Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Sometimes
Sometimes I feel as though I'm in the middle of a terrible dream in which I've found myself trapped on the express train headed to an unknown destination. The pace of life moving faster and faster the longer I stay on. I look up to read where the next stop will be. I incline my ears to the speakers, desperately wanting to hear the automated voice determine my fate. But I neither see nor hear anything. And with a tired sigh, I sit down on the lavender seats, sitting across no one, finding absolutely no comfort in the fact that I feel, in that moment, completely alone.
I'd be lying to myself if I didn't say I was scared about my future. In fact, I'm petrified, but I don't want to say it out loud just yet. I'm afraid I'll fall apart once I hear my voice say those words as I release them into the world. Into my world, making it that much more tangible and real. Because somehow I've convinced myself that as long as the actual thoughts don't leave my lips, they'll remain a mystery and thus cannot be one way or the other. However trivial or serious, things left unsaid will remain that way, and will not come to fruition.
Sometimes, it's as if I'm having an outer-body experience, a bit like watching a movie about my life, and in this third person perspective, I see a scared, hurt, and stubborn little girl, eyes tightly shut, hands over her ears, too cold and calloused to cry. Too proud to open up and ask for help. In another scene, I see a disproportionate human being with a humongous inflated head on top of a tiny little body, arms and legs barely visible. Eyes wide open, but an apparent emptiness within. A posture communicating false composure. Clear discomfort heard in her voice. Shaking and out of breath.
Sometimes, for sanity's sake, I decide not to go to class and stay in my apartment instead. I realize that spiritual death is a real thing. I'm reminded of how much bigger life is than the realm of Grace Rhee. That life goes beyond New York City and the 80 or so years that most of us assume we'll live. Sometimes I become all dramatic because it's necessary. I hear my neighbors downstairs playing the same song over and over again, but just the introduction, trying to get the opening of a song on their guitar. And in this moment, when I attempt to envision my life in 5 years, 3 months...I see nothing but a large grey cloud...hell, I can't even see past tomorrow, but all I know is that I don't know. However, my unbelief in the only thing that makes sense in this world proves that I am completely unstable, and therefore to depend on my own efforts to plan out the most perfect life for myself would be absolutely absurd. Nevertheless, quite strangely, in my perpetual cycle of unbelief, I fling myself onto believing all the more as my eyes are opened to the vast areas of life that are, and have been, out of my control.
I'd be lying to myself if I didn't say I was scared about my future. In fact, I'm petrified, but I don't want to say it out loud just yet. I'm afraid I'll fall apart once I hear my voice say those words as I release them into the world. Into my world, making it that much more tangible and real. Because somehow I've convinced myself that as long as the actual thoughts don't leave my lips, they'll remain a mystery and thus cannot be one way or the other. However trivial or serious, things left unsaid will remain that way, and will not come to fruition.
Sometimes, it's as if I'm having an outer-body experience, a bit like watching a movie about my life, and in this third person perspective, I see a scared, hurt, and stubborn little girl, eyes tightly shut, hands over her ears, too cold and calloused to cry. Too proud to open up and ask for help. In another scene, I see a disproportionate human being with a humongous inflated head on top of a tiny little body, arms and legs barely visible. Eyes wide open, but an apparent emptiness within. A posture communicating false composure. Clear discomfort heard in her voice. Shaking and out of breath.
Sometimes, for sanity's sake, I decide not to go to class and stay in my apartment instead. I realize that spiritual death is a real thing. I'm reminded of how much bigger life is than the realm of Grace Rhee. That life goes beyond New York City and the 80 or so years that most of us assume we'll live. Sometimes I become all dramatic because it's necessary. I hear my neighbors downstairs playing the same song over and over again, but just the introduction, trying to get the opening of a song on their guitar. And in this moment, when I attempt to envision my life in 5 years, 3 months...I see nothing but a large grey cloud...hell, I can't even see past tomorrow, but all I know is that I don't know. However, my unbelief in the only thing that makes sense in this world proves that I am completely unstable, and therefore to depend on my own efforts to plan out the most perfect life for myself would be absolutely absurd. Nevertheless, quite strangely, in my perpetual cycle of unbelief, I fling myself onto believing all the more as my eyes are opened to the vast areas of life that are, and have been, out of my control.
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