I was asked this provoking question yesterday. It was in reference to this specific month yet it applies to everything, as do all things to all life. What interested me about it is that it is quite apart from what are your goals for this month. Somehow thinking about it as an intention seems more tangible and not nearly as much as a half committal as I might have imagined it to be.
Eventually, thoughts becomes words, words become actions, actio… You get the point. Where better to start than with your intentions, then?
- I want and intend on more solitude with myself.
- I want and intend on explaining myself less.
- I want and intend to say “no” more.
- I want and intend to betray my friends more so I can be true to myself.
- I want and intend to be at peace.
- I intend to be proud of myself.
There are some of them. They say writing things down makes them more real, and I am settled that it does not matter if it is in ink or megabytes.
How strange that a single writ should have a repetition of titles? Actually, not strange at all.
I am here, at the beginning, again, a new beginning in something old. I have succeeded on the initial endevour in some part, and failed at other times. That is not the reason for starting afresh.
I must renew my resolve because, like that old adage by dear old colonialist, motivation is like a shower. And yet I am challenging myself to more this time around because I want it to be innate and somewhat unprompted so as to achieve full autonomy.
I want to go far and wide, to walk with God and drink deeply from the cup of life so that I can quench my existence, that I may satisfy my purpose without ending up bloated in the belly from excess. I’ve gotta pee.
Whew, how can write so lucidly in that weird voice which sometimes rings in my head? Hahaha. It’s incredible, but true still. So there, take that other worldly paragraph and mean it.
Today has been interesting, between juggling occupation and sharing revelations already known with a friend of a friend. I needs see the light and keep some for myself. Now, it is time to go home, to spare my energy and talk with my soul, to smile when I am happy and not when I am uncomfortable.
It’s time to be myself again, in another way.
I love you T.
I nearly began this by typing “we” as the first word. Have I truly shrivelled out of myself, and away into the world with its comfort of others, the safety of a group? The mundane and routine exercise of the clique. Have I taken to heart the phrasing of the letters I write every day? Have I turned that sweet solitude from solace to foe?
It is extremely disconcerting to have to make certain decisions about the future. I am finding myself torn between me and several people. But what is the use of it if skin cannot be shed to reveal what is beneath the surface? Why should I live a life which displeases my sensibilities and does not expand the my talent and ware it out for use?
I owe many people many things, perhaps. I owe myself more than that, and I owe myself myself which is much more than even that.
I shall not cower from difficult decisions, and I shall not cower in front of opinions.
I am I.
Look here, there is no more time to make time. You’ve been very blessed and lucky but chim-chimeny because your luck is running out. You are big now. You know what you are. You’ve always been big. You know who you are.
All which has happened, you have done to yourself. All that is to come, you shall do for yourself. Where, then, is your salvation? Who do you think shall ride up to your bed and rip from you those added things which you needed to grow? Those things that are no longer necessary and weigh heavy on you and everything you do, who is going to take them from you? Oh, my dear boy, did you think I was coming to save you?
Look here, you are the one that did all this. Yes ofcourse you had help along the way but this is mostly all you. No one is coming to fix you. No one is coming to save you. You won’t be fascinating in this way forever.
For the sake of all the fucks save yourself, beloved.
And right there at the peak of the dawn, he saw love in the valley of a mountain he had greedily scale, with a ferocious aggression to reach the peak.
Sweat had by then begun to run down the sides of his cheeks for the sake of his having stood staring at the oasis below for so long. How long had it been? How long could it be still? Were his feet aching and begging for tenderness because he reached the top or because he was standing there? With who’s eyes was he staring at the valley? Who?
I realize now, or decide rather that one can walk and talk at the same time, and therefore can record and reflect in an on going process. There is no need for the pool to become stagnant for one to gaze into it.
Anyway, friend, I have found a new friend. Or perhaps not so much found as made them from knowing them before. Also, I am extremely sleepy at work now but at least not hungover.
What the fuck? I’m really getting tired of this stop and start cycle bruh. Like literally one step forward and a shit load back. Two forward another back.
Another blog post. Another month not blogging. smh
Since I last posted. A whole 32 since I last blogged properly.
The aiming, which is on going, was to read the blogs and reflect before going forward. Which didn’t happen at the time.
Anyway, I had a couple of interesting conversations with a few friends old and new, a refreshing telephone call and a couple of revelations related to the workplace, and where I see myself.
Of course it is quite a difficult process, all of this. Most days I want to give up and lay in. Not because it is difficult or because I can’t, but because I don’t want to on those days.
Then the questions springs up; why am I doing this? At all? Why don’t I just go home and sleep, take it easy and go to classes? Is it that necessary to have experience? Is it that worth it to spend all this time at a desk? And only to live for weekends? Do other people also find it difficult? Or is it because I haven’t formulated my grand plan as yet?
The other thing that happened some Twelve and Thirty days ago was this whole friendship thing. Are friends really necessary? Or am I only into them because I have become lonely? And if I have truly become lonely, when on this green earth am I going back home to myself? And how am I taking myself there? When will I get there if I am always here, at this desk, typing my life away at things which don’t matter to me?
Then a light says “hey buddy, life will pay you the wages you ask of it”.
So back to it. My quiet, resilient self. The journey was worth it and yet that does not mean the destination should be foregone.