Learn How To Love Living Slowly

Learn how to love living slowly, even though we live in a world that wants us to go fast; Even though we as a species have been raised to view Slow as something that’s generally bad. We’ve been made to believe that Slow is a terrible thing: Slow connotes incapacity, insubstantiality, incompetency. We’ve been conditioned to think that Slow is synonymous to Broken. It reminds us of something rusty, something that’s been left in the dark for way too long, something that needs to “get it together and hurry the fuck up”. 

But we must learn how to love living slowly.

Living slowly means literally stopping to smell the flowers. It means being able to afford the time to close your eyes as you chew that first bite of doughnut at breakfast. It means knowing that there isn’t a need to chug your cup of coffee in 30 seconds, and knowing that the world isn’t gonna end if you take five minutes every night to look up at the stars. 

Living slowly allows you space to be grateful for a present that’s been given to you, or be apologetic for when a Sorry is in order. It allows you space to sing to your favorite songs or do a little dance even when you’re running late for an appointment. It allows you space for more warm embraces, more cuddles by the fireplace, more laughter around the dinner table.

Living slowly gives you the opportunity to love and be loved in return. You are not rushing through anything when you are living slowly, and so it gives you the chance to actually get to know somebody, and to get to know yourself. 

When you live slowly, you get the text from a friend and you respond; your grandma calls and you pick up; your cat brushes his forehead against your ankle and you pick him up — even when it’s almost midnight and you just want to hit the bed. 

When you live slowly, you learn to appreciate silence. You become accustomed to the beauty of pauses in music, or a blank canvas, or that empty blue space in the sky as it clears up after a rainy day. When you live slowly, you get to be grateful. You get to be self-aware. You get to be thoughtful in your words and in your actions. 

And sure, Fast is successful, Fast is sharp, Fast is fierce. Fast is revolutionary. 

But Slow… Slow is happy. Slow is gentle. Slow is affectionate. Slow is genuine. 

Slow. Much like the speed at which our hearts beat when we are with the presence of loved ones. 

Slow. Much like the sliding of the fingers down a lover’s upper arm during a tender kiss.

Slow. Much like the way a light dress flows as it descends a palace staircase. 

Slow. Much like jazz music — something that doesn’t demand attention but is always worthy of it; something that typically plays in the background, something whose purpose was never to yell but to whisper, carefully and intelligently; something that is easy to listen to and difficult to forget. 

Stop going too fast. You’re not gonna get left behind. You’re not missing out on anything. You’re not losing at life.

In fact, slow down if you do not want to get left behind. 

Slow down if you do not want to miss out on anything. 

Slow down if you do not want to lose at life. 

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………………… 

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)

Only As The Wolves Howl

In breakfast this morning, as I was listening to Wait by M83 and downing my second cup of dark roast coffee, I came across this beautifully written insight from a Youtube user called ToMaToTree015. Youtube is almost always the last place you turn to when you want to read a comment that’s not bigoted, homophobic, racist and superficial. But this morning was different. This morning, this comment on that M83 music video touched my heart and certainly, the lives of many. This is one of the simple moments in life that I live for – reading, or hearing, or seeing, or feeling something so simple yet so powerful. And this just crossed my path at a time when I really needed it. ToMaToTree015, whoever you are, wherever you are right now, I not only thank you, but applaud you for this.

Remember when Holden Caulfield said that people always clap for the wrong reasons? Well, this isn’t one of them.

I am clapping my hands right now. For this:

So I’m here, on this earth, in a universe filled with at least 100 billion galaxies. Within those galaxies are an unknowable number of stars. Orbiting those stars are even more planets. We find ourselves alive. Carbon based life forms with the ability to create. Conscious beings living out the bittersweet thing we call life. 17 years old, commenting on a music video that touched my heart. Music. Art. Philosophy. Science. Everything we’ve created. We ask why. So many questions. The truth is the answers aren’t important. The answers are likely to leave us disappointed. Unfulfilled. The beauty of it all is that we are able to ask why. Now go, love somebody, cherish the time you have left. Life is precious. You’re precious. It’s almost impossible to completely grasp this. Find comfort in not knowing. It’s the only way. And if you think you know, think again. All of this, I’m communicating with you because of language. Something we created. It’s magnificent. Ignore the grammatical errors. They don’t matter. What matters is the fact that there is such a thing as grammatical errors. Long story short, there is no answer to the question “why is there something rather than nothing?”. Please, I’m begging you. Push through the hard times. Cherish the fact that hard times exist. Appreciate your existence. There will be a time when no one is left to appreciate all of mankind’s accomplishments. So don’t waste another minute.

Much love –
Something

I am Not a Flawless Person

I am not a flawless person. Of this, I am sure.

I am not a flawless person, and my mind is a dark place with fire, devils and holes. I am not a part of any charity events because I am often too busy mixing lava with cotton candy in my hell.

