The Most Phenomenal Fact

My Symphonies: 

  • Chandelier / Sia
  • Collapse / Vancouver Sleep Clinic
  • Flaws / Vancouver Sleep Clinic
  • Poison&Wine / The Civil Wars
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Kenn Edward Tenorio. 22 and notoriously crazy.

You know what the most phenomenal fact is? The most phenomenal fact in my life and in the world that I live in? The most phenomenal fact about everything and everyone that I have ever crossed paths with?

The most phenomenal fact, ladies and gentlemen, is that I am right now sitting here and  writing to you with the knowledge that when it comes down to it, this life is my own and that there’s no one else to be thanked or blamed. It is the knowledge that time is ticking away like a madman with every breath that I take; the knowledge that I am tiny and enormous at the same time, because of how the universe and this planet came to be billions of years ago. It is the knowledge that a day will come when none of this will really matter. Do you know how depressing and brilliantly liberating that is? To know that you can write and express your raw thoughts and articulate your raw emotions to a blank space without having to worry about the great future significance of whatever the hell it is that you are writing? Let me tell you: it’s motherfucking great.

You know how in movies the main character starts narrating his story through a voice-over while the opening credits are being flashed on the screen? That’s kind of how I feel right now. I feel like my life is on its opening credits, and here I am talking to an inanimate object so that people will later on hear what I have to say. I think it’s one part of being a writer. A lot of great writers in the history of literature didn’t get to see their work earn millions of dollars and millions of readers because they passed away before that happened. It’s depressing and also wonderful, I think. And I’m not saying that I am the next Sylvia Plath or Ernest Hemingway, I’m just saying that I am a fucking boy living in this sort of fucked-up but somehow amazing planet, and I am feeling somewhere in between alive and dying at the moment.

I am not naive, and I am not dumb. Well, sometimes I act like I am. Well, most of the time, actually. It’s actually like a form of self-entertainment for me. But I’m not naive or dumb. I know that I am often lost, and people always feel the need to put some sense into my head. You know what, let me tell you something rather explosive:

I am notoriously crazy, in the fiercest sense of the word. I am a lot of things, and people know that. For starters, I hate society. I’ve always been a nonconformist, but it’s not because I wanna stand out. In fact, the major reason why I hate society is that I know that it doesn’t exist. Society is a state of mind. It’s not like someone just woke up one day and decided he was gonna invent society and then Hello, bitches! Here I am! Yours Truly, Society xoxoxo! No. Nobody just simply got bored one morning and thought of ways to create society. Society is really all in the mind, and I am aware that as long as I hate society, I am self-injecting its existence into my life. It’s almost like acknowledging the fact that it is still somehow stronger than I am.

So in a way, going against “society” is like battling my own demons inside of me. It’s like telling that part of your thoughts that you don’t enjoy to get the hell out and go fuck itself. And I’m telling you, it’s not easy.

It’s not easy to have to walk along the streets and exchange hi’s and hello’s with people who may or may not be aware of the same things that you are aware of. I mean, I am not judging anyone. We are all different because had we all been similar to each other, the world wouldn’t be as alive and interesting as it is right now. We all make up this kaleidoscopic world, where each of us plays his or her role in the affairs of the universe. So it’s not that I want people to think the way I do, it’s simply that I wanna be heard. Sometimes. Like today.

All I’m saying is, there are so many facets to me that not a lot of people understand.

I am the friend they love to hate. Because I am so unapologetically expressive, and I am loud, and I am outgoing, and I am unpredictable, and I am hyperactive and sometimes unreasonably enthusiastic. And I do things that they take as an insult simply because we do not all share the same values and priorities. Sometimes I do things that I believe are fun but are already grave and derogatory for some people.

