"The world is like a sheet of paper on which something is typed. The reading and the meaning will vary with the reader, but the paper is the common factor, always present, rarely perceived. When the ribbon is removed, typing leaves no trace on the paper. So is my mind - the impressions keep on coming, but no trace is left." - Nisargadatta Maharaj
When I decided to post my blogs on a public website, it was partly to force myself to exercise my creative writing skills on a daily (or consistent) basis and partly to reach out to an audience that, perhaps, needed some reaching out to. The latter is probably the bigger motivator.
For those of you who have been following my blogs from Day 1 know that it started off as a fictional love (lost) story between two characters I had created while away in Europe trying to figure out between two loves and myself. I have since deleted all such posts to those blogs, for reasons not relevant to the point I'm writing about here, so I won't expound on it. But nonetheless, that was the start of my blogging: to share stories, experiences, lessons learned, not learned. To figure out the complexities of my own relationships and the relationships of those around me. There was that need not to feel alone. In my feelings. And thus, I figured that when I write about heartaches and confusion about heartaches, perhaps, someone reading it won't feel so alone in theirs.
Because looking back, there was a time I felt really alone. And lost. My own image was unfamiliar to me. I was a stranger to myself. It was the time when I broke up with my Ex of six years, and I moved out on my own. I remember coming home one night, that first week at my new apartment, and I was famished. I just had a long day of studying, and all I wanted to do was eat. But I didn't know what to eat. Where to go. I called one of my friends, crying, because I was so hungry but I didn't know what to do. I felt completely helpless because for years, he decided what we ate for dinner. Every night on my way home, it was my habit to call and see what he wanted to eat. Thus, with him gone, I had no idea what I wanted. All I knew was him. What he wanted.
Every time I think about that night, when I cried in my empty apartment to my friend, asking her to decide for me what I should have for dinner, I feel ashamed. Embarrassed. I feel sorry for that girl. The girl that I was. And I remember her longing for someone to just understand what she couldn't.
Now, she's a stranger to me. A distant memory of someone I used to know. And someone I don't want to get to know again.
But no matter what, I'll always be proud of her. Proud that she trudged on. Even when she had to drag her feet through the messy days. Even when she spent every night crying and afraid. She hung on to that hope of finding her happiness. One day. And even when she was tempted to latch on to someone for comfort, for physical presence, she didn't. She stayed true to that belief that she had to find happiness within herself before finding it with another person.
And I said that one day, I'll share her story so that others will find inspiration to seek out their happiness. Even if they don't yet know what that happiness is. I say write the story of the life you want to live. That's what I used to tell her. When times were really dark, I forced her to get up, and live the day the best way she can. And I reminded her not to forget to smile. Even when it was too painful.
Because one day, you'll wake up, and find that life is not so bad ... that the life you have right now is full of possibilities, and can be everything you want it to be.
When I decided to post my blogs on a public website, it was partly to force myself to exercise my creative writing skills on a daily (or consistent) basis and partly to reach out to an audience that, perhaps, needed some reaching out to. The latter is probably the bigger motivator.
For those of you who have been following my blogs from Day 1 know that it started off as a fictional love (lost) story between two characters I had created while away in Europe trying to figure out between two loves and myself. I have since deleted all such posts to those blogs, for reasons not relevant to the point I'm writing about here, so I won't expound on it. But nonetheless, that was the start of my blogging: to share stories, experiences, lessons learned, not learned. To figure out the complexities of my own relationships and the relationships of those around me. There was that need not to feel alone. In my feelings. And thus, I figured that when I write about heartaches and confusion about heartaches, perhaps, someone reading it won't feel so alone in theirs.
Because looking back, there was a time I felt really alone. And lost. My own image was unfamiliar to me. I was a stranger to myself. It was the time when I broke up with my Ex of six years, and I moved out on my own. I remember coming home one night, that first week at my new apartment, and I was famished. I just had a long day of studying, and all I wanted to do was eat. But I didn't know what to eat. Where to go. I called one of my friends, crying, because I was so hungry but I didn't know what to do. I felt completely helpless because for years, he decided what we ate for dinner. Every night on my way home, it was my habit to call and see what he wanted to eat. Thus, with him gone, I had no idea what I wanted. All I knew was him. What he wanted.
Every time I think about that night, when I cried in my empty apartment to my friend, asking her to decide for me what I should have for dinner, I feel ashamed. Embarrassed. I feel sorry for that girl. The girl that I was. And I remember her longing for someone to just understand what she couldn't.
Now, she's a stranger to me. A distant memory of someone I used to know. And someone I don't want to get to know again.
But no matter what, I'll always be proud of her. Proud that she trudged on. Even when she had to drag her feet through the messy days. Even when she spent every night crying and afraid. She hung on to that hope of finding her happiness. One day. And even when she was tempted to latch on to someone for comfort, for physical presence, she didn't. She stayed true to that belief that she had to find happiness within herself before finding it with another person.
And I said that one day, I'll share her story so that others will find inspiration to seek out their happiness. Even if they don't yet know what that happiness is. I say write the story of the life you want to live. That's what I used to tell her. When times were really dark, I forced her to get up, and live the day the best way she can. And I reminded her not to forget to smile. Even when it was too painful.
Because one day, you'll wake up, and find that life is not so bad ... that the life you have right now is full of possibilities, and can be everything you want it to be.
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