I am not a flawless person. I do not have the perfect job, the perfect family, the perfect car and the perfect friends. My job is non-existent, my family is a whirlpool of erratic characters, my car is also non-existent, and my friends are sometimes just as lost as I am.

I am not a flawless person. I have a couple of scars on my body, and I sometimes fall asleep with an ache in my heart. I have issues, I have problems, I have a sickness beyond repair.

I am not a flawless person. Sometimes you will find me cris-crossing on the streets, falling off, tripping over, vomiting. I smoke, I drink, and I drink some more. I listen to Eminem, Kendrick Lamar, Childish Gambino and Nirvana. There are times when I hate everyone and everything because I feel like they’re so different, so sure about everything.

I am not a flawless person. I have commitment issues, because I am scared of a lot of things. I do not have a pleasing past. In fact, I have a dark past. And people do not like me for that. I often doubt if people could actually afford to let me in their doors and not lock me out forever after a while.

I am not a flawless person. I’m not dainty, intelligent or appropriate. I may appear like I am sometimes, but that’s called acting. Because really, nobody wants to deal with sad and angry people, now does he?

I am not a flawless person. I’m not really cool, rich and popular. I do not own properties and I do not have the perfect face and body. Now what’s flawed about that? It’s the fact that I take pride in being inside my own skin. I like being who I am and what I am because this way, I get to be extreme without being pretentious. And that’s what drives people nuts, isn’t it? Authenticity. It’s a rare skill nowadays.

I am not a flawless person. I am vindictive, rebellious, ruthlessly expressive and sometimes brutally nonchalant and oblivious.

I am not a flawless person, because I’ve grown up being used to mistakes and failures. I’ve never been a perfectionist, and I’ve never really felt the need to please other people. So you may say I am flawed, simply because I do not give a flying fuck about how I look under the public eye. You may say I am flawed because I’ve hurt people, and it’s bizarre that I sometimes do not feel sorry for them.

I am not a flawless person. I won’t be anyone’s prince charming or knight in shining armor because that’s just not who I am. I am not a warrior, a cop or a lawyer. I am not a doctor or a shrink. I am me, and a million other things come with that, just like a million other things come with being anyone that you truly are in this world.

I am not a flawless person, and I have disappointed a lot of people.

I am not a flawless person.

I’m just not.

But I am glad I’m not.

Being flawed is how I’ve kept myself alive all these years. But you know what the best thing about being flawed is?

You get to live, not just exist.

What’s Real Is What’s Not

My Symphony: Into The Great Unknown by Signal Hill Transmission

A monologue… of lies, truth, and whatever it is that’s in between. 

For Inch

Yes, it’s all just in my mind. But it’s also kind of realistic, you know? I mean, even if we are many, many miles away from each other, and even if the reality is that he will forever be just some sort of an irrevocable chimera and that to him I will, for the rest of his life, remain just the “little brother” of his bestfriend who was eccentric enough to write him 24 letters and pretty much depend 90% of his happiness on him, I don’t really care. I don’t care at all. I mean, who cares about reality anyway? I don’t like the real world. It’s quite convoluted, you know. I mean every morning you sort of force yourself to get out of bed, you take a shower, you get ready and then you hit the door; then you go to school, or work. Your day might either be “good” or “bad”, and then you go home, do your homework or whatever, and then jump in to bed knowing deep in your guts that you aren’t genuinely happy. Tragic. That’s what reality is: it’s tragic, and dark, and vague, and miserable, and cold, and complicated and full of shit and, and… and I know that is why I am no longer the person I was. This world I live in… it changed me. And it continues to change me every day. As each second passes, I begin to lose faith in humanity—in what’s real and tangible. I, I… I like… fiction. It’s funny coz when I when I was in 6th Grade I read this quote written in pencil on the very first page of a Biology book which was sitting on a dusty chair in the library. It went like this: “Fantasy love is so much better than reality love. Never really doing it is very exciting. The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.” The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet. How beautiful is that? Very beautiful. You know, you sit in the dark corner of your room after a bad day, and then you remember someone. Someone you’ve loved for six years but never really been in an actual relationship with, and the only interesting thing you know about him is that he likes eating ice cubes and biting cartons whenever he’s drunk. And then you sort of take that one interesting thing in your imagination and then you get a myriad of different reasons why you have fallen for that person. And then all of a sudden you notice that you are not alone anymore. You love someone, and you know that it just doesn’t matter if he loves you back because you know… you know that loving isn’t owning. It’s never asking for anything in return. That’s true love. And that’s bliss. And for the rest of you… who are “normal”… you may call it a fabrication… or a myth, a delusional fairytale with no real ending… whatever. I don’t need what’s real to be happy. All I need is the air that I breathe, and my imagination. I am happy.