Thursday, June 9, 2016

True grit

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Romantics will tell you to stick it out till the edge of doom.


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But what if, like in my case, luck always has its way of plunging its arm in the water right before I drowned? So much for Shakespeare.


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Yes, time to talk about mortality again, and age, and regret. But also about meandering roads that don’t even appear to intersect.


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All I have are forks and departures – as the poet I am now reading once said: “All I can tell you is this: what we are not, what we do not want.”


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Is it really as easy as picking a profession, or say, your favorite color?


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No matter how hard I exert my influence on fate, my concerns and my passions always have their way of finding me. Like sticks skewered to my tongue, I cannot pick my own words.


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Inspiration is given and handed down.


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Even if there are no seraphic songs or jewels presented to future saviors, even if most of the time I can only see salt shining in the mud. 


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Cut, tapered, and edited: that’s how life should be lived.


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Without this confusion of choices.


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Even when right from the beginning, I already knew the answers.


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I will still risk to find them.


Sweater, Gap
T-shirt, Uniqlo
Jeans, Levi’s
Sneakers, thrifted
Neptares Multi-Stone Bracelet, Bosquejo
Persepto Multi-Stone Bracelet, Bosquejo


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