We Think Too Much.

There’s something I see in most of my friends, it’s that they think too much. Either thinking of the worst possible scenario that could suck them into a futile sense of existence, like this guy, or also dwelling too much on fantasies that wouldn’t probably come into existence; these two examples are polar extremes, there are people who think in between these two poles. So be it, people think too much, what’s the problem? The problem that at this point of human existence, at the point where we’ve just transitioned from our teenage years into adulthood, we think too much but feel to little.

I remember when I was a kid, I never relied that much on the capabilities of my thoughts. I didn’t manipulate people with my speeches, I didn’t think about something to the point of anxiety, I laughed a lot, I jumped and I ran; I was happier. Yes I was fat, yes I wasn’t a turn-on for the ladies, but I was happy.

I guess why I was in such a happy state was because I didn’t think of things that much because of the fact that I was still a child, I haven’t had much to think about anyway. But what do kids do? They run around, they laugh out loud, they roll around here and there, they climb trees, they jump in puddles, they play around in the rain. Why did they do that? Because they felt that they should, because when they do those things they’d feel happy. I guess kids have their own simple way of calculating what results would come out of their actions. For example: playing with toys could lead to having fun, but eating vegetables are just yuck. Playing cops and robbers is exciting, reading Das Kapital isn’t as much.

We could see that kids do things that would please their senses, do things that would lead to good feelings. They avoid feeling bad. To me, this is something very primitive. I would bet you a cup of coffee that our ancestors lived like this too. Yes they were primitive and uncivilized, but they survived for ages, and because of that we exist today. Of course, they’re not all fun and games, they also wrestle saber-tooth tigers now and then. But there are elements of how they lived that I see in children. I guess since being a child is one of the earliest stages of our development as humans, we still somehow act like early humans too. But is living life, basing our actions on how we feel rather than rational judgement, in short living more like a kid, better than living like an adult? There’s no way I could think of a justification to say “yes” to that question.

But I feel living a life that’s aimed at sustaining our own existence, catering to our own well being, is a good life. We think too much nowadays, look at what it turned us into now. I don’t know if I’m right or not, and it doesn’t matter at all; but I do strive for peace and happiness.

 

6.14

There is a big red house,
Inside my head.

Eight eyes, out and about;
Mom and Dad, the Dog and the Lad.

Dad was pretty, Mom was manly,
The Lad was sad, but the Dog happy.

There is a big red house,
Inside my head,
Facing east.

No,

South.

Pesolek berTuhan

I’d write for you. I’d write for you daily. About you, about your dumb face, about the dumb things you do, about anything, about anything you asked me to write about. You.

You never do, though, you never do. You never asked me to. You never asked me to do things. You never request anything. Fucking request something from me. Anything.

Force me to think about happy things. Force me to see the good in the bad. Although, the bad is always larger in proportion than the good, I’d try to do it, even though I spit on the concepts of good and bad. I spit on the floor too. I’m gonna spit on it now. *Spits* see, I did it.

At times, I feel like I’m not going through enough tragedy to be able to grow. It’s either love or hate, to mutual touching, and then to mate, then everything goes to shit. Afterwards, everything goes to shit. Those aren’t tragic, shit is bound to fall apart. Keniscayaan.

So what about tragedy? Fuck tragedy. Fuck tragedy and transvestites, no I’m joking about the latter part.

My mind likes to jump around. Well my thoughts. It’s hard to concentrate. Really hard. Fucking hard. Harder than any man’s dick. Yes. Hard.

Dareh

O

Kopi lah tabali
Rokok lah tahisok
Mato lah mangantuak
Kok dasia angin co iko juo
Raso badan ka takalok

Kok sayu juo
Mato ko duo
Kok sayu sayu
Ndak tatutuik
Ndak tabukak
Mato ko duo
Kok sayu juo

Kok mangalie nyo dareh
Kok mangalie dareh nyo lapeh
Mamakiak makiak
“Oi! Baa ko?”
Mamakiak makiak
Kok mangalie dareh nyo lapeh
Kok mangalie nyo dareh

Raso ka tibo di siko nyo nampak
Mamacik karateh jo pena
Mamacik ladiang jo kampak
Mamacik nan ndak tampak
Raso ka tibo di siko nyo nampak

Kok tibo tibolah
Ndak kan dilawan
Dek kopi lah habih
Rokok lah tingga abu
Mato lah ndak talok tabukak
Kok tibo tibolah

Kok tibo tibolah

YK, September 2016

where do they retreat

the skies are clear and blue

reflecting from the waters

still

flowing out to endlessness

to an ocean of bliss

and contentment

but yet

forces none to enjoy

its splendor

its beauty

and how beautiful it is today

how beautiful it is to live

and how grateful I am

to be alive

 

a breeze of fresh air

meadows of flowers

the sweet scent of spring

the warm light of day

after a long winter

and for no one do they appear

but they are there, I believe

and I believe in what is true

 

no more dark clouds

no more blurred sight

no more do they appear

and I feel alright

not again do they conjure up

disappointments so clear

and memoirs of fears

all the fallen tears

and how easy it was to call upon

the sadness instilled

inside of a dying mind

and so

no more grey skies

shading my light

 

but where do they retreat?

