Author: fatesalchemist

Night Tour

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There is something night, the calm coalescing of the late hours that extend seemingly forever.  It’s in the stories of great thinkers and artists, in the modern fairy tales of entrepreneurs and innovators. It’s a symbol of both frustration and hard work. The image of a team sitting around a table tired and overworked, squeezing out ever last drop of thought in hope it brings some sort or revelation has a kind of romantic twinge to it. The lonely soul walking the empty byways illuminated with the amber streetlamps and neon signs searching for some sort of solace has a sweetness to it. Truth be told, passion is just not as dramatic at 8 am.

I find myself wandering the night more regularly now, be it in my mind or in my car.  The night allows me to wander in a sort of anonymity.  The constraints I would have around my thoughts weaken, the tasks I had to do are all but done. So it then falls to me to let my mind saunter into the imaginary, to blur the lines of what is acceptable. There is something about the state of mind, that is so tired that it decides to focus solely on the one thing before you.
The unfolding nature of night strips away these waking selves which we so carefully prune  ], it allows us to interact with these quiet mental forces that would normally never have a voice. All the thoughts unfolding and opening into a much larger scope and view. All the questions and discussions that happen after a certain time of night, without fear of reprocussions. In thought, we find purpose, we find motivated frustration, a swell of emotion, a connection and destruction of relationships, and a time for truth from within and without.   When driving down those dark roads, the world becomes tangable metaphore for life. Seeming endless roads with hundreds of avenues to travel down but can only happen one at a time, much like our choices.  There is an ease to it, no expectation of making the right choice, and when you find youself face to face with a dead end, you just turn around and start again.

When I find myself behind the wheel there is a sort of serenity to it.  Seeing the city lights pass me by, the neon signs lit up into the night even after the stores and buisnesses have all been closed. The people walking about, all trying to get somewhere but taking their own time to do it.  We can observe the autonomy that continues to exist in the night without anyone around.  The way the lights sometime change for no one. There are endless reason to escape into the night every once in a while to free yourself.
I am fortunate enough to live in a city driving is a way of life, so I learned to enjoy the countless hours I may have spent behind the wheel going somewhere I don’t know yet.

Sometimes we need these moments, these moments when all things deconstruct and we are left facing ourselves. The moments where we can let off the burdens and find a sense of peace. The moments where two people can really connect and go beyond the facade of our lives. The night isn’t a miracle cure but it’s something that ushers in the new dawn and another chance in the form of a new day.  Perhaps all you need to change is a night tour.

Limit of Words

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I find myself in a situation where words don’t seem to be enough. The sentences that I have strung are a falling short.  What more can I do, this text is my specialty, the expression of emotion and feeling, and yet it’s stopped short by the stream of consciousness. Broken apart by simple things like time and situation. I’m a conversationalist and yet if I can’t talk then how will I get my point across.

Is there some other way, some way beyond my skillset to demonstrate the feelings and ideas.  Is this how a modern dancer feels when trying to invoke emotion from an audience who is uninterested.  Can I detail out all the way the heart can pour onto a page and be heard? It’s this almost disconnectedness from the words that tells me that I need to double down. The author’s experience of bringing reality to the reader, drawing them into the world in which they have never been, making people feel like the text on a page is little more than a portal to a new universe.  How do I draw people in, how do I so express myself that people want to read? These are words to be heard, these are expressions that I want to be felt.

I can paint a picture with words the smell as sweet as spring. I can pull my heart out of my chest and place down on a page and yet there is such a limitation to it.  There must be an another way to reach you, and maybe it’s just a challenge to do so.

An Ode to A Room

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Of all the religious beliefs out there in the world, the one I have always resonated with (aside from the religion I belong to) is animism.  Animism is the belief is that all things from animals and plants to rocks, rivers, and words have some a life and spirit to them.  There is an agency to them, an intentionality of their existence and that they all have their own wants and desires.  It is considered of the oldest types of religion, and that most other forms of religion stemmed from this idea.
For me, this is a familiar feeling. Much to the chagrin of my mother, I tend to hold on to things.  Once a memory is attached to a certain item, then it feels as if part of my very soul is connected with it. You might say, that’s just because you are a sentimentalist. I can’t argue with that, but for me, I have always wondered if everyday objects have wants and desires.  If when using them for their creates purpose they are delighted and fulfilled, and when they are left to sit unused they feel dejected and alone.
All this personification aside, objects within our lives that have traveled with us take on a particular personalization.  Like well-worn clothes, they seem to fit the curves and angles just right, or a pen starts to feel familiar in your hand.  Now I want to tell you a story about one of these objects, one I’ve been with longer than most things in my life.

