And so I begin typing. After a while, I notice I'm really talking about "nutrients" and not "Cysts". I change the title-heading. A while more, and I realise I'm really talking about "photo-pigments" and not "Nutrients". I am too lazy to change the title now. I have quite a number of paragraphs I <> to the bottom; just in case I come around to those topics again later.
Titles have somewhat bothered me. The need to label things inevitably imposes a certain set of expectations. Labels like "sickness" or "trauma" or "boy" or "senior" have over time begun to gather such weight. I would that these labels be as fluid as my paragraphs and ideas (although I would that my paragraphs and ideas be more settled). It can rather disconcerting though. To walk for such a long time without having words to describe your journey requires a lot of trust--particularly from yourself, in yourself.
What are you working on? > I don't know yet, but I'm getting there! You don't have a lot of time anymore. > I... know. I do wonder if the hesitancy at assigning labels indicate a lack of confidence though. It is easy to paint in the target-board after the arrow has been fired. It is far more accomplished to do it the other way around though. How much confidence is enough, though? Is there a way to be confident according to a different rubric from the world? So consider the person who avoids the crowds and steps away from the rat-race. Is that confidence that stems from not yielding to definitions of the world? Or is that a fear of tenacity to compete?
Yet, what is it that people try to do then when they demand for their rights? At what point are they whining about how the race regulations are unfair? Why do they even have to run that particular race? How do the same people who demand the freedom of expression demand it under the framework imposed by society? Of course, I am aware of the caveats, and I am not arguing against all cries for freedom-of-expression. It is just a general question I'm not sure many of these people have thought about.
Perhaps it is not simply space for expression that they are looking for. Perhaps it is really control they are looking for; a justification and recognition for their particular set of opinions. And yet, to so fervently have a cause to fight for requires embracing of the identity. It requires accepting a label and all the expectations attached to it.
Labels are hence so much faster; so much more focused; so much more comfortable. I don't see how else life could have raced along the way it has. And yet, labels have somewhat always bothered me though.
You wake up and immediately know that was not reality. But you are thankful anyway. For it still counts as a memory. And perhaps at least having that is enough.
I wish you wouldn't expect everything to work out in a logical way that you'd understand. Sometimes, people just have a different way of thinking. Sometimes, there is no reason why people feel the way they feel. I remember you used to be so full of passion and drive. You kept wanting to let us try new things and to explore. On the other hand, she kept wanting us to be careful and to take care. Perhaps in a way, my accident seemed to prove her right and to prove you wrong. Really, it wasn't like that. I enjoyed every single thing that I had done. I was pushing myself quite hard, but oh the things that I did and achieved and got to see. So please don't put so much meaning on to the accident. I already struggle to make sense of it myself. It will be so much harder if I have to also mitigate what it meant to everyone else. I promise to try and keep it hidden within. Just don't take it too personally. It wasn't your fault. If anything, the fault was all mine. A fault I gladly take responsibility for. To be fair, it is quite strange how she seems to have become very outward-reliant. She has started to form friendships and networks outside which now seem to be her pillar of support. I guess I understand then why you'd feel rather irritated--you feel less important to her now. I try to listen; I really do. I guess I can also see why my friends all get rather irritated when I tell them so much about my life. Even now, I am learning so much from you. Again, symptoms of this emerged during the accident itself. I sometimes feel like things turned out this way because of how I dealt with things from the accident. I should have been a lot more aggressive, a lot more unreasonable, a lot more irrational. I should have let myself gotten a lot more angry, shouldn't I? Maybe if I had taken on all the anger and confusion, it wouldn't have been allowed to run stray and hack away at your relationship. I still wonder though--did I cause the cracks, or were they always already there?
I wish I knew how to help things. I feel as though I am old enough to rise up and repair this relationship though. But I really don't know how. I don't exactly excel in the maintenance of relationships myself. I've heard her say that she doesn't really understand you so much as well. I see the clashes in character. You like to keep things, believing that they are still useful; she likes to keep things neat. It takes a lot of energy and strength to see the value in things, and it's understandable that people not accustomed to such a mental framework do not see such value so much. I know you try, and I know she tries. I also see how the tiny little compromises like these accumulate so rapidly. She is outgoing and very helpful; you are more inward and retains that few close friends. She is aggressive and demands her way a lot; you quietly stay with the system and understand its workings. She flits about and jumps from activity to activity; you tend to be more committed to doing the same thing. I think it's brilliant how you both fill what the other lacks. Perhaps it was this difference that first drew you toward each other. I hope this is just a normal cycle of disagreement, and that there will be a new equilibrium that is reached--the same way it has for the past 50+ years now. Something has worked well so far; I hope it stays that way! All the best then.
It is actually at a point whereby that has become such a challenging word to say...
It seems to suggest a brand new start; the beginning of new stories. It comes after a completed "goodbye" and yet, we don't often say that these days. And I wonder sometimes if the "goodbye"-less end is meant to make it impossible for another "hello" again. What if the best thing for your friend is for you to stay out of his/her life? And the long silences often are that way of gently telling? Would you do such a thing if that were truly the case? You see, I imagine that sacrifice often has 2 extremes--1) Giving even beyond what you yourself can sustain; and 2) Staying away. The former is often tagged with sentiments of heroism, but the latter does not really differ in how much hurt it can cause. The latter implies the following: - To stay away even when you do not want to. - To be backstage and not even get a mention in the programme booklet. - To quietly hang on; never knowing if he/she even knows that you're there. - To mean nothing to him/her, basically. And yet, if you would not do even this for him/her, aren't you then befriending someone only unto yourself? Doesn't that make it transactory; perhaps even mercenaric? It's challenging to discern that line though. A "hello" can sometimes be that assay. It is that moment you call out and wait to see if you ever get a reply. A single word that can revive a friendship. Or it can also place a full-stop to permanently end that story. A word that is meant as a start, but can often also be an end. And oh what a painful, abrupt end... So hello, you. It means a lot to me that there is someone out there who can note the more challenging bits of my life. I do appreciate that there is even someone willing to read on. Thank you.
"Stories are compasses and architecture; we navigate by them, we build our sanctuaries and our prisons out of them, and to be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra or sea ice. To love someone is to put yourself in their place, we say, which is to put yourself in their story, or figure out how to tell yourself their story.
[...]
We tell ourselves stories in order to live, or to justify taking lives, even our own, by violence or by numbness and the failure to live; tell ourselves stories that save us and stories that are the quicksand in which we trash and the well in which we drown, stories of justification, of accursedness, of luck and star-crossed love, or versions clad in the cynicism that is at times a very elegant garment."
