Thanks for the quote, Lavque:
"I have learned to seek my happiness by limiting my desires, rather than in attempting to satisfy them."
- John Stuart Mill
No wonder The Temptress feels bound. I think I am in her shoes right now, though I would never dare admit it to her. But what if you consider everything - your dreams, plans and ambitions as your desires? How would you restrain yourself from getting them?
I woke up sobbing from a bad dream this morning. In my dream, I wanted to become the first woman pilot ever. I was crying because this ambition never materialized for me. I felt the frustration in my bones. I wanted to break free and do what I want to do, live my dreams and make them my reality.
Over a cup of coffee I was contemplating - this dream was a blatant manifestation of what I want to do, and that at this moment, I am bound by a lot of reasons and limitations that prevent me from doing what I want.
It was a validation that indeed, I want to be somewhere else, doing something different. And I feel that I stopped living life because I am trapped with limited choices. Right now all I can do is make the most out of things. And wait.
If this is the way for me to inculcate patience as one of my virtues then I would gladly accept what fate has brought me. I will give it some time if this passivity would work for me. Otherwise, I would risk and give it a go.
Until then, I would have to accept that I am not the first woman pilot.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
The sound of a heart breaking
[written by Karen Kunawicz - one of my favorites]
It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night, the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin, it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring, the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat, it's the whispers of the toy animals he gave you.
It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you, the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye," it’s the soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of a cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.
It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors shutting and closing in your face at the same time, of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you, the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love yous" burning holes in you, the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.
The sound of the waves of the polluted beach you went to as it moves from the shore and crashes inside your mind, of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "SOS-to-the-world," the cracking of the brittle black-red petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he gave, the sound of the music he used to make going to your gut.
The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor, the caress of kitchen knives on skin, the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear.
It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there, of dying birds getting splattered on a city pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.
Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.
[written by Karen Kunawicz - one of my favorites]
It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night, the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin, it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring, the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat, it's the whispers of the toy animals he gave you.
It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you, the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye," it’s the soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of a cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.
It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors shutting and closing in your face at the same time, of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you, the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love yous" burning holes in you, the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.
The sound of the waves of the polluted beach you went to as it moves from the shore and crashes inside your mind, of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "SOS-to-the-world," the cracking of the brittle black-red petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he gave, the sound of the music he used to make going to your gut.
The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor, the caress of kitchen knives on skin, the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear.
It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there, of dying birds getting splattered on a city pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.
Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.
Monday, February 17, 2003
Drowning out the voices
Sometimes we get so affected by what others think. We always seek other’s validation and approval of things we do.
I got a very wise advice from a girlfriend last Saturday.
To determine your intentions, drown out the voices. Concentrate on your own.
What does it tell you? How do you feel?
If they are good in nature, then you don’t have to be afraid.
Johari’s window
A skeptic friend, on the other hand, referred to the Johari window. That’s why there are other people in our lives – for them to remind us and let us see the things that we don’t and we can’t by ourselves.
One step at a time
Things will unfold – one step at a time. Just wait for the daybreak.
Sometimes we get so affected by what others think. We always seek other’s validation and approval of things we do.
I got a very wise advice from a girlfriend last Saturday.
To determine your intentions, drown out the voices. Concentrate on your own.
What does it tell you? How do you feel?
If they are good in nature, then you don’t have to be afraid.
Johari’s window
A skeptic friend, on the other hand, referred to the Johari window. That’s why there are other people in our lives – for them to remind us and let us see the things that we don’t and we can’t by ourselves.
One step at a time
Things will unfold – one step at a time. Just wait for the daybreak.
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