When I was told that I would finally have my own room, I was ecstatic. Finally, I wouldn’t have to share a room with my sister (at least not all the time).  My five-year-old self didn’t understand the concept of privacy or the later significance of four walls to call your own would be, I only knew I wanted one.  I was taken to my new room, a small multipurpose floor with sliding glass door to the outside, and an even smaller closet. At the time, I was the one who took up the least amount of space it made sense I would get the most modest space (that logic didn’t persist when I became bigger than both my mother and sister). I remembered being terrified of my room in the beginning. There were 4 doors in it and all of them held the boogieman.

Eventually, the glass door became nothing more than a window, my bed became larger along with my clothes.  The fears of childhood left me, and I went from playing with blocks and legos on the floor to watching movies and reading on my bed.  Being someone who spent a lot of time at home, my room was the most familiar place to me in the entire house.  It became a sanctuary, a refuge for my the long nights and growing pains I experienced.  It became a place to hide away when talking to other people was simply out of the question.  It was my fortress of solitude where I could have any thoughts I wanted and not be judged. It was a consistency in my life, and the only time I would be separated from it was when my family would visit, and I would have to relinquish my room to my grandmother.
My room continued to evolve with time, filling with trinkets, nicknacks, and pieces of my life I thought were important at the time.  My small room began to fill with memories I created, mixing the old and the new to make up who I was. In a way, it was a reflection of growth and proof of existence.  Furniture came and went, it moved to different settings, feelings, and configurations but never grew to beyond the scope of those four walls. The room never changed in size or color but at times felt entirely new and different. It’s all I could ask for, and it made me happy.

By the time I entered college, I had started to feel the limitations bearing down on me.  My spirit wanted more, and I was growing up and wanted to get a space without all the rules of home. I got my opportunity came when I went off to school.  Only when I would come back to visit would it see me again.
My mother used the space as a spare bedroom for anyone who needed a place to stay in the meantime. It was then my room became stagnant, that it stopped growing with me and became a reflection of who I was before I left. This why after to years of growth and change we were thrust together again.  It became flooded with new memories, and a new desire for it all at once and I was thrown back into my life before I left.  I had finally realized what it was to grow beyond the 4 walls and now the space had felt like a prison. It confined me to the person who I was before I left, I know it didn’t do it on purpose, and it meant well, but the box was already open.
The room offered me a home, as it always had. Even through all the hardship, it was the familiar place to go back to at the end of the day. I learned all those hard lessons within its embrace, it sheltered me those dark sleepless nights.

When my mom told me I needed to look to moving out, I knew that my time in my room was over.  Over the course of many months, I started to dismantle what my room was, piece by piece.  Took the pictures off the wall, removed the items from my top shelf, emptied out my closet and bookshelf.  I slowly began to see the white walls again, and the feeling that it was slowly becoming less of my room began to set in.  At the end, all I had left was my mattress on the floor and empty bookshelf, and now even that is gone. All there is left is the memory, the marks on the wall, the patches in the paint, the stairs that lead to nowhere, the small marks and indent on the floor from my furniture.  These are all memories etched into this room’s surface.The physical manifestation of time passing and lives being lived. I’ve had this room just short of 20 years and it is marked by our time together.
Eventually, when some else lives there, will they understand the dents in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the life I had in this room? To anyone else, these are just imperfections to be fixed, like how someone sees another person’s scars.
I am happy to have spent all this time in this room, and now that I am leaving it’s only fitting at taking a second to pause about the experiences one room can hold.
This room will probably not miss me as I miss it. I wanted to send my words out into the ether, hope in some strange way that it understand that I loved it and I  couldn’t forget it even if I tried. Thank you for giving me 4 walls, a floor that I could spend so much of my life in. Seeing you empty even now feels so strange, but I hope that whatever you become next is filled with as much happiness, love, and memory that my stay there did.

