Thursday, June 9, 2016

True grit


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


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.


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


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.”


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


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.


Inspiration is given and handed down.


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. 


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


Without this confusion of choices.


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


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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