Cry It Out

Sometimes all you need is to call an old friend and cry it out.
Life is rough and I am sure I am not the first one to tell you that.
You know.
There is a flood of emotions and feelings you try to bank everyday.
Negative or positive you mask so many of your feelings.
To portray them in the best possible manner so that you do not look
like a malfunctioning unit of our civilisation.
You hide a lot. You are not pure anymore.
What have you become? You started with something so divine.
But now it seems like your soul is corrupted.
Your soul is burdened.
So why would you not talk to the one who knew you when you were YOU.
When you took the leap and moved into a bigger world,
aspirations were oversized diminishing everything else that mattered.
Your visions have betrayed you.
You have been gathering way too many fake promises, fake smiles and fake consolations.
You have been chasing shadows.
Now it is up to the brim that your glass is full of sorrows & repent.
Isn't it time that you let it out. It is ok to cry.
Tears won't make you weak. Holding them in will.
Your friend is not going to judge you.
Because he knows you.
So why won't you?
Talk, cry it out.

The Reminisce

As I say goodbye to last of the distractions,
Wonders of nature or mind boggling attractions.
As I bid farewell to beautiful people, alcohol and money,
I do not know whether I am stepping in or out of reality.
I struggle to define real, I struggle to define me.
As the past grows stronger I barely see,
A spark that I once saw and did dwell upon.
A spark that is gone now and has failed us.
Us. As I think of us it all fails.
The distractions, attractions, people, money and alcohol,
Who were trying their honest best fail.
Its funny that even in distractions,
Lies some sort of codes that relate to you.
Excuses to reminisce.
I am told not to but there is a certain beauty in reminiscing.
I go there to collect some love and some pain.
Admire some and curse some,
Promise to keep some forever,
Promise never to visit some ever again,
Artist's re-imagination of history can be as colourful as rainbow,
Or as dark as a moon less night.
But its only imagination. It's only memories.
Yet your memories to me are like a treasure chest to a child.
Which he hides from others but secretly visits.
He might be afraid of darkness otherwise,
But to visit the chest he braves the darkest of nights.
Has no clue of the worth of it,
But knows its special. The value of this treasure exists only to him.
Child's play.
Then there is the growing up part. Pragmatism. Moving on.
You have to move over your hidden treasure chests.
Pretend they never existed. Chase real treasures.
But I already said, I struggle to define real.
Thus I reminisce.

Moving On

I guess it is a good thing that you are not with me.
My pencil and papers are really thankful to you as I am all theirs now.
Its good that there is something to gaze at.
It would have been really hard to focus on something that is so close to me.
There is always shade under the lamp's bottom as they say.  So I better have the light instead making the source mine.
I guess it is a good thing that I am not obsessed with you anymore. The feeling was not flowing both ways anyway.
You have no idea how happy my thoughts are. They are not stacked anymore in a tight corner.
They can flow once again and gosh it feels good.
For sure a river has the hunger to meet the sea but imagine blocking the river with the sea.
Thats exactly what you did to me. It is good to flow once again as I have my own existence.
Makes me wonder if we start charging rent to the occupants of our mind, you would have made me a millionaire.
I guess it is a good thing that I can see now. Not blinded with love anymore as the intellect has taken over. Lets make it tangible and have straight lines.
I write this because I am waking up. Its great to see the sunrise.
See the sun coming from the horizon. I see a million rays hitting me. I see a million paths.

That Night

It was the usual busy Saturday night at the restaurant. He was rushing through tables as usual. It wasn't something new for him that they were working under staffed.  And he really didn’t care about it at all. He had his rhythm.  

He was alone and life was dull. This workplace was full of noise. This noise was a distraction for him, diverting him from his loneliness. The ringing bell signalling that the food was ready and put up by the chef to be served. People chatting and then suddenly some women would laugh out loud. Then there is the noise of a child crying. These noises entered his ears and he would respond accordingly. To the bell, he would rush for the food to serve. People chatting he would often ignore or smile if they made that unusual eye contact. High pitched laughter of some women would annoy him for some reason. The crying child was the one that got his attention the most. He would rush to see what is wrong with the child. He could relate to that cry. As if they both thought that they were in the wrong place...

This night seemed no different than all other nights he lost count of. But who knew something special might happen that night? And it did happen. Although the moment was short, it moved him deeply.

He was standing by the shelf to take the food out when she entered in. Their eyes met and his heart missed a beat. The lonely sad bird was hit by a charming smile and all got still. She looked at him and smiled. He forgot to smile back.

He walked towards her, greeted her and showed her the place to sit. Then he brought her the menu, entangled in a million thoughts. He was surprised at such a pretty girl being alone there that night? Why? He ignored all possible reasons of her being there that did not included him.