Thank you for all the years, goodbye and good luck.

A Sound Dissonance

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There I was, sitting in my car parked in the mud, fog all around and the thick beams of light dashing by as the road was illuminated for only a moment then dark again.  I had hoped to come to some sort of resolution sitting there, away from it all but I couldn’t concentrate.  I tried writing, but everything I wrote sounded like a shallow drop into the bottomless bucket. I felt so off inside, and I didn’t know if anything I did would make me feel any different. I was desperate, and I continually thought “I can’t live like this, this can’t be my life, I have to change.” It was then that the tears began to flow, and I could finally hear my heart once again.

I’ve spent much time on the edge, the brink of my personal existence and for a while, there was a disconnect, a dissonance, between where to be logically and where my heart and soul wanted me to be. This dissonance, which I can only describe as what it would feel like to be a 3D movie without the special glasses.  It just feels wrong, nothing is in the right place but so close to where things should be that it’s hard to tell where things should actually be.  It was brought about but the lack of self that I have so neglectfully not infused into my action. I have only done, but never acted on my own accord.

This began because I have spent so much time trying to learn how to follow the right path that I have ignored the path I was meant for. It’s only now that I realize that the ways of other people only go so far. My desire for a good life obscured my true self behind the good intentions of others. This is not to say life will not be easier if we follow the solid advice of others, but there is a type of medicinal quality to making decisions for yourself. A genius is least likely to understand the steps and process it takes to get to an answer.  The answer simply makes sense to them, then as to people who have come across the answer and have lost connection to what it took to arrive at this solution, the answer just is.  So in following the solid but seemingly unsubstantiated advice, it ends with action that is has a sense of emptiness behind it.  A life that is lived solely on the suggestion and path of others will allow you to avoid troubles, but it also removes you from what it is to be a person.
This is in no way to say that advice should not be heeded, it’s merely to remark that in every piece of advice that we take, we must infuse a sense of our own essence into action. Do this or it will feel as if you are are not actually living life, and you will lose the passion and the path.
Now for me, it is to find learning through listening but also doing for myself. I am the only one who can live my life, and if I am emulating other people then how will I really get anything done.  It’s the conscious effort towards what our hearts want and our minds dream of that we can in some way feel fulfilled as ourselves.  It’s that friction of living a life untrue to ourselves that weighs and bears upon our soul.  We find that sometimes we cage ourselves in the institution that will ultimately lead us to success in a material sense but ultimately starves the soul.  If we live a life that doesn’t belong to us, we are in some way doing a disservice to ourselves.  I know if I were to walk through a life that had no passion or no promise of future would feel like dying continuously until all that would be left is hollow.
At this point, I have no more excuses, I have expended them all. All they are now is a way to avoid life and be okay with it.  I have to stop and listen to myself and with the aid and advice of others step forward into a new dawn.

That night I spoke to my heart, we had it out, I began yelling at it, and it started screaming back. It was all to keen to expose what I had pushed away, what I had been ignoring. It told me about all my worries and my fears. We argued my excuses, wounds, and shortfalls.  As time went on, and the conversation deepened, I felt like I was finally letting go.  Letting go of the reins that I had held on to for so long up to this point. Letting go of all the troubles I had been dragging along with me. My heart could not be with me because I had filled myself with debris.  I finally to broke the fast that I had unknowingly put my heart through.
When my tears dried, I felt one with my heart, as if it was right there back within my chest. I felt like I was where I was supposed to belong. Like how a small child out exploring hardly ever feels lost, instead a feels a sense adventure, the world once again felt like the grand adventure I knew it to be.

We can’t avoid making mistakes, and traversing familiar lessons but thats part of being alive, we just do the best we can out there. I understand the a great fortune to be talking about the ability to choose and the pusuit of dreams.  At the end of the day, I can only speak to what my heart tells me “Follow your dreams or die”. It really is just as unreasonable as I am and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A Train of Thought

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I spend all this time writing and thinking
truth be told
Sometimes I want to remain silent and listen
But my mouth gets in the way
how will I ever learn if I am the only one speaking
It’s a habit I mean to break
Maybe I should just decide.
That seems to work well
can I just decide to be different
is it really that easy
Will the unrelenting force of nature and habit quiet them just based on a decision
I don’t want to be a half measure
but am I really able to make myself immune to the coming tide but saying I will not be affected
that seems naive
but maybe that’s what I need
to be naive
to lack that understanding and go full force
to go beyond who I am and just let the world happen
to become exactly what I want by choosing to be that way
maybe that’s what separates people from being great and grand
that we wallow and can’t just choose
I want to be great
so I must choose
to be great
and to do
great
things.

