I stand statically, a quiet music plays in the back of my head, and
notice the time passage. I see the wind storms the faces, clouds paint beards
and hairs, rain floats over sad eyes. I can appreciate myself aging while
observing how people around me get older. Still, I'm young, as a template not
as a spirit. To tell the truth, as we get older we become sadder.
It’s amusing to blow the dust over the shelves of my memory. To
rediscover what was hidden along the days. To find the perspective I saw events
through. To remember some mistakes, and shamefully figuring out that I didn’t
learn from my mistakes after 4 years. A human being is born with his/her own flaws.
It’s not easy for oneself to chance. Maybe the outer shield grows less or more
with days. However, the inside core is still the same.
Last sentence I wrote in this diary was 4 years ago. Reviewing it
makes me questioning of what has changed. I’m still the same fragile person. I
found out there’s nothing for me in the past. Also, my brain could really deceive
me to believe that I had graceful past. I’m really surprised to see how my
memories are reformed the way it feeds my ego and support my arrogance. I’m not
sure if I acquired some built in capabilities to utilize when I face same or
similar scenario. To tell the truth, reading through my past reinforces the mistrust
in myself.
I run out of topics. Maybe it's just the time to quit and review
what I have established: self-deceiving. I realize I'm just a fake picture of
greatness, yet, nothing related to it. Apparently the strong and
well-constructed self-image has been shaken. I'm shaken. And while I write
this, my eyes are full of tears. I don't find it insulting when a man cries. It
just reflects the strength in its weakest points.
So, more suffering and agony produce more beautiful and artistic
pieces. Can I reach a life without pain? And if so, would it be less creative?
Am I sort of pain addict? Many believed that pain motivates the most. I admit
publishing once that sex motivates the most, but I’m changing my mind. Still,
the question was asked many times: was it worth it to ache for the sake of
writing outstanding article or poem or paint or do music? On one scale, the
human legacy, I think that I trust somebody, someday, to write or establish
something better that I or you did. I want to be a step for civilization to
climb closer to beauty, peace, and perfection? Are you willing to do the same?
On the other hand, is my weak should capable to bear the weight of the world?
The sea of memories is very stormy and wild. I’m not sure if I soon
regret opening these diaries. I mean, it’s not like Pandora's Box, but for the
record my initial reaction was sneezing and coughing. Currently, I’m having
something like stomachache. I fear that my heart soon would ache. However, as I
opened this book, I have to say sorry, and I mean it, to many people I did hurt
in 2008. Also, to those who harmed me, I forget and forgive you all. Good night
& Merry Christmas, everybody.
