#deep stuff yo

I looked through my secondary school art sketchbooks today.

It made me realise just how little I’ve been creative lately. It made me realise how I’ve only been concentrating on material things - my job, wanting a car, wanting to move out. 

Mine

LIFE STORY

  The days pass by, contemplative, contemplating, observing seeing, believing, to see so much but know so little of the truth where truth is undefined, unknown, undecided but still full of indecision, think think again of things, so many things, about everything but the right or is it left, left for those who strive for knowledge but know so little about even themselves as they drudge on without hope to see the truth and beauty of life still rushing for understanding and scrambling towards promised knowledge, borrowed intelligence, to belong is human nature as I have seen through the years of watching, waiting, careful to not be made out, after so long learning by waiting and watching, despite the plastic resilience, it is so difficult to do what even one has seen others do, to change so completely in one's core, perception is reality, it is hard to see others, gratitude seems fake and empathy is only imitated by even the kindest and nicest of people.

a note / extended thoughts:

4. You are at the doctor’s office and he has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? What do you do with your remaining days? Would you be afraid?

I wouldn’t tell a soul I wouldn’t want to see everyone’s pity in their eyes. I am not someone to be pitied and molly coddled. 

Well, I’d make myself as happy as possiblejust read, and talk to the people I love more than ever, drink lots of coffee and do as much new stuff as humanely possible

I’d write and write and write so maybe I’d leave a legacy on the earth, something that gives me a foot print in time

I wouldn’t be afraid. I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of oblivion. Two very different things

5. You can have one of the following two things. Which do you choose? Why? Love and Trust.

88. Do you care what people think about you?

- I hate to admit this but too much. too.freaking.much. I bet that I would be completely, 100% happy with my life if I would just stop caring about what other people think about me, but it’s easier said than done :D (and this doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be happy already, because I am ^u^)

76. Do you believe in kissing on the first date?

- I can’t really say that I believe in kissing on the first date, I mean like if everything goes perfectly and the moment is right, then why not? *wink*

58. Last song you listened to?

Day 2 - Your crush 

Besides my girlfriend, I don't really have one, so.. I'm moving on to Day 3.

Day 3 - Your Parents

Dear parents,

Well, I'd love to say something cheery and happy here.. but I'd be lying.  And I'm not supposed to lie, right?

Father, you single-handedly ruined my life.  You took away my childhood with a swoop of your claws. 

You say you love me.  You claim to be proud.  But, wow, what an actor you really are.  Putting on such a pretty little face for your parents, for your friends, and for me.  You're a dirty, filthy liar.  And I hate you.  But you're family.  So I love you.  I wish I didn't.

I also wish you would have just left sooner.  Saved us the heartache.  The pain.  The loneliness.  I never want to see another man in my life again, even if it means I can't be the woman she wants me to be.  Yeah, I said it.  She.  Do you even care? I doubt it.  You never cared before. Why care now?

Mother, I am sorry.  You are a strong, wonderful woman who did not deserve anything he put you through.  Anything I've put you through.

But, you're not perfect, either.  You abandoned me, just like Dad did.  The only difference is you came back.  But you were too late.

I'm a grown woman, now.  I have someone else to hold my hand through the dark, and to kiss me and tell me everything will be alright.  No, she isn't my mother.  No one could ever take your place.  But she's my support, now.  And I don't need you to hold my hand any longer.

I know you "don't approve" of what I've "chosen."  But it wasn't my choice to be who I am.  You should know that better than anyone.  She's stolen my heart, and doesn't intend on letting it go.  I don't want her to.  

My only hope is that, maybe, one day you'll understand that.  That you'll be happy and proud of me.  And maybe you'll even learn to love her, too.

Both of you are my parents.  The only ones I'll ever have.  No, you're not perfect.. and I never asked you to be.  I can't blame you for being who I am, though you both had a part in it.  I'm sorry I can't be the perfect little princess that you two wanted.  I just hope you'll be proud of me for being me.

I’ve met the man who will lie with me on my death bed. I see him every morning, but we rarely speak. I’ve seen him at his worst; I’ve spit in his face and kicked him when he was down. He’s my worst critic, and sometimes it feels like we barely know each other.

Everyone sees something in him that I don’t. The people who matter the most see the potential. His father, family, teachers, and every boss he’s ever had for some reason see a success in the making. Sometimes it feels impossible to fill his shoes, but I know I will. The thought I will become the man in the mirror is intimidating.

I had a very fortunate childhood. I never went without a coat or went to sleep with an empty stomach. I lived in a trailer outside of Dallas, every day I was sent to school with one dollar. On the assisted lunch program, I had sixty cents left to get an ice-cream or a candy bar. I was too young to realize not everyone in the house was so lucky.

My mother left my father with four boys, for drugs. Consequently, Dad’s days were a little different. Dad went without lunch, and many nights he went to bed on a dinner that was less than satisfactory. His days were long and gruesome. He worked more than 60 hours a week to bring home a wage that simply wasn’t enough. Every night he made sure my brothers and I were fed, and afterward he would attempt to satisfy his hunger pains with what was left over.

My father never quit, even when most would consider it the only option. I remember my Dad’s smile throughout this time. It was shallow, and quivered. Even so young, I could tell it could give out to a face full of tears at any moment. I also remember he always wore it, no matter how shallow. My father taught me quitting is not an option.