It would be easy to leave it up to the future
to let my future self
make the choice
but will they really?
because they are me and if I am unwilling doesn’t that mean
they will be too
maybe that’s the secret
be the future self you are always looking towards to get stuff done.
If I put it that way
it almost seems like I am a hero
the hero I always needed
be the man you always wanted to be
by doing the things you’ve always wanted to do

I hope I don’t lose this lesson
I hope that I can hang onto it
but even if I do
if I found this place once
it will always be easier to find this place again
there is always hope.

The World In The Life Of A Guy: Part 2 – Decisions

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There is some unspoken part of being a man, a requirement to have a firmness of choice.  It’s confusing to me because I am expected to make decisions and stick to them even when I am unsure. To cut through the fog, and smoke like a sword, swift and with purpose.  It would be a false bravado, and maybe that’s what I need, to fake it until I make it. If people are to give me the power, perhaps I should learn to wield it, and do what I think is best.

The decision, that force that tears through the cloud like vengeance, requires me always to have the tempered blade ready to use in moments where it’s do or die, and I may have to kill.  That what decision feel like at times, subjecting myself to the fog of war, where left, right, up, and down seems negligible to the enemy in front of me. Trying my best to survive, as each choice takes its toll on me, I am just like others, not wanting to make decisions all the time.  I sometimes push off the responsibility to others so that I can go along with the ride.

The expectation is a guy I will make and stand by my choices, sway people like waves on an ocean to my choice. To be the lighthouse that brings the boats in during the dark nights and rainy days, a constant to turn to. It becomes the responsibility of the one making the decision, the one making this choice, to keep everyone in mind.

I don’t know how many times I’ve sat across from people trying to figure out what to eat and looking for that evasive input that would point me in the right direction it eludes me once more.  Seeking to narrow down the multitude of places that all swarm my brain and are all equally good.  Even sometimes when I make a decision, they tell me to choose again. It’s effortful and taxing in situations where the decision is much more significant, but maybe it’s a matter of learning to get stronger and more resilient so I can go further along.

I know that I overthink most things, and not every decision is tantamount to a national emergency, but like most people, I don’t like being wrong.  I guess I should learn to get over that, learn to make decisions the best I can with what I have.  I am an academic at heart so collecting information is my go to, but I need to know when enough is enough. When it doesn’t pay to squeeze out that last drop. It’s all part of growing up isn’t it, making do with what you have, and embracing the limitation and coming up with something new.

Maybe I shouldn’t put that much emphasis on what I do, and maybe I shouldn’t care as much about others think when I make decisions. Maybe I will just choose and let the cards fall where they may. I only know so much and am working with what I have because I’m “just a guy” right.

To: Love

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Dear Love,

I haven’t heard from you in a while, and trust me, I knew after our last encounter we needed some space.

It’s just been strange without you around. I remember you, and I having been inseparable since I first met you around 6 or 7.  You used to play with me whenever I felt lonely or down.  All through school, you accompanied me through my awkward phases and social situations, nagging me in the middle of class, diverting my attention.  I didn’t mind, I always enjoyed myself when you were around even if things didn’t work out as planned. I remember how charismatic you were, telling me stories and tales about others people who knew you and dreams of the future you had with me.  You were always there, pulling at my heartstrings, making me feel the true immensity of being crushed by the unrequited feelings I had in my chest.

Years went by with this persistent feeling, as I got older, our relationship deepened. I came to better understand you.  I took some time in high school to grow on my own without you around, knowing that we would reconnect as old friends when I got back. That period I learned not to lean on you, that I needed to learn to stand on my own two feet without you around. I couldn’t expect you to carry me in the future, especially if I didn’t have anything to give you in return.

