It's funny... I vowed to write more journal entries, but then I think I slipped out of the habit even harder. And there were some quite memorable times in between my last entry and this entry here. But I never felt like I HAD to write a journal entry until now. And so I am, because just like the feelings that I realized when I wrote "River of Light", it has happened again.
I was having a very bad day. A day so bad that I was telling myself "So what if you don't enjoy this day? Do something productive. Learn something. Be miserable, if you will be, but don't waste this time." I played games with my friends, and that made it better for a bit. But then I decided to go for a walk. There's an alternate route to the left of my neighborhood that leads around to my workplace, and another part of the town that I've never seen. So I decided I'd give that route a chance, and I walked it, listening to music. I felt good at first, but then it happened again... not randomly, but it was evoked through thought. I thought of a lot of things; the past, the present and the future. And I was content with all of them. I started to think of things from my past that I was in love with, but didn't know how to cherish. So instead I watched them sadly, from a distance. Only now, I cherished them openly. I could feel them, actualize them, and soon, I can make them a concrete that I can hold, touch, whenever I want. I can concretize the fleeting abstractions that gave me an intense feeling of longing- the most intense, breathtaking feeling I knew. Almost as breathtaking as realizing abstraction, and giving it life.
The realization of self... the shocking lucidity that it brings, the existence of the world becomes so much more vivid around you, because the eyes that are perceiving it have ascended the fog, the blur, the ebb and flow. The feeling of past being connected to present, that reminds me that he is who I am, and he is the one who walked all the way to the present day, and that I am him. All that I cherish of the past, not dead and gone, but part of me... and only then do I feel free to touch the abstract forms of those fleeting, unrealized things. Places, people, stories, feelings. The ones I seek. The things that make me, me. I reconnected with them, once again. This town was starting to feel like a cage. It could never destroy me, because nothing can anymore. But every day, I was bracing myself against the lashes of all the things that trouble me. It has been pretty rough, off and on, this year. There was a whole lot of bad, but then a whole lot of good. And then things felt bad again, recently, because of things I'm going through. I was going to write an entry... "Carpal Tunnel", it was going to be called. A recording of the lashes that I was bracing myself against lately. Not an outcry of self pity, like previous, less mature versions of me would write. But just a record of feelings, written by a young man who understands he will be past it sooner or later, to look back on and recall, with morbid curiosity. But I never got around to writing it. I never felt compelled enough to. And this night... it far more compelling to record.
Walking through those dark forest roads under the soft, half-overcast, half-starry sky. Walking past the apartment complexes and the neighborhoods- the houses on the green, tidy-looking hills. The shopping districts with only a few cars in the parking lots, which must belong to whoever's pulling the night shift and looking after the places while everyone else is in bed. I began to imagine things precious to me; mental images, ideas, abstractions that my mind can see more vividly now. I began to understand that my future is becoming brighter and brighter. I understand that I have so, so very much left to learn, and so very much left to do. And I can't wait. I also understand that I can go where I want and I can do what I want, and that I've become someone that I am happy to be. Looking at my own hands while walking... looking at my shadow, and the way my legs move swiftly. Looking at the shape of my body, proudly, recognizing myself, here, alive... walking toward the future. And, on this particular night, having not one worry. Worries exist for me. But unlike my old self, I never have to worry that I may be destroyed, that my life may be slapped down by something and denied ever having existed; slammed to a halt that ensures that it doesn't matter that I was ever alive anyway. I have made my way to a place where such destruction is no longer possible to me... and I have a lot more time to cherish my life in this place, which I can continue to make better and better.
I started thinking that even how happy I am now, by myself, walking alone at 1-4 am, more awaits. I will even meet other people who are good, and who I can have experiences with that I will love, and happily accept as part of my life. I have even already met a precious few good people, and I cherish them.
I got to my workplace from this route. It was an alternate route to my workplace, the road I took. So I picked a leaf from the fragrant trees that grow in the parking lot, and I held it all the way home, listening to songs from the past and songs of the present; songs that will also be in my future. I thought of so many things. I even got more ideas for my writing. Nights like these... brief rests through the bracing, the strength, the work. They will renew me and leave me strong enough to go seize the rest of my life. To feel myself, this person, who I am... Nero. All the things that make me, me... to feel them so strongly, and understand now, that they're all mine, these things. That it's only a matter of time before they're more than abstractions. It's this that gives me strength to keep being strong. And I have been strong. I've braced against lashes, and I've held the weight. Only now, a young man instead of a child, there is no more crying and self pity, but instead a silence and an understanding that it's time to get on with it. And things seem as though they'll be okay... but there's more to brace myself against, on its way. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter when you find out it can't destroy you.
Dearest child, you don't need to sit awake crying at night, wishing that you'd die. You don't need to feel filthy, feeling that these people around you are a part of you just because they surround you. You don't need to panic and weep because these fleeting feelings of longing always disappear, only flickers in your peripheral vision. You don't need to hate and bare your fangs, you don't need to wish that the world were empty so that you could move through it without feeling fear. Begging god to help you, even though it doesn't change anything- soon, you'll understand why. And you'll get on with yourself. Don't worry that they don't listen to you. Because soon, you'll stop caring whether or not they do... and as it so happens, that's when they will begin to listen to you. They still won't understand... but it won't matter to you anymore. Dearest child, these things you claim to believe, the things you preach, swearing upon, basing yourself on, that don't even satisfy you. You will fall with the flimsy foundation you tried to hold yourself up with, and it will hurt... but you'll move on. And even if you could read this back then, you wouldn't understand. But that doesn't matter. Because everything's okay, just the same, when you grow from a child into a young man. When you grow into me.
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