Dear, you.

Posted on by redidyll

Why do you expect me to hide my emotions under some false mask of apathy? Are you so easily irked by the authenticity of a vulnerable soul that you shun it so heartlessly? Or should I say, so fearfully?

You bury your self so deep inside you that when someone comes along who does the slightest attempt at digging you up, you force her to bury her soul alongside your dark “forgotten” secret.

Why do you think people are so obsessed with sex? Our cravings for connection which comes from that thing we buried inside ourselves, has to find a way to show itself. Physical intimacy then becomes a temporary solution to satiate that longing for connection.

You may never admit it, but you crave for the day when someone forces you to stare at your own shit in the face, and deal with it.

When that day comes, please tell me about it.

A savior is not a role I can play.

Posted on by redidyll

I have played many roles – the loving daughter, the hateful child, the cynical bitch, the cowardly lover, the damaged soul, the hopeful explorer, and at times, the reluctant student of philosophy.
All these roles, and not one has taught me what you did –
Being in the center of it all does not make one valuable.

Who am I to demand importance in your life? Who am I to ask you to save me, just because I, per your own words, might just save you? And I promise you, I ask these questions without sarcasm. I am merely in awe of my realizations today. It’s not fair for me to put the burden of my baggage on your shoulders. It’s not right to rely on your carving skills for a home.

You are not whole. I am not whole. How are we to save each other from the void inside ourselves if we have nothing of our beings to spare?

Hiraeth = Longing

Posted on by redidyll

I learned a new word today. Hiraeth, according to Wikipedia, is a Welsh word that means ‘longing’. It’s a word that holds a deeper and more profound concept than ‘longing’ though. Hiraeth ultimately attempts to sum up in one word, the mixed feelings of yearning, nostalgia and wistfulness tinged with sadness over a lost entity.

I think I may have finally found the word I have been looking for to express the feeling I get whenever I think of my Dad; whenever I hear the song, “(How Much Is) That Doggie in the Window” and any Jackson 5 Christmas song; and whenever I smell the scent of Suave men’s hair cream.

My dad will always be the first person to introduce me to the concept of love. And I did not realize until recently that I never felt completely at home anywhere after he died. I recognize now that I did not only lose a father that day, I also lost a home. And like every person with no anchor to keep him/her grounded, I floated. I lived my life floating on the surface of each event. I did a lot of things – choir, theater, school organizations and church ministries. All the while unconsciously fooling people into thinking that I was completely engaged with my everyday life. I even fooled myself.

Let me be clear, I was, and still am, happy; but being happy is different from being at home. And now that I finally have enough space to consciously deal with my losses, I am finally figuring out how to make a home for myself. And this makes me happier.