The Wheel and Axle

You get pulled in different directions by those imprisoned emotions.

There is a sense of fear and paranoia, of impending pain or loss if things aren’t handled right. As though everything needs to be perfect, and a single  – even minor – lapse of judgment feels like the world falling apart.

Then, there’s the excitement of possibilities, many which may not come to pass soon, but it is intoxicating because of the what might be’s. The what might be’s are a drug, you see, creating a feverish illusion that you know could not be good, but you revel in it, anyway. Illusion is reality in the mind, and mind can shape reality.

You listen to the voices of others whose perception of reality may be more acute than you wanted to give them credit for. Until you realize you want to give them that.

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The year was 1998.

It was a time darker than I really acknowledged in the succeeding years. I have always considered it past me, that I’ve put it behind me, that I’ve learned my life lessons, that it was something I could easily shrug off, maybe even laugh off.

Apparently, it wasn’t entirely true, and all these years I’ve suppressed how much of an impact that incident really had in my life.

Recently, at the suggestion of my mentor Jessica, we visited Healing House. We did some alternative therapy, and during my session, I recalled that dark time – the only time I have ever really felt suicidal.

It seems so trivial now. I was an immature, barely-21 young man. Then again, what seems trivial now meant the whole world to someone so hopeful in life during that time.

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I don’t know how I’ve been rendered speechless.

It’s not like me to be quite at a loss for words.

I pride myself in my capability to find the perfect sentence, the right turn of phrase, the exact word that makes things right or moves things along. Admittedly, I am stronger with the written word than the spoken, and yet despite this I’ve rarely found it difficult to express things to anyone, at least not in the last decade or so.

And yet here I am, rendered incapable of expressing my thoughts, of speaking my emotions, as though the mere act would consume me.

Overly dramatic, for sure, and perhaps therein lies the shame I feel for something I should actually be joyful about. But where is the joy in the thought of risking all that you want with just a mere utterance of a phrase or two?

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Once upon a time, I enabled cheating.

Knowingly.

Deliberately.

I was a third party.

For about two years, give or take.

That’s a pretty long time to be a mistron.

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It’s Saturday! Here’s an adorable reunion…

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Heartbreaking. Heartwarming.

I cry.

Can this couple be any more adorable?

Also, there’s really just something cute (and sexy) when a gorgeous foreigner speaks in Tagalog with a funny accent. I have no idea why. It just… is.

I just love this clip that showed up on my newsfeed recently. Apparently, it’s from a Thai TV series called Slam Dance, which now I need to watch in full. With subtitles, hopefully.

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Happy Valentine’s Day!