I am the whiny misunderstood bitch who’s lazy and erratic like hell. Because that’s just how I am. I am honestly either the best or the worst companion. I don’t do anything half-ass, and I think that I have established that. I like extremes, and I really just live in the moment. I am ill. I can be vindictive and irrational. I can be very over-the-top with anything that I do. I piss people off, and it’s usually the people I am truly close with. Because when I am really close with someone, I tend to show them all parts of me. I don’t spare them the gory details. Why should I? Do you have any idea how rare it is to find real friends nowadays? Real lovers? even understanding family members? Let me tell you, it’s effing hard. So when you know for a fact that this or that person gets you, and you feel like you’ve both connected to that point where you can share anything with them, even your deepest darkest secrets? You let loose. You let go, and then you explode. You let them watch your lava pouring and skyrocketing all over the place. I don’t know about you, but I like to think of every day as the last day I get. That’s why I love the extremes. I always try my hardest to live on the edge because really, there’s no other place I’d rather live but on the highway and the fast lanes of my own little world. People always say things like, oh my gosh I can’t wait for my bucket list to get crossed out entirely. Or Someday, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna fuck this shit and live the life that I want to live. Or Someday, my life will be great. Not today, nope. But someday, I am gonna be fucking rich/famous/significant. Someday I’m gonna change the world. Someday I am gonna meet the man of my dreams and I am gonna marry the fuck out of him. Because someday I am so gonna be in love that none of the gods can do anything about it. Someday I am gonna be happy. Someday I am gonna get a dog and walk him in the park where I can say that hey, I have a stable 9-5 job and I have a 6-digit income, so look at me being so fly at the park walking my super expensive dog along with the other stable people here. Like, one day, I am gonna be living my dream. I am gonna be an inspiration to others one day. Maybe next year, I’ll go on a trip to Rio where I can finally go crazy and be myself without being judged like I do in my tiny little hometown. Maybe next month, I can finally do this and that. And maybe, in the next decade or so, I can finally go on a hot-air balloon ride in light of my Bucket List Crossing Out Event.

Fuck.

It’s always Someday. That Someday, I tell you. Damn. It’s your worst enemy. Does anyone else out there wonder deeply about this sick obsession of people about the future?

Look at your friends. Look at your lovers. Your family. Your brothers, sisters, your batchmates in high school, in elementary, your workmates, your boss. Your community leaders. Et freaking cetera…. Everyone is so attached to this idea that someday, life will be good. The idea that someday, all of the hardwork and the sacrifices and the endless burning of the midnight oil will finally pay off. A bright motherfucking future. That’ what everyone cares about these days.

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In beauty pageants, one question that never goes out of style is this:

If there is one thing you could change about the world, what would it be and why?

I’m telling you, one day I’m gonna join the fucking Miss Universe just so I get the chance to be asked that question and I will say (and no I won’t be giving any amount of fucks about the time limit or how the crowd’s gonna react or if they shut the cameras down, coz I’m just gonna explode):

Thank you for that wonderful question, Ms. Someone Who Is Supposed to be Worldly Significant Enough For Me To Shake Out of Nervousness Because It’s Supposed to be a Big Deal. 🙂 (of course, I’ll be smiling the entire time because that’s how a Miss Universe contestant should act, right? They should always be skinny and smiling, as if representing the universe is all about that.) If there is one thing that I could change about the world, it would be the way humanity worships the future. Like honestly, that’s the only thing I would like to change about this world. I just wish we could all give less of a damn about what the eff will happen next month, next year, or 5 years later. Why is it always about the future? You always hear “Someday, I will be happy” but you never really hear someone saying “Right now, I am happy. This is great. This is amazing. I feel alive”. Tell me you hear or read that across social media sites on a daily basis and I’ll be the first bitch to axe-kick you across the face to wake you the fuck up. Because nobody says that. Nobody believes in the present anymore, when it’s technically the ONLY thing that we are certain about. Why can’t the HERE and NOW be amazing? Why does it always have to be a trip around the world  or a job promotion or money that will make you happy? And why does it always have to be SOMEDAY? I’m sick of that word, actually. Someday is the worst scammer you will ever encounter in your life. Sure, you can choose to believe so tightly in the future, but what if none of what is on your bucket list happens? What? You’re never gonna be happy then? That you’re gonna die sad and miserable because you didn’t get to do all those fancy things that you were once so sure were gonna happen? I mean seriously, ladies and gents. Look around you. You are all breathing and you all have a reason to believe that right now is the best time to live, because this is the current time that we are in. For a change, try focusing on the now. I don’t know about you, but now is lovely. Now is beautiful. Now is birds chirping, now is oceans running deep, now is breathing and caring and dancing and loving. Now is friendships that are flourishing, now is rivers rushing. Now is fireworks and parachutes and gummy bears and pugs. Someday isn’t the time. NOW is the time. Now is literally the only time that you are alive. Okay? And yes, three servings of STL for me at the backstage after this please, thankyouverymuch!