Through heartbreak, I found you, through experience and a desire to not make the same mistakes I sought you. I thought you would leave me disappointed again, but this time you came back in spades. It marked a new depth to things, you really got to know me, and I really got to know you.

We were around each other for a while, taking a break every now and again. My college years were full of experiences with you, learning and growing.  It started to feel like this was what growing up and maturing felt like. We hit a groove, a rhythm, an understanding that maybe this would be something that continued without pause.

Then it happened, you and I got into a bit of a disagreement.  It wasn’t something unusual, and normally I would bounce right back, but this last one didn’t sit right with me. I knew we needed some time to figure things out.  I had taken you for granted, and you hit me where it hurt. It became heavy when you were around, and I just couldn’t handle the strain, there was too much memory, too much complication, and too many unresolved feelings.

I realized we couldn’t just keep going on like we used to, that I needed some time away from you. There is no blame to be cast, it just one of those things that happen.  Without you around, I could figure out myself and grow. Part of me knows that if you were around, I would get comfortable and complacent. Part of me believes this is the best for both of us, that one-day things will work out okay. Part of me is afraid you might do the same thing to me again, so I don’t know how much to trust you.

Time will mend these wounds, the experience will overwrite the pain. In the end, I know sometimes you treated me like crap, pushed me into situations where I would be let down, but I don’t regret any of my moments with you because you gave me memories I will cherish forever.

One day we will find each other again when the time is right, we meet like old friends who bump into each other at the supermarket, and without skipping a beat, we will reconnect. Until then I wish you well and hope you are okay. Know that I’m not gone for good, I will figure things out.

I miss you love, and I love you. I promise I’ll come for you again soon.

Sincerely,
Me

 

Vignette, 2

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These eyes I see staring through me in the mirror, an intensity that looks beyond me into the ether, the warm cold eyes that I see, ones that done know how they want to be.

The slow walk up, in anticpation, I can’t help but smile. There is ridiculousness that lies on the other side of the door, one that when I turn that knob I will be apart of.

The cold floor greets my feet and knees as I kneel contemplating life before my legs begin to hurt.

I sat there, in that dark room, watching as the little flecks of dust moved through the beam of light from the projector.

This empty room, white walls, hard floor, and so much space.  Everything looks too big, not how I remember it at all.

Bold moves bring them close, but you can see a touch of trepidation as the act has carried farther than anticipated.

She wags her tail, I wonder what she is thinking, she just wants to be near me, she wants me to pet her, or she just wants some food.

I don’t know what to believe, him or her was the choice I was given, not really a choice but a preference between people.

She walked like how a young girl imagined she would want to walk in the future, in an almost unbelievably exagerated way.

Sitting there on the bench, even if he looked like he was taking a breather, his body always looked a bit tense and largely strained.

That blanket touched my feet like clouds touch the sky. Sofly and with a bit of wimsy, with an absense of true warmth.

That small statue that went everywhere he went, took on an almost worn antique look after many days of travel.

A pain in the side arises, each breath feels as if someone has made velcro of his inside with nerve endings being constantly torn apart and put back together.

The small, infantesimal smile that was seen by few and understood by fewer contained all the happiness she had inside from reading that note.

When My Heart Fell To Silence

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One of my favorite authors is Paulo Coelho, and my favorite of his books is the Alchemist.  Its one of the few books which have had the patience and desire to read multiple times.  Most of the book is about the journey of a man looking to find his personal legend. All along this journey, he learns how to listen to the voice of the world and how to listen to the voice of his heart.  There is a point in his quest, where obtains all he needs to live a good life, a life better than what he had before. There he considered the end to this quest, stop following his dream and settle down to a life worth living.  It was then, a wise man told him, should he end this campaign to fulfill his personal legend, ignoring the calls and prods of his heart, one day his heart would stop talking and grow silent forever to be lost to him.

I find myself slightly askew, feeling like there is something missing within me.  Sometimes it feels like my brain is drowing, waiting for air to releave it of its suffering, only to sit working on what I only hope will grow into something better.  My heart rests itself in a grey cloud, feeling the luke warm of the air around it, never feeling content, but also never getting the motivation to get out of this shroud. I am not unhappy, but I am not exactly chipper as my usual self. This feeling of cynasism creeps forth as my heart and mind lash out at me like a wounded animal.This is slow and painful insanity that eventually overcomes and become a psuedo reality in which there may be no percievable real escape from.

