“All that shimmers in this world is sure to fade away again…” – Shimmer by Fuel

“Flames to dust, lovers to friends. Why do all good things come to an end?” – All Good Things by Nelly Furtado

One day before 'One Mic' Seoul, Girls' Generation goin to LA for KCON

The flight was delayed for an uncertain period of time. I tried to start reading the novel Dead Poet Society, a novel I’ve been craving for. But I could not concentrate on the pages. I was too tired. A few minutes after the plane took off, half-an-hour late from the schedule, I fell asleep immediately.

He walked through a thin mist, and stood in front of me. Behind him was a view of a country I could barely recognize. He had gained some weights, but he looked charming as usual. The view behind him instantly changed into a busy airport, and he was wearing a neat uniform. However, when he started to talk, we were strolling along a street.

“I’m going home,” he told me in a casual tone.
“But I’ve just arrived,” I said, feeling a bit hurt.
“Why don’t you come along with me?” he asked.
“Why don’t you stay here with me?” I hesitated.

The pilot told us that we were about to reach Jakarta in a few minutes. I yawned a few times, then gazed outside the cabin window. The night sky was tinted with distant flashes of lightning. Down there, the city was gleaming with white and yellow lights. Even in my dreams, I argue with him. Probably this is the reason why we have never crossed path.

Once, in a brief journey, he walked beside me as we traveled the road together. But at one point, the road became to narrow. So I decided to let him walk in front of me. For him to lead the way. But he walked too fast, and I could not follow him. I cried out for him to wait for me, to slow down, but he couldn’t hear me. His back was the last thing I saw before his silhouette got swallowed by the dusk.

***

Do you believe in love? Of course I am not referring to those outbursts of passion that drive us to do so and say things we will later regret, that delude us into thinking we cannot live without a certain person, that set us quivering with anxiety at the mere possibility we might ever lose that person–a feeling that impoverishes rather than enriches us because we long to possess what we cannot, to hold on to what we cannot. No, I speak of love that brings sight to the blind. Of a love stronger than fear. I speak of a love that breathes meaning into life, that defies the natural laws of deterioration, that causes us to flourish, that knows no bounds. I speak of the triumph of the human spirit over selfishness and death.

How flat and empty the most beautiful words can sound. How dull and dreary life must be for those who need words, who need to touch, see, or hear one another in order to be close. Who need to prove their love, or even just to confirm it in order to be sure of it. How can anyone truthfully claim to love someone when they’re not prepared to share everything with that person, including their past?

A confession, a disclosure, is worthless when it comes at the wrong moment. If it’s too early, it overwhelms us. We’re not ready for it and can’t yet appreciate it. If it’s too late, the opportunity is lost. The mistrust and the disappointment are already too great; the door is already closed. In either case, the very thing that ought to foster intimacy just creates distance. There are wounds time does not heal, though it can reduce them to manageable size. There is no power that can release a person from pain or from the sadness one might feel–unless it be that person himself. Life is a gift full of riddles in which suffering and happiness are inextricably intertwined. Any attempt to have one without the other was simply bound to fail.

A person’s greatest treasure is the wisdom in his own heart.

The true essence of things is invisible to the eyes. Our sensory organs love to lead us astray, and eyes are the most deceptive of all. We rely too heavily upon them. We believe that we see the world around us, and yet it is only the surface that we perceive. We must learn to divine the true nature of things, their substance, and the eyes are rather a hindrance than a help in that regard. They distract us. We love to be dazzled. A person who relies too heavily on his eyes neglects his other senses–and I mean more than his hearing or sense of smell. I’m talking about the organ within us for which we have no name. Let us call it the compass of the heart.

Ambition and fear have something in common: neither knows any limits.

There is nothing, for good or for evil, of which a person is incapable. It would be much worse to expect good from other people, only to be disappointed when they didn’t measure up to our high expectations. A time of waiting offered moments, minutes, sometimes even hours of peace, of rest. Each and every thing required a certain amount of time. Was it really possible for a person to shorten the time it took to get from one place or person to another? How could anyone think so?

You don’t need to be afraid. You can’t lose me. I am a part of you, just as you’re a part of me.

“I couldn’t bear to be without you.”
“I’ve been here the whole time.”
“I wanted to feel you. And I was sad.”
“Why?”
“Because you were so far away, because I couldn’t touch you. Every hour we spend apart saddens me. Every place I go without you. Every step you take without me. Every night that we don’t fall asleep in each other’s arms and every morning that we don’t wake up side by side.”

A person maybe wasn’t alone after all. The smallest human unit was two rather than one. Love has so many different faces that our imagination is not prepared to see them all. We see only what we already know. We project our own capacities–for good as well as evil–onto the other person. Then we acknowledge as love primarily those things that correspond to our own image thereof. We wish to be loved as we ourselves would love. Any other way makes us uncomfortable. We respond with doubt and suspicion. We misinterpret the signs. We do not understand the language. We accuse. We assert that the other person does not love us. But perhaps he merely loves us in some idiosyncratic way that we fail to recognize.

I am not without you, that you are with me from the moment I wake until the moment I fall asleep, that it’s you I feel when the wind caresses me, that it’s your voice I hear in the silence, you whom I see when I close my eyes, you who makes me laugh and sing when I know no one else is around. How can I explain to them that what you mean to me, what you give me, does not depend on where you are in the world? That one need not feel the other’s hand in order to be in touch?

It’s not the size of one’s nose, the color of one’s skin, the shape of one’s lips or eyes that make one beautiful or ugly. It’s love. Love makes us beautiful. Do you know a single person who loves and is loved, who is loved unconditionally and who, at the same time, is ugly? There’s no need to ponder the question. There is no such person.

Well, here I am
2 PM
what day is it?

No message today
only more leaves fell.

Drunk as a hoot owl, 
writing letters would make you feel,