And you know what else? 

The most phenomenal fact is that I get to live these days with you even when I know that we aren’t meant to be together. Look at me. And then look at you. We are two different people with ideals sitting on the opposite ends of the spectrum.

I am happy, though. You know I always am when I am with you. It’s kind of hard to rationalize what we have because everyone knows that what we have is anything but rational. But you know what? I am fucking grateful. Being with you has taught me a great deal about myself and about love. Being with you has made me look at the tiniest of things and feel like I can still hold on to them. Being with you has proven that even air and water can make a wonderful harmony at one point… even just at one point. Remember that night I told you that this is the kind of love that can kill us? The kind of love that can bleed and maybe never heal? I meant that. I realize that in this crazy world, it is possible for two people to have a connection so strong and so real that no amount of hardcore differences and hardcore battles can make them let go so easily. When two people have a really strong bond, it takes more than just a heated argument or a Bible-thick list of differences to make them realize that they should let go. And that’s what it’s like with you…

We make hurricanes, thunders, lightnings and earthquakes, but I love that.

I love that for now, I get to kiss you good-night and see your lazy face in the mornings. I love that for now, when I look into your eyes, I still see the you I fell in love with. I love that for now, I get to hug you and smell your natural scent right down your neck. I love that I get to laugh with you, and smile with you over the stupidest things. I love that I still get to reach for your hand in the dark and feel them open up, like a flower in the dawn of Spring. And I love that for now, you are mine and I am yours, and in this little tiny world of Here and Now that I built inside my head, we are forever. I know that forever doesn’t exist in the long run, but it does exist in the present. That’s how I feel, and that’s how I have been feeling with you… Call me crazy, but I am glad I am. Because if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here… I wouldn’t  be here breathing the same air as you. And I probably wouldn’t be the one you gave your heart to at this point in your life.

Your mouth is the mouth that says the harshest things to me, and the same mouth that kisses me.

Your eyes are the eyes that look down on me, and the same eyes that say how much I’m loved.

Your hands are the hands that brutally give me bruises, and the same hands that delicately hold mine.

Your arms are the arms that push me away, and the same arms that keep me close to your chest at night.

Your mind is the mind that doubts me, that hates me, that kills me. And the same mind that believes in me, that loves me, that thinks I’m alive.

And if that Someday will come when you think you’ve had enough of this plethora of mess that is myself, and you decide to let go, know that I truly do love you. You know how I know that? Because I’ve always known this was irrational, but it never mattered. I genuinely didn’t give a single heck about how messy, and how irrational, and how crazy this was because for once, I wanted to experience how it really is to FALL. How it really is to love someone not for the good times, but for the whole package – the good, the bad, the ugly and the brutally grotesque.

I know we do not have a tomorrow, but today is still here. And I am here while it lasts, my love.

The most phenomenal fact is that I don’t love you, but I always will………………… 

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The Thing About Him

My Symphonies:

  • Sweater Weather / The Neighbourhood
  • West Coast / Lana Del Rey
  • “Antichrist” / The 1975

