cynosure

Do you ever get one of those moments when you don’t even know why you’re alive? You feel meaningless and don’t care about anything. And you try to think of other people, but as reasons to live they might as well not even exist. And then you realize. You are the only one to keep going for. And the moment you make someone else the reason you live, you’re dead.

September 9th, 2009

“whyles”

sometimes, the world is too loud. everything else, everything “separate” from us seems to scream at the top of its lungs… while what we do have, the soft whispers of what we’ve already been blessed with, is quiet. yet if you concentrate hard enough… the subtle silence emerges from underneath the strife and struggle of the external, and we begin to hear, cherishing every nanosecond of presence we’ve been so luckily granted. not the shouts and raucity, the din of what isn’t in front of us. and if we’re lucky, we can even listen. to the soft melody of what we have. in this only moment that existed, exists, and ever will exist. now. if you try… you’ll be able to hear, quiet and complete.

February 24th, 2009

vibrating soundwaves driving down the favorite road where almost a hundred miles per hour is achieved without intention. it may not have dangerous turns and winding paths like the finite road of the boundless nameless city that i have not experienced myself, but it opens a door. i wonder when i really will be a writer. someone who writes.

September 23rd, 2007

After over half a decade, my past journal will disappear soon. Pleiades, the journal I started on April 4th, 2004, back when WordPress was b2 and I had tens of other scattered online mediums of expression. Pleiades was the only one that lasted; I wrote as if it were only mine, my journal. When WordPress introduced tagging, I went through almost all of my entries and painstakingly tagged each and every one.

3396 posts, 214 categories (“moods”), 667 tags.

I poured my soul into every word. I often wrote several entries each day. Barely anyone read, and I was apathetic to the fact; it wasn’t the point. Somewhere along the way, though, I changed. I became… happy. And I didn’t need Pleiades anymore. No longer was I in an omnipresent existential crisis or bout of depression. I had learned, through sheer force (really) and vatfuls of determination, how to absolutely love myself, to find true happiness in my life.

I’m still following a celestial theme in naming, though
(Cynosure is the north star, while Pleiades is a star cluster in Taurus!)

Why did I start again, then?

“Missionary”

To make a thousand. Or let’s not even stop there, an unlimited, infinite amount of people happy every day. Or just brighten up their day in any way, or simply, help them.

I’ll start with ten people, and keep on squaring that. I think today I was already able to help at least a little to ease the days of several random people on the street. I can only hope to continue.

Maybe I can write a more widely motivational entry to express this and encourage others to do the same, but.. that will come in time. I think by the time I strive towards making a million people happy every day, that’s when hopefully a few people will be reading or viewing what I create and gaining some peace of mind that way. But I’ll never stop trying on the more personal level.

September 3rd, 2008

Now, I simply want to help– help you love yourself, love your life, start your own journey of happiness.

Happy Lunar New Year, everyone! ♥

As for that other holiday today…

[..] In our house, today is another day. All of us, even my married housemates, believe you don’t need a designated day to show someone you care about them and love them.

Today my boyfriend is sleeping in past lunchtime and I don’t mind because it’s another day. We didn’t have anything planned. Why?

We celebrate love on other days, not just one day of the year where all your hopes are crushed if your significant other doesn’t deliver. Don’t get your hopes up – start making those efforts every other time and you won’t be so disappointed.

I’m so sick of this garbage life always having to live up to movies where the whole year is wonderful but Valentines Day is like being proposed to seven times over while standing on the moon with every single rose in the universe. GIVE ME A BREAK.

Just go out and live your lives, and love when love presents itself as an opportunity.

Monnie

More excerpts from Pleiades (edit: the journal, not the book ).

Photo: December 28th, 2006

“i wish i could rip out my wings for you”

Is growing up just a constant succession of broken dreams?

Someday, we’ll fly.

June 4th, 2007

“simply, easily. the glass reverie shatters, so calmly, so peacefully.”

living in a house full of mirrors can do that to you.

“don’t you trust,” he says. “don’t you trust?”

and the little doll rips apart at the seams.

January 13th, 2007

A place. I don’t know where. My dreams rarely incorporate reality. I don’t even know if it was really me.

On the sidewalk, in front of my house. A house with a yard and I’m sitting in it. I’m crying so hard. I don’t remember why. People pass by and hand me flowers and give me condolences.

I remember a closet in my room. It’s not my house, not my real house anyway. I hate the lack of windows in my room. It feels so stuffy. It’s shaped as if one corner is cut off, and in that cut corner is a closet. Rather big. The only time I can get air in the room is if I open the door, which is the door to outside.. sun, and air, but people could see my messy bed.

There’s only a bed in my room, basically. Not much else. Shelves or boxes in the closet.

I thought it’d be romantic if we kissed in my room. That’s what I had thought.

I had a lover.

Still crying.

He confronts me. In the room.

‘You always say you love me, but then you talk about how you love other things.’

Blue flowers cut at the bottom of the stem. Thrown together with a rubber band. One of them has fallen out and is crumpled up.

Still crying. Don’t know why. Heart’s beating fast.

Don’t remember why he’s mad at me..

I talk about something. How all my crying had brought charity, neighbors giving me flowers.

Still crying. I wanted him to hug me, but he was standing there. Not really mad or angry. Just.. disappointed.

February 2nd, 2006

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tags: nostalgia, quote

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