Survivor.

beautifulkindofthoughts

It’s not easy. It’s never been easy.

Depression is not just any sadness. Sadness is a small type of reaction happening in daily basis. When the person is having depression, it interferes their daily life and normal functioning. Sadness is only a small part of depression. Some people with depression may not feel sadness at all.It’s like wishing you did not get up the next day. It’s like segregating yourself from everyone not wanting to indulge in any conversations or going out associating with anyone. The feeling of guilt, worthlessness, helplessness and hopelessness. It’s losing appetite or binging on food having weight changes. The thoughts of death and suicide lingers in the mind.

Anxiety is not just a normal panic attack. It’s the feeling of suffocation when you are in a crowd of people. It’s the trembling hands that restrains yourself from meeting new people. It’s the feeling of constant…

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The time I thought I was lonely no more

These few poems are some of the things that go on in
my mind when I think about you and what goes on between
us. They’re nothing great, I could write these up in a few
minutes, but the ones I post here are special. Writing poetry,
about you, is cathartic.

One of the poems here were written before I met you;
autumn tiba. I put it in here simply because I met you in the
summer. I also refer to you as ‘Rembulanku’, because you
bring light and serenity to a clouded and dark mind like mine.

 _____, I want you to know that you’ve done more
than you thought to me. You’ve brought life to this lonely
wanderer; and now I am lonely no more. Thank you.

We will all die, we will all be forgotten. As do other
mortal beings. But _____, your name, what you’ve done to
me, what you’ve given me, how you loved me; they’re all
going to be immortal through my lines of poetry.


Those are the few paragraphs that closed a book I once made. It was a collection of poems I made for, my then, lover. At the time I felt happy, although it didn’t last long. We went our separate ways and are now strangers again. The book was never talked about ever again, maybe it’s in a box full of other mementos and maybe it’s now just scrap paper somewhere in a landfill.

I learned that it was wrong for me to put my happiness inside another’s palms, unprotected and taken for granted, I developed a sense of safety. That safety was fragile and it could at any moment just break apart, when it did I became cold and cynical. The few relationships after this one was a roller coaster of feelings and ended either abruptly or awkwardly because of such cold mentality.

I was wrong to find consolation by creating a barrier between myself and Others. I kept people close, but never let them know me, the ‘true’ me, the self I suppress to become this lifeless shell which is devoid of meaning. I subtly broke off relationships with a lot of people, and I distanced myself from people I felt could hurt me again. I was hurt, then I sought to not get hurt by inflicting pain on others.

For a time I thought that to live a life so misanthropic was a safe way of living. Suppressing feelings of attachment, compassion, and familiarity once felt so right. I was wrong to think that way. It slowly took me over, my thoughts became darker and darker, I yearned for those feelings I reject to feel. Yet, I carried on like that. Until I met my current lover.

I decided to start again, to try and live life the way I used to live, even more this time. I started to let go of the past and change my pessimistic outlook. It wasn’t at all that easy, I had to ‘rearrange’ my thought process. I learned to care for Others again, not disregarding them as useless or only thinking of them as useful; I didn’t see Others as tools for me anymore. In the end I realized that I was just venting my self-hate on Others.

I learned to love myself. It’s not that easy when most of your life you’ve been blaming yourself for things that went to shit, even when you didn’t have the power to change the circumstances or outcomes of anything. So I learned to do so slowly, without rushing changes to happen.

Which brings us back to the book, especially the book’s closing paragraphs. At the time I gave the book, I felt that I was the same as the book, and object to be given or received, I didn’t only give her a collection of poems, I gave her myself. She accepted the book, but rejected me. I couldn’t accept that. I thought that if I gave an all out effort to make her happy, I’d be happy. But I am not an object, and I didn’t have to go to such lengths to make someone happy. If I saw myself as a subject instead of an object, maybe, the outcome would’ve been different. Because in the end she was alright with the abrupt end of our ‘relationship’, yet I was broken.

I hated myself too much I started to hate others, yes I was broken but I felt comfortable being broken, that’s confusing enough isn’t it? Without letting people close enough to understand me, how could someone try to help? Yes, that delusional state of moderate misanthropy was strange and confusing. I’m happy it’s gone now, well it decreased drastically at least.

I learned my lesson, and now I’m trying to cope with the residue of a failed experiment. I’m still very much pessimistic, yet I could hope for better days to come now. Trying hard to be happy and all the while grateful for life.

Now all I regret is making such a naive cheesy closing for that book. ‘Bring light and serenity to a clouded dark mind..’  I mean come on? Really? Oh well, it’s in the past.