Delirious Joy

Monday, May 08, 2006

When did my world start to be painted with layers of sadness, so much so that there don't seem to be a good reason to smile? When did I start looking back at those times for traces of hope, yet knowing all I'm left with are threads of dignity? When did I become what you've wanted me of, but soon turned so grey and hollow inside? When, may I ask, did you murder my spirit within, without me realizing it?

To the eyes of anyone, I look no different from them. Of course, who would say I am different? But if you no longer have leaves, or bark, or roots, can you go on calling yourself a tree?

"I'm a being," I say shamelessly. "A being with a mask and hollow inside, feeling so broken, knowing I'll never be thought of as the girl who cared or thought of you."

I'm not trying to tell how great I am nor trying to defeat you, putting all the blame on you (though I can if I really want to). Really, who else I can blame for being a foolish girl? I'm feeling bitter and so foolish that all these while when you're too busy or not free, which ever way you'd like to put it, to be there, I keep focusing on what isn't there.

I keep thinking of the smile I would have on my face if you've been there, missing out the laughter others could have provided. The feeling is like having a cup of coffee that tastes bitter. Any others would have proceed adding sugar but I just sat there, refusing to do so, knowing the fact that sugar is absent yet accepting the bitterness. It won't be surprising if you turn back and see me still at square one, really.

It's dangerous to keep focusing on what isn't there, not knowing what you've been missing out, yet knowing you've been missing a great deal. But...

What if I came to the end of my life and realized that I'd spent every day watching for a man who would never come to me? What an unbearable sorrow it would be, to realize I'd never really tasted the things I'd eaten, or seen the places I'd been, because I thought of nothing but you even while my life was drifting away from me. And yet if I drew my thoughts back from you, what life would I have? I would be like a dancer who had practiced since childhood for a performance I would never give.

Standing in neither the black nor the white but the grey spot is equally dangerous. There is no assurance of what the future bestowed upon my life. Doesn't that reminds you of a criminal who keeps thinking of ways of escape yet knowing there is no way he is going to succeed because when he look down, his hands are bound together. There really don't seem to be anything we can do to change anything. So I tell myself...

If I'm a butterfly, I've lost my delicate wings.
If I'm a star, I've lost my brightness.
If I'm a bird, I've lost the ability to soar in the sky.
If I'm the sea, I've ran dry and turned to dust.
If I'm an angel, I've failed to make your dreams come true.

But I'm not a butterfly, a star, a bird nor the sea, much less an angel. I'm just me with my heart, been left outside alone, which has turned so numb and cold.

Don't bother picking up the broken pieces, try putting them back together, knowing they will fall apart in the end but know that it isn't you, but me and it isn't her, but you who are living in this delusion.

*Quotes in italic are taken from the novel, Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden

With love at 3:24 AM,
Joan