If he is the north pole of a magnet then is she the south? Was she the one who has only come there just because he is working there? His dull heart was getting brighter with such thoughts. The ringing bell, the chatting people and all other noises that used to be distractions turned into music and she was the melody being sung by his heart. A perfect melody.

He poured a glass of water for her and as he put the glass on her table, she smiled and he smiled back. He was just turning back to give her time to decide when he heard: "Excuse me!” It was her. He looked back and she said,"May I please have another glass of water. I am waiting for someone special tonight!”

All of a sudden everything got back to how it was before. He realised that north and south poles always exist in pairs and that this pair was already complete. He felt like an exception to this pole theory. The noise of the ringing bell was even louder. People were chatting even more irritatingly. He felt as if the women were laughing at his poor luck. The perfectly written melody vanished. The music lost its rhythm. This was just another night at a dull, noisy workplace.

He replied with a smile, "Yeah sure!"

Possibility of Love

The possibility of Love, is a dangerous spark.
Your whole existence is at stake.
As if it was not enough bad already,
You are not certain it could be fake.
Either way you will never be the same.
That is the possibility of love.
You stand at this cliff with a hope to fly.
Hesitate? Or take the leap of faith?
Close your eyes and brain?
Leave it to the heart decisions to make?
The moment you realised it,
questions numerous unanswered.
Logical or illogical chains of events
what brought you to this point.
And is it possible to let it go.
if only you could know.
The possibility of love is the road too long,
cannot rush but it is getting late,
The possibility of love is a probability too,
shall I leave you to the fate?

Pragmatic Escapist

I woke up this morning and first thing that came to my mind was "Train Ride".

All of a sudden the reminisces surround me. The lovely memory of a train I took from Ghent to Hasselt in Belgium. I was not in the present moment anymore. I was there in that moment of watching the beautiful Belgique surroundings. The cradle of memories held me. The exact moment you realize that even though you try to leave the past behind you do go back... There is some beauty in going back there! The escapist kicks in.

Lost in my impulsiveness I was scrolling through train fares across Europe. Travel map is ready. Flight to London. Train from London to Berlin to Prague and a night train back to London. This whole trip spread across 3 weeks was prepared in microseconds. Desperation of just getting out of reality.

You have a full time job. In fact its 8:40 am and you are supposed to be at work at 9 am. You are doing 2 papers as well towards your Bachelor in Finance. Honestly, not a right time to distract yourself like that. The pragmatist kicks in.

The clash of a pragmatist and an escapist. What makes you chose one over another? I find both of them intriguing because both of them relate to different dimensions of time with one similarity!

Pragmatist guy in this case is trying to be based in the present so that the future benefits can be assured. Follow the routine, save up money, finish the studies and secure the future. Realistic ideology to do the right thing in the present moment. Goal in future secured by compromising the state of mind in present.

Escapist on the other hand is not wanting to be in present at all. He wants to leave. Something that happened in past is dominating his present. There is a fantasy related NOT with where he is right now that keeps calling. Making him leave the present and be in this another world which of course is better.

Now do you see how they are similar? They both are not comfortable with the Present. What they have is being constantly compromised wanting to secure either future goal or a dream world fantasy. Its like someone is chasing a shadow and someone is trying to form the shadow against the light. Past and future.

I do not want to be that person. So I decided to be a Pragmatic Escapist. I am going to acknowledge both of them. Live in present but keep history and hope of future both equally alive. Work in my present but keep the idea of travel a burning torch. Enjoying my present as it is leading to what the Pragmatist and the Escapist have agreed on.

Jass 18/07/14

Let's Go

I sit with you so that we can talk. Come up with something. A plan. An adventure. After all you are the one with a great deal of patience. An infinite patience. You surprise me. You can hold all that I have to say.

So I have been wondering what if we leave. Pack up the bags and go to Southern France. I know we do not speak French. That is the point. We are going to leave this wifi world behind. I am sure you will be fine without internet. I want to be human again and you are with me in it. 

Find a small village. Feel the streets. Talk to the architecture. Learn the language. Work on a farm. I hope we can stay with the farmer. I heard he is a hospitable man and has a lot of tales to tell. 

How about that girl working on the farm? There is a complexity in her simplicity. You know that when you look at her you can never lie to her. Like I have lied before and ended up with broken hearts and causing pain. There is a chance to stop dwelling on past. Go talk to her in broken French. I think it did make some sense because she smiled.

Write a letter to my mother and my brother tell them I am fine. Await their reply. Now you know I am talking about actual letters? Not the ones send on wires and clouds. So it is going to be a while till we hear back from them. When was the last time you awaited a letter? ... Exactly!

I am sure my friends are fine. They are busy working hard and being social. It is all digital for them. I wish them luck. 

How do you feel? Going on this adventure with me? I will share with you everything. After all you are the one with a great deal of patience. An infinite patience.

Jass 14/07/2014