The World and Fate

2chickens

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s when I want to say a whole lot of things that I forget how to speak real words.

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I hide myself behind forced smiles and loud laughs – to fill the emptiness, to heal wounds that have slowly snaked its way up to my head from all those years of absorbing everyday pain. That unendurable sensation that has accumulated through time. Pain, the feeling of numbness from passivity, from absence of real freedom, from being kept in the dark – from light. I’m a creature of weakness. Someone others can step on without feeling afraid or guilty. I’m that sickle car being driven anywhere, that lone ant easily flicked away when seen passing by, that bottle of water dumped and discarded somewhere at the corner after being used, that dirty little kid you’ll roll your eyes at along the busy buzzing streets.

I’m happy, I used to believe, and still would. It’s the matter of which emotion lurks its way to my head. I can be angry, lonely, or delightful, depending on what and how my brain wants it. I learned that emotions are not a matter of the heart. It’s always of the brain’s, the big boss, so I can choose what to feel just as how the sun goes up and down. The heart has no place to decide and rule. The heart only beats and beats and beats, to pump blood, to release it – nothing more. A hollow organ, incapable of thinking – dead and insignificant.

The heart can feel. Can you believe that? The feeling of softness, the  colorful rainbows, the children’s laughter echoing in the park, of vanilla ice cream, of the fresh sunflowers dancing in the garden. Oh the good days when everything is light and bright.

Life is meaningful when you like the way it goes on. Well, I frequently don’t. Those moments of uneasiness when confidence is nowhere to be seen, the retreating faith, the unknown future, it scares me. That when I finally take that lift to take me to the battlefield, I might just fall from my horse and never be able to get back up. The dimming light that I foresee comes sweeping the little hope and trust I have delicately grown with my bare fragile hands.

It amazes me how strong people can be. The look of determination that radiates off their gentle eyes, the genuineness, the courage to fight without feeling any signs of regret and fear, the undying love. Are you made of steel?

Teach me how to not cry. Do you numb your heart when you need to? I swear I believe in the power of the brain, but how is it that I feel queerness near my left chest? Could it possibly be that the heart is not dead somehow? I wail and weep and sob because I can no more take the pain. I want to scream and shout and let the tears come out fast so I can get whatever this out quickly. Where is the rain when you need it?

Teach me how to cry. That when I feel my heart heavy, I know you are there somewhere – ready to listen and offer a shoulder. Can I take my armor down in your presence? I want to breathe fresh air, and lighten the load on my back. I know you have own battles to finish too, but I’d like it more if we’ll take those together, so that I may be able to show them the real me. I won’t be afraid of the strange road, because I know you are there beside me, ready to lead the way if I ever get lost.

Teach me how to smile and laugh with truth as we walk together because you’ll be stuck with me for a long time, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Hi! Thanks for sparing time to read this. The root of this brainchild is none other than a whole big truck of chickens that I saw while roaming the street at night. Yes, Onew, believe it. I’m way far from kidding. It was not the first time I saw chickens if you must know, but that particular moment was when I stared at each of their eyes with interest – those I can reach with my own pair. It’s not that I haven’t looked at a chicken’s eyes before either but a whole big truck, I haven’t. Something in their eyes read sad fate. Or maybe it was just the flicker of light coming from the tall lamp post beside the street. I couldn’t be sure. But at that moment I felt sympathy towards them – even a little upset of how inconsiderate humans can be. We were raised and given so much chances and freedom to choose whatever we want, using whatever we can get a hold of, eating and living, not caring about others, while a few souls out there were not. They were born and raised to be purposely killed in the end – for us. Survival – that’s what it is always all about.

I’m not that mad at our kind. I’m just feeling sorry and depressed for those little souls because things had to go on like this. The world is created like this and I can’t understand why. I don’t want to question either. We should accept things as they are, right?

So I wrote this for every lone soul searching for company – a friend, a real one. It doesn’t matter whether life’s too short or too long. What matters more is that every soul wishes to live life contentedly, along with other souls that could possibly understand them.

This composition is not about me, neither is it about chickens too. It does contain some of my traits like LOL and faking smiles (in rare times! When it’s absolutely necessary) because, of course, I can only draw feelings I have in myself, not from my neighbors. I tried expressing things out mostly in contrast to one another, showing that what I have written here are not necessarily facts or truth. That was just how I felt and these are mere opinions. However, this piece is a part of me. These things all came from me and they represent things that I have experienced, seen, witnessed, and thought about life in general.

And I hope you don’t think of me as some depressed and weird loner caring more about chickens than humans because I definitely don’t. There are just some things that get me thinking once in a while and I end up going all deep into it. And because I get depressed only once in a blue moon, I decide to write things out to express myself. When I’m happy, I couldn’t even think of holding a pen to write it in my diary even though I promised before to write those things as well, because, like seriously, who would have time to write when they’re busy laughing? I do hope though that you learned something from here. Thanks again.

 

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Author:

Happily drowns myself in perpetual self-induced misery

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