high.

Here I am.

Look at me, and tell me what you do not see.

I do not see a reason why I should give up. Before, the awareness of the fact that I was not chasing a clearly defined goal had tricked me into believing that I had nothing keeping me from giving up. But I did have one, and I still have it - I have myself.

Walking down the street, I do not see the grayness of the apartment blocks anymore, but the green branches of the trees starting to blossom. The cars rush, unnoticed, in and out of sight and mind. It is easy for me to ignore the incessant squeaking of the swing, because what I hear is the children laughing.

I close my eyes to the mistakes I could make, to the wrong words I could say, to the bitterness, hopelessness and the sorrow that I happen to stumble upon here and there. I dismiss the fear that I am not worth enough, and the thought of giving up.

Finally, I cease my attempts to flee from reality.

Here I am.

Look at me, and tell me what you want to see.

What is reality, in the end? Is it the opposite of fantasy? Is it reality, seeing in something what could become of it?

I was looking at the stars in the skies, too blinded by their dim light to notice the ones down here, shining brightly, right next to me.

I kept longing for petty, surreal things that I could not have, and had no reason to desire in the first place. Gradually, distracted by life in general, I started neglecting those fantasies that were impossible to accomplish, and in the end, I forgot them. And now, I open my eyes and see that, what I had so desperately sought for, is mine, and is real.

I see happiness, loyalty, courage, strength, which had until now been concealed by uncertainty. I see endless possibilities, dozens of open doors.

I see open arms.

They say reality is made up of shades of gray. Yet, in it, I wish to see the colors of the earth, the color of water, of fire, of twilight. Yes, there is pain, there is suffering in your life. But will you let it control you, or do you wish to learn to control it? How far can you push rules, conceptions? Can you recreate your reality?

I want to see what I can be.

Here I am.
_________________
We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.

rocket rocket