The Other Art

The art of failing isn't hard to master; when everything seems not to fall into place, one carries on like there's no disaster.

Fail at something today. Accept the bitter regret of a broken screen, the hour badly spent scrutinizing carelessness. The art of failing isn't hard to master.

Then practice failing greater, failing faster: classes, projects, relationships. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my job and business was closed; hey, a door opened, business re-opening is on its way—a chance to start over.

The art of failing isn't hard to master. I failed the entire town. I failed even greater, my countrymen, and the whole universe. I felt sorry for them but it wasn't a disaster.

—Even failing you, I've said what I said and I did what I had to do. Indeed, the art of failing is not too hard to master though it may look like—I'm a disaster.

I got inspired by Elizabeth Bishop's poem and thought of making my version of her One Art.

The art of failing is about acceptance of one's failures that being human is okay —imperfect in so many ways and committing mistakes here and there nevertheless we are ought to be taught.

The past few weeks I've been really hard on myself that by then I realized the importance of forgiving thy self. Quit blaming yourself for your misfortunes like what the French would say," C'est la vie." Let it pass and carry on.

He might be the guy I would have spent my days at school talking about random things that would giggle us both. 

He might be the guy I would have talk to when I'm alone. 

He might be the guy I would have told about how I failed in our exams. 

He might be the guy I would be enjoying with watching my favorite movies. 

He might be the guy I would have made fun with when he fails to make me laugh. 

He might be the guy I would have run to when I needed someone. 

He might be the guy I would have chatted with to know how he's doing. 

He might be the guy I would have fights with when we don't get to agree on anything. 

He might be the guy I would have been hanging out all these years when I felt that there was no one I could relate to. He might be the guy who might be cheering for me when I'm doing something great. 

He might be the guy who would have been proud of me for whoever I was.

But He wasn't that guy.. 

He was the guy who's scared to admit how he really felt. 

He was the guy who was afraid to be judged. He was the guy who was terrified of letting people know who he really was. 

The guy we all thought we knew but apparently, 

He was just a guy who never worn his heart on his sleeve.