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The thing about him is that he’s different. Yes, he came out of his mother’s womb, spilled milk from the baby bottle, scratched his knee, bruised his elbow and went through puberty like all the other biological boys out there, but he’s different. He’s different in the way that he dresses. You can always see him wearing a rather uptight outfit, but look closer and you’ll find that he leaves the most part of his shirt unbottoned; his pants are fairly tight, but he moves with such freedom. And his shoes – you might have seen the same pair in a nearby local store, but the places those shoes have kissed are places you can only imagine in one of your daydreams. He’s different in the way that he talks to people. Unlike the general Western Civilization population, he doesn’t like small talks. In fact, he detests them. He’s different in that he considers a meaningful, honest conversation as a form of sacred privilege – almost like an encounter with God. He believes that a genuine connection between two human beings is the closest thing we’ve come to infinity. Also, he’s different in the way that he loves. He doesn’t want to know what job you have or how much money you make; he wants to know what you bleed for, what you cringe for, what it is that makes you vulnerable. He couldn’t care less about how many virtual friends you have, but it matters to him how many lives you’ve touched, how many nights you’ve survived aching, how many rocks you dodged to still be breathing at this very minute. Sometimes you will be tempted to show him your best side, your pretty side – the kind of filtered version of people that they post on Facebook, or Twitter – the perfect side. But you will soon find that you’ve just committed a fatal act by choosing to show him the perfect side of you all the time. Because he’s not into that. He’s different in that he’d rather gaze at an ugly face with a fat, broken, suffering real heart than a made up Barbie-like mannequin with no soul. In a world such as ours, it may be difficult to comprehend, but he falls in love with you each time you slip, stumble or fall. He falls in love with you each time you accidentally bump your head into the glass door, or spill your morning coffee all over your work shirt, or bite your tongue while you’re eating your dinner, or something. He falls for you, and he falls for you not because of how beautiful you are but because of how your ugliness translates to him as beautiful.

The thing about him is that he likes to moan. No, not always in the sexual way, but actually in the soulful way. He likes it when his heart is being crushed, because that only means that it still operates. In one of your fights or one of your arguments, he will smile a little inside when he sees that you are aching because to him, aching is equivalent to a heart that still cares and a life that still moves. Dead people don’t ache, he figures, and so seeing you feel pain is important to him. The thing is that he’d be damned to lock his hands with someone who is allergic to pain, allergic to chaos. Because to him, what is love without a little tragedy? It is pure pretense. Show him your soul, because by now he has probably started to get naked in front of you.

The thing about him is that he always falls in love with artists. More so with the art, actually, not so much with the people. He looks at a drawing, a painting, or watches a film or a play or a dance routine, and the wheels inside his head just starts turning. He listens to a song and without even noticing, bleeds from his chest down to the floor because he has just been shot with an introspective arrow. If you ever take the time to sing to him, for example; it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t have a Celine Dion kind of voice – you will be able to move mountains inside his world because an art, to him, is the most perfect act of imperfection. It is perhaps his occasional fuel to go on with life, and maybe to go on with you. So he needs art. He needs your art.

The thing about him is that he is addicted to the idea of life being an ephemeral gift that he has to savor, in every way that he possibly can. For him, it is better to be totally ridiculous than be totally boring. Sure, he is dramatic, but he is alive. And the thing is that you’re gonna wanna change him – someday, somehow. You’re gonna wanna fix him because he looks broken; he looks like he needs saving. There will be days when you start to wonder how someone can be so fucked up, so locked up in darkness and pure chaos. You will begin to count ways to get to him and put some sense into his head. And this is the thing about him that you will eventually learn along the process: He just sucks at long-term planning. And he hates making “big life decisions” that should “define his future”. He just hates it. But what can he do? He is not what people want him to be, and probably not what you what him to be. He likes to dance in the rain (literally), talk loud, laugh boisterously and sometimes get a little too drunk and a little too high. He likes to talk to random strangers that may or may not be dangerous, go to places he’s never been, sing at the top of his lungs in the sky train and maybe even scratch his knees over and over again like he did when he was in pre-school. This is what he is made of – life experiences taken in large doses. The thing about him is that he’d rather run, fly and whirl through life like a blind hurricane than carefully walk through it within the bounds of some sort of a Life Instruction Book. He hates guidelines, and he hates rules, and he hates standards. He does not believe in any of that crap. But this doesn’t mean that he is a bad, or a weak, or a broken person. This just means that he is his own person – an individual existing in this planet solely as an individual, working his best not to be filtered by society. His main goal in life has always been to become a beach bum one day, when he is strong enough and alive enough to finally commit to that goal. Yes. He’d rather live by the beach and dance and drink all day with friends and loved ones with the view of the sunset every 5:30PM. In the evenings at the beach, he will be gazing straight into a bonfire and he’ll be looking at the stars above him, listening to his heartbeat. And he will smile. That will be the most authentic defining moment of success according to his watch. This is him, and people always fail to understand that. You will fail to understand that. But he has given up on hoping that anyone will truly understand, because that’s not what this is about for him. It’s about being. Simply being. And that, to him, is beautifully liberating.

