07/04/2010 § 3 Comments
Benny is adjusting well. He has stopped shivering and when he sleeps, he slumbers, legs kicking, little yips at fantastical cats. I am watching him sleep right now, realizing that things happen in bizarre and obscure ways.
Last night, I lay awake for quite sometime despite the light being off. I had my sleepy-playlist on low in the background, hoping to catch up on some much needed sleep — I have been trying to take advantage, too much advantage, of my remaining days here in Buenos Aires. Yet, I still wasn’t sleeping. Instead, it seemed like I was floating in and out of consciousness, unable to decipher in the dark whether I was in reality or dreaming. They blended together seemlessly, perhaps forecasting the coming of my two-worlds colliding.
What gave me peace was knowing that things worked out for the best. Although everyone finds themselves thinking they “should have, would have, could have” done something, we only conjure these solutions once we had made the mistakes. Thus, the cliche, hindsight is 20/20.
The thing I find the most therapeutic is to transport, momentarily, to my old self to a time of not knowing the things I have been through, the places I have seen, the people I have met. The person I find looks nothing like the one that stares back at me in the mirror everyday. She is sad, confused, angry, frustrated. The twinkle in her eye gone, the fire in her belly extinguished. She has no agency, rather she works in a thankless-job, she is bored and understimulated, wishing that she was braver, wishing she was me.
It soothes my soul knowing that I am different, happier in a way that I never could be before only because I was always questioning the unknown. Then, I discovered the void and realized it’s not all that different, in fact, it’s actually rather frustrating at times, but at least I got to see it, to experience it. Luxuries aside, it’s very hard to orchestrate things back home from 10,000kms away. Obviously.
Neverhteless, things that use to be frustrating, that would boil my blood, I have learned to let go of: Being present at all the parties, at gatherings of friends and family, banking issues, booking a flight, money, credit cards, a job. These worries have flown away, or at least on their way out. Since picking up Marx again and reading his Notes on fetishism of commodities, I have been inspired to accept the idiocy of over-consumption. Although I think that an overall aesthetic boosts one self-esteem, whether Goth or go-go, the need to hoard and consume is dissipating from within.
I really don’t care to be liked or disliked anymore, to have an impact on another person’s life, to be loved (although it is nice), to find a career, to amble the world of knowing-it-all. To tell you the truth, I just want to be, to do the things that make me the happiest, like dressing in black, riding horses, writing in my blogs, more intimately in my journals, to enjoy taking breaks as well as working towards a goal. I am over over-working just to live a life of tranquility. Why not just work in tranquility and enjoy the free-time we are given?
On the topic of love, the statement above gives the impression that I don’t feel loved, which is untrue. I feel incredibly loved by friends and family, of whom I love in return. However, I truly feel that the only person I need to love me is myself. Last night, sitting and staring into the nothing of darkness made me realize that everyone we will ever love will eventually leave us. A friend once told me that, and I refused to acknowledge it. I refused to acknowledge it because I was scared of it. But, there is light in her statement because there will always be one person that will never leave you, that can love you in life and in death, with wealth or nothing at all, sickness and health. You just have to let that person into your life and not be afraid of her.
Before, the thing I was most frightened of was knowing that I may never love someone the way I had ever again, where you want to absorb someone, know every mole, the scent, your favourite spot to kiss, the nook you nestle in, the pitter-patter of the heart, the fleeting flutters in the belly. Strangely enough, I am slightly comforted by that. Love is supposed to be tough, gut-wrenching, the best of times, the worst of times. When you feel so happy with someone, you can feel so sad another day because it’s a high, it can be an addiction.
Another friend once told me, it’s not whether you found the perfect person, rather the person you work perfectly with.
I keep thinking about that and try to imagine a life without the highs and lows, the peaks and valleys of searching for a balance. Then, I just think about myself.