My feeling is at this moment I am the furthest I have ever been from my heart, and where my personal legend may lie.

Its exasperating, my heart is whispering strange thoughts and notions into my mind, wanting me to cut loose and go while, escape from the grey clouding my heart, give my brain some fresh air to breath. I sit here and I think about it, process it, there the revelation of my current standing in life, this is my chance to finally listen to my heart and leave to where I want to go. I must take contol of the reins and move myself back on this path. I must find this lightening path, the road to the end of the tunnel, I will see the light of day again.

We must face ourselves in the mirror and I can’t become statisfied with what I see in return. Change comes from a need born deep with, a necessity that will push me further than ever before.   I will start on my journey, start on my course, follow where my heart leads and never look back.

This I promise, I will start now, right this minute, because tomorrow is already too late.

Convert To Humanity

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I’ve gone to church for all of my life.  Mass after mass every Sunday,  learning about what to do, how to do it, and what is the righteous path. Growing up in the church makes people a bit apathetic, less responsive, and less zealous. I can remember sitting in the pews when I was younger, dosing off as the something akin to muscle memory took me through the motions.  Responses and prayers at that point just become words and empty ritual that your hearts not into (not the best way to practice religion).
It was in these brief periods of dozing that I realized there were a group of people who had all the love and faith to put into the mass, who hung on every word. They would sit in anticipation for the next lesson, and always have a distinct reverence for God, and be the loudest voices when it came to singing and praying.  These people I would find out later usually converted to the religion. People who ultimately chose to be there, not because of some familial obligation or routine, but because they found exactly what they were looking for. As I got older, I had always had a great deal of respect for them, because it’s their zeal that I aspire to.

It was around age 7 when if you wanted to find me I would be in one of two places, staring at a screen in the living room, or watching a screen in my bedroom.  It’s not that I was particularly antisocial, but I had always felt more comfortable with a monitor in front of me.  If I wasn’t at school or with friends that was what I was doing.  Video games and cartoons were my life, a consistency that I sought, and for some time, the only consistency I had.  I wasn’t much for humanity, people were fun to be around, but I always guarded myself against them. For a while there I didn’t understand the appeal of people, though at times I enjoy being around them, I always defaulted back to that life in front of the screen. People and I seemed to be on a very different wavelength so when was playing video games it was my home, it was my haven, where I would go to escape into the world I felt like I might actually belong to.
As I grew older, the feeling of something missing within me began to grow.  Though video games and anime were fun, they ultimately could only provide a mostly superficial experience.  No matter how far I delved to fill this part of myself, I was never really satisfied completely.  I doubled down, how can something that had sustained me for this long suddenly be lacking. Hundreds of episodes, countless games, and hours staring at the backlit screen of a laptop, I needed something to change, but for a while nothing did.
It was much later when I started to see the value in those types of relationships we foster. It took a while for that desire to spread root within me. It was then that my love of humanity began to grow because it was something I realized I wanted to be a part of, something I knew would make me feel more complete and alive. I wanted to know as much as I could about this group that I seemed strangely distant from. I wanted to be apart humanity because I finally accepted I was human.

When I think about why I believe in humanity so much, in the goodness of man, the greatness of our capability.  I realize, I chose to be part of this miraculous people and have fallen in love with our antics.  It’s a zeal I find reminiscent to those converts to religion. I sing out praised of humanity and acknowledge their shortfalls. I find that I love people because doing so makes me feel whole. It birthed a passion that I can’t live without.

At the end of it, I believe in how great people can be.  I have always been a lover of history, and it has always been enough evidence to show me how much we can accomplish if we really push ourselves. Within the last century athletes, academics and activists have pushed the boundary and advanced our society beyond people hundreds of years ago would be able to fathom.  Though there are times in which we follow a misguided or evil path, we always show a high capability to learn and grow.  Our greatest strength is to adapt and teach others a better way and strive for a better future. I am a convert to humanity, a believer in our purpose, I will sing our songs to the heavens and hang on every lesson.