The thing about him is that he is a nonbeliever of the future. To him, the future is the biggest deception in all of this universe. If you come to think about it, this thing we call future is really just an illusion until you wake up one morning and it has turned into the present. But until then, the future does not exist. It is a propaganda. And he knows this. He has seen people suffer, lovers break, families part ways and lives shatter because people took for granted a million moments in their lives, all because they had assumed there would be a million more. Live with him in the moment. It is completely okay to want to have a future with him, and to build a life with him, but do not hurt him, or leave him, or take him for granted today just because you want to be happy with him tomorrow. Today is pretty much the only world he lives in. He is in there, right now. With you. Grab him by the waist and kiss him.

Kiss the fuck out of him. 

Most importantly, out of all of the many things about him, know this:

He is not perfect. But neither are you. If you are exclusively looking for the Prince Charming type of guy, he is probably not the one for you. He won’t be your Knight In Shining Armor, or the eye candy stud riding on the White Horse to come and sweep you off your feet and lead you to a castle of riches and pure joy. That is not how it works with him, and actually with love. You will both have mad days, poor days, days like hell and days when you would wanna just disappear. He will drive you crazy, and he will hurt you. He loves you, yes. But he will hurt you. He promises to all of the gods that he will continue to hurt you, because he is imperfect to a fault. But so will you. And that doesn’t mean that you both do not love each other; it just means that you love each other strongly and deeply enough to bother with hurting and to bother with being hurt. You love each other to the point of grief and tears. One morning, at around 5AM, just when the sun is about to rise, you will stare at him while he is fast asleep, and you’re gonna think of how much time you’ve wasted living with him. You will think of the wasted hours and days and months being with such a broken person – too broken a person you could see cracks in his eyes when you hold your gaze a little longer. But those cracks are cracks that he himself had made. He purposefully put them there, so that you will have something to look through, so that you can see him beyond his physical appearance. The cracks are there not so you can fix him, but so you can have more room for your hands to take grip on him, to hold on to him.

He is not perfect, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. And as much as he promises that there will be bad days, he also promises that there will be good days. And you will live to see those days only when you stick around long enough. For him and for the universe, love isn’t a one-track album. You don’t get to listen to just one happy song all the time, you get the whole package. You get like three thousand other songs that come with the album. How neat is that?

So perhaps despite all this, the only thing about him that you must learn is that he is who he is. Good and bad, ugly and handsome, proper and inappropriate. He is both the night and the morning, the cave and the great outdoors, the shot of tequila and the mug of green tea. He is a poem. 

That is the thing about him.

“We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.

Let our scars fall in love.” (Andrew Boyd)

To The Starving Artist

I am really proud of all of the artists out there who keep on doing what they’re doing despite the financial instability that usually comes with the Artist Life. For those artists who have been lucky enough to make it big “up there”, I am happy for all of you, and I think that [some of you] really deserve the financial success you have in your lives today. However (and this is me speaking from the very depths of my heart), I am way prouder and happier for those artists who are not “up there” but are still practicing their art – not for the sake of money or social status, but for the sake of art itself.

That’s what I love about art, actually. When it comes down to it, there is no “up there” in the artist world. Because when you really consider the essential things (the truly essential things) like honesty, pain, love, chaos and beauty, you will realize that when it comes to art, “up there” doesn’t exist – only “in here” does. Because that’s what an artist does – to speak from what’s within him, to write, or sing, or play, or draw, or act, or paint, or dance whatever truth it is that he has in his heart; to communicate to the world the naked reality that society constantly and blindly rejects; to find in his soul and in his heart the fiasco that makes this world go ’round and the beauty that occasionally makes it still and smile.

