In Passing, One Day.

She saw the earth in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The earth pondered, and then replied: "To remain still in one segment of time, and never progress. To be left behind - a traveler in my own land."

She saw the sun in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The sun immediately answered: "A state of numbness, that no ray of warmth can ever penetrate through its shell of stillness. A state where heat is a solace beyond my reach."

She saw the moon in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The moon heavily sighed and then said: "An ever encompassing darkness, where in exists no hope. It would wrap around you stealthily, till you are both one."

She saw the rain in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The rain shivered, and with a far away look responded: "A dusty dryness so palpable, limiting all tactile sensory."


She saw herself in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
Herself fixated her, and asked her to follow.

They stepped in front of a glass pane, and herself pointed at the face staring back.

The empty dark brown eyes.
The straight mouth.
The taut skin.

Her face. Her.

She lifted her hand, and an identical hand lifted across the glass pane.

Herself looked at her and whispered: "And now you know my greatest fear". And with that, Herself faded into the crowds.

She turned to the glass pane and stared momentarily, swallowed by two, familiar yet so alien dark brown pits.

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A Native Tongue.

Yes, its been a while.

But I really have been busy.

Enjoy.

Carpe Diem

;)

____________________.

"One loves with their heart," he proclaimed."Give me your heart and I'll give you mine."

A layer of silence settled down and thickened. Nothing was said. Yet, she spoke in a native tongue - that of silence.



One loves with their heart?

The vital organ of life - that heart?

Give me your heart and I'll give you mine...

That heart serves only one purpose - that of keeping your temporary body alive. A body that acts as a medium in which we 'live'.


That heart is not really mine.

How can I give you something I do not own?

The only thing anyone really owns is their soul.

Still, what if you love someone with your heart, then when you no longer ‘live’, does that mean you no longer love them?

What if you give someone your heart, and they 'break' it, do you die?

What if you want your heart back, but I want to keep it forever? What then? Do you die as well?


What if my heart has a mind of its own, and doesn't want to come back to me? Do I die?

But if its not this literal, then what heart do you figuratively refer to?


What, then, do you really give someone you love?

Emotions?

Promises?

Hope?

Yet, emotions, grow, change, shrink, fade and disappear.

Promises eventually become empty words.

And hope is scarce and indefinite- a glimpse of what could be.


So when we speak of the heart do we refer to the design that we've subconsciously sketched and associate with compassion? Are we talking about that 'heart'?

Where is this 'heart'?

Is it palpable?

Is it active?

Is it warm?

Do I have one?

Oh 'heart' of mine, do you hear me?


Everyone has a heart. But does everyone have a 'heart'?

In the same way, not everyone has compassion.

Am I compassionate?

Do I deserve compassion?


Then again, if you loved someone with your soul - does it last forever?

It can't be eternal? Can it?

Surely the need to strive forward will cancel its perpetual state.

Does a soul have a 'heart'?

Is that where you are, oh 'heart'?

How do you love with your soul?

Do you give your soul?


But my soul is me.

I can't give you me.

I can only give myself me.



But she spoke in a native tongue- that of silence.

Heed the silence and its message, he did not.

Hear its whisper, he could not.

Thus, he waited.

And she finally replied: "I'm afraid I can't take your heart: I don't have space enough for two. I can't give you my own for I've yet to find what that really is."

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Maybe Is No Certainly.

Maybe you can bring me back, you say.

Maybe you can save my lost soul.

Maybe you can bring out that shy me.

Maybe you can please my inner child.

Maybe you can help my battered self.

Maybe you can restore my beliefs.

Maybe you can attempt to revive those parts I put six feet under.

Maybe you can make everything all well again.

Maybe you can aid me in getting through this, you assure me.

Maybe you can help me and I'll make it.

Maybe you can try your hardest.

Maybe you can let me dream again, you plead.

Maybe you can bring back my innocence.

Maybe you can dim the past.

Maybe you can open my eyes.


Maybe you can bring me back, you say yet again.


But then again, maybe you can't, I say at last.

Because 'Maybe' is no certainly.

'Maybe' is that hidden hope.

'Maybe' is for the children of tomorrow.


I believe in now.

'Cause that's all I have.


'Maybe' is no certainly.

And so 'Maybe' isn't for me.

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So in Sync.

Hello there. *waves*

Before you judge the title I tell you this: No I'm not recruiting for a new boy band. I swear!

Moving on.

So, the other day I was out with a group of friends. And one of my friend's brother says something dirty. And mind you, it was subtle - he really wasn't holding a sign that says: "Perverted stuff, coming up".

The minute it came out of his mouth, an entire circuit of fluorescent tube lights just went on in my brain. DING DING DING.

It's not that I have a dirty mind - honest to God - I can just totally pick up on the perverted stuff. They're sort of transmitted at the same frequency that my brain picks up.


Wow. That frequency stuff, brought back to life a complete moving diorama of my physics class. *chants "I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it"* Phew.

Anyway. That incident got me thinking about how my brain became so in sync with the perverseness.

And today, I have made a great discovery.

Warning: If you do not wish to take a walk down memory lane - close window now.

My, My. You're still here? You brave soul.

Just keep in mind that just 'cause you had Lasik surgery doesn't mean we can't remember the pair of wheels on your face back in the old days ;)

So...

Remember back in the third grade, when you used to carry your
a) Scooby-doo/TMNT/Tom & Jerry lunch box if you were cool.
b) Barbie if you were dosed with extra X chromosomes.
c) Power Rangers/Batman if you were a mama's boy or a dyke.

proudly and walk to the dingy school bus and sit according to your level of coolness?

(How this was determined escapes me at the moment.)

Oh come on, you must be able to recall this sort of stuff!

There were all these other kids with you.


And there was Billy.

You see Billy, but Billy is so far away. (Mind you, Billy can be a girl too, as in my case)

Now. Billy was that kid at the back of bus - the one radiating out raw coolness.

And Billy was all-knowing back then.

The one with the big saucy mouth the million and two innuendos.

Everyone has at least one memory of Billy.

For Billy taught you all.

Your mom remembers Billy.

Because you asked her if what Billy said what true.

She probably denied it, blushed a profuse hue of red, and you were grounded for no reason at all.

'She lies,' Billy told you.

And lie she did.

But Billy told you the truth.

Billy took away your innocence.

Billly made your eyes pop.

Billy changed your life.

After that, you became officially synced.

Courtesy of Billy and Sons.


Remember that Billy?

Yeah *nods*, me too.

I wonder where Billy is now?

Hmm...


My theory?

Your parents probably paid Billy to teach you all that stuff, so they wouldn't have to do it themselves AND they got to punish you regardless :)

As for Billy…well Billy's training his/her kid. After all, somebody's got to keep the family business running.


------------------
P.S

Before I wrote all this down, I called my favorite cousin.
And told him all about Billy and my theory.
After literally 10 minutes of him laughing at me, he goes: "Yeah. I miss my being Billy days."

Well, no shocker there.
Really.
I couldn't even pretend.

*sigh*.

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The Secret of The World.

The secret of the world lies not buried deep within its bowels.
 
It does not roam the skies, nor wander amongst us.

The secret of the world is not found in an hidden truth. 

It does not make any sound.

The secret of the world is not heavily guarded. 

It does not wish to remain a secret any longer.

The secret of the world offers little - yet to some it is all. 


***

And one day the world breathed its secret: 

"My secret lies in an ultimate balance - a balance between letting go and holding on."


It went unheard. A forever dying echo.



But you hear it now. 

And you now know the world's secret.

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