So it doesn’t matter where you are in life right now. The point is you are alive. I don’t care if you are a bassist playing in a next-to-nonexistent local band in a rural area in a third world country; I don’t care if you are a frustrated writer who has tried a million times but never gets published; I don’t care if you are an ambitious actor who waits tables and mops floors just so you can afford that theatre workshop; I don’t care if you are a painter whose works have only been seen by his immediate family and friends; And I definitely do not care that you are not “up there”. Because let me tell you something: you don’t have to be rich and famous for your art to matter. 

Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep dancing, keep playing, keep singing, keep painting, whatever. Just do not stop. Because as an artist, you can never find your success in any pay cheque, bank statement, Twitter and Facebook followers or your boss’ mouth; you can only find it in your heart. That, my fellow artist, is your success. That, my friend, is your ticket to a life not only survived, but lived.

Dim Lighting

On the long winding roads of chaos and uncertainty, I have found the greatest companion in the words of those who are dead and the truest glimpse of meaning within the confines of my self.

The laughter of a simple man, the embrace of a musician, the voice of the sick and the love of the irrational. All this and the occasional life conversations with a starving painter over red wine and with a Turkish Angora cat appearing and reappearing in between brief, meaningful pauses.

Society is the Murderer of Art

Today I visited the blogs of five people whom I’ve known since freshman high school. One of these blogs taught me a lot about love, the other one about faith, and the remaining three about the overall nature of being alive. Throughout my adolescent years, I had spent more time reading about these people’s stories and experiences than all of my academic textbooks combined. And each of them had greatly moved me more than once by his words. They are all good writers.

But today, after closing the window of that fifth blogger’s website, I was rather dejected to learn that they’ve all stopped writing. Without any sort of warning or goodbye, they’ve all just disappeared, leaving their powerful work behind. I then went through their Facebook and Twitter profiles and upon substantial amount of link clicks and scroll downs, theorized that the main reason these writers stopped writing for a relatively long time is that they all [got busy]. Busy with 9-5 jobs, busy with call center jobs, busy with part-time jobs, full-time jobs, office jobs, healthcare jobs, or whatever kind of job it is that’s apparently somehow keeping them from writing.

Again, this is only my hypothesis. But if this really is the case, then it’s just sad. It’s sad that the “real world” or the “real life” all of a sudden just comes into focus and scares creativity away. And I am also sincerely sad because these blogs are blogs that I’ve grown up with. They are like my trusted friends in the World Wide Web. I’ve learned a great deal of trust and passion for the art of writing and the freedom of self-expression by feeding my soul with other people’s unabashed transcriptions of the human experience. And the mere thought of a “successful career” eating these kindred spirits’ time for further self-exploration and self-discovery is simply bothersome to me.

“All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” (Pablo Picasso)

Twenty-one Love Letters

My Symphony: Dead End Kids by Joe Purdy

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I missed that last Voice class. You know, the one where you all sat in a circle and took some time to think of the great things about each other, and to say your brief yet meaningful thank you’s to the people you’ve been with through this journey. Sheila sent me an e-mail containing the S’s messages to me. I read them just now, and I can’t help but be in a state of bliss.

That we have gotten to know each other in a way nobody else has is what makes that one year so special. I know that this isn’t the end, but I also know that things will never be the same again after graduation. So this is it: A parade of gratitude to each of you.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride. I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
– Pablo Neruda

Twenty-one Love Letters

Dear Travis,
Thank you for the poem, for every single smile. Somewhere along the momentary highs, lows, cynicism and introspection, you made me feel not alone.

Dear Simon,
Moments of rage, moments of bleakness, of chaos, pain and lethargy—that’s when I think of you and everything I feel just changes. Thank you for your generosity and your kindness, and for never failing to bring love into any room you walk into.

Dear Aaron,
Gone are the days of wondering if someone so pure and so warm-hearted exists out there. The knowledge that you’re right there, seeing the same stars I do at night, makes this world so much safer than when I first found it.

Dear Daniel,
I know you. No, I don’t mean you on your Friday nights, or the way you like your steak, or how you react to the sight of a snake. I do not know the specifics. But I know your energy, I know your passion, I know your genuine kindness, your goodness. And sometimes that’s all that matters.

Dear Arochi,
The wisdom, the laughter and the warm embraces will always be remembered. I’m glad you are the way you are. There’s no other way better than that.

Dear Emma,
Sometimes I see myself in you; how you are always on top of a precipice, letting the wind move you gently to and fro as the dark clouds delight in your inner pain. And then you smile.

Dear Yuji,
What you are had always been wonderful, but it wasn’t until I’ve discovered who you are that I saw something beautiful.

Dear Navshin,
You are an inspiration. I will forever be grateful that the universe has been formed and created. I know you will always be a part of it. We are one.

Dear Jesse,
You, sir, are a leader. Thank you for your dedication, your fearlessness and your undying hunger for what it is you want to achieve. You have brought to those sixteen months a kind of a showcase—an exhibition of guts and glory.

Dear Janine,
You are a walking book of compelling stories, a woman who can never be aware enough of her sparkle, her gift, her strength, and the tantalizing truth that she has to hold on to that fairytale dream—that one true love she truly deserves.

Dear Riley,
Thank you for those small talks that momentarily brought up jolts of clarity and misery. Getting to know you to a degree has given me an experience of life, love and everything in between. I know you will keep radiating.

Dear Toni,
I think I know the reason for my recurring dreams. I can never thank you enough for the nostalgia, the danger and the pain. You showed me what it’s like in the other side… how it is to soldier on… what it is to burn.

Dear Rodrigo,
Your free spirit never fails to fascinate me. Teach me how to see the world in Technicolor, to brave the days without remorse and perplexity. You are amazing.

Dear Richard,
I look at you and I see someone I can potentially fly kites with. Thank you for your generosity and honesty; for those times the whole of you was screaming, “Freedom!”

Dear Liam,
You saw me when I was invisible. There is this vitality in you which I hope will never wither. You are the rock upon which the bravest soldier stands. Throughout those twelve months, you have become multidimensional in my eyes.

Dear Travis,
That hug could’ve lasted a second longer, but I just had to break free from it so I could see the sensitive, loving gentleman that you are. You are worth it.

Dear Julia,
I can never thank you enough for being one of those flowers that bloom in adversity. You are someone I always wanted to meet in the visible world, and I finally did.

Dear Graeme,
The last time I looked into your eyes, I saw a little boy in pyjamas and a valiant man holding a gladius. You are a riveting ball of love, hope and dexterity. I cannot express enough the joy I found in getting to know even just a fraction of you.

Dear Mallory,
I do not know how someone can be so delicate and vigorous at the same time, and how in all of this fallen world’s woe and entropy she finds a quiet place of happiness. Your authenticity and compassion are undeniable.

Dear Audrey,
Maybe it was that pink shirt, or because I am nineteen. We somehow found our way down memory lane and laughed at what once felt like the end of the world for me. I found a big sister in you. You are a firework. I miss your light already.

Dear Carlos,
Anyone who has gotten to see you is so lucky. Since day one, I’ve seen in you a man who can thrive and not just survive. You are a friend, a brother, a student and a mentor. But most of all, you are ray of sun, giving warmth, lending light, keeping me company through this journey.

You are all special. Thank you for the rollercoaster ride. It has been the best one yet.

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Wonderful Otherside

 link to the song:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo4746XZgw8&feature=relmfu

Some people have lives; other people have music.

That’s one of my undying philosophies. And as much as no one can ever accuse me of being a pro at playing a musical instrument, I am a very dreamy and introspective appreciator of music. Always have been, always will be. I have an incredible amount of respect for musicians in this world. They are one of the few things on this planet that somehow give me hope and remind me that there is still something REAL in this humanity.

Moments like this, when I just sit back with a cup of tea listening to this performance, on a cold Friday night, with no agenda in my mind whatsoever; when I just close my eyes as I drift farther away with each word from the song; when I simply allow somebody’s art to just take over me for this moment–even just at this moment. THESE are the moments that speak to me. On a soul-level. THESE are the moments that tell me that all is well on the other side. Not the afterlife or anything, but the other side. The side where fiction, melody, beats, dreams, metaphors, nature, love and adventure live.

It’s the other side. It’s over here. And it’s very, very wonderful over here.