#woodforfire

Written so long ago, I can't even remember writing this. You know that feeling that you don’t have your own identity? Like you don’t have your own thoughts? Some are much borrowed and less paraphrased to fit your own liking. It’s that strange thumping in your chest that makes you think that you might be discovered lying or to be a fraud… or something around that sense? I've talked about being lost a few weeks ago. Lost in all the sense I can make out of it. I use the word lost a lot for all the things that I cannot find within me. Like when I feel like I've lost that sense of respect for myself and for truth and for honesty. I mean what use is it to be down-right honest when all that it would bring would be hatred and pain? Isn’t it said that the truth would set you free? Then how come I feel trapped when I know the truth? How come I feel sorry when I’m being honest? It isn’t the most rewarding knowledge in the universe. Like when I found a week ago that somebody actually likes me but then that person said that I'm too smart for him or often too friendly for my own good. I smiled at first. But when I had a rerun of that thought over and over, flipping it sideways and bottom-up, I suddenly felt sad, because that truth lead me on to more revelations than I have bargained for. Changing me means I’m not appreciated for what I am. Changing would mean that I’m not really his type, that I’m not desirable, and the most hurtful truth that I’m not wanted. If changing just for change’s sake is the issue, it would not be a problem. I have changed over the years so rapidly and unexpectedly that sometimes it surprises me to learn what other monstrosities I’m capable of. If you go back 5 years, you’d see me cry over silly stuff about boys and do silly things for boys and do crazy stuff to be noticed by boys. Ask me to do it again now, I would have shrugged my shoulders and wished them hell instead. It isn’t that I hate boys. I just hate them for being so driven by their hormones. Yeah, I get the idea that they are visual sex-driven animals. I get the idea that if you want them to chase after you, you gotta be that one thing that they can’t resist: sexiness. But then what? Be lied to just so they can get you on their beds? Yes, it is so satisfying to be able to wear sexy clothes and all that. But what? I’ve to spend more money for a new set of clothes. Not a practical thing to do. Not when I have a family to take care of. Not when I don’t want my sexcapades told in different versions by my ex’s to their friends and be passed off as a good-at-nothing whore. Not when I don’t wanna be that woman they imagine while jerking off. Not when all I want is to be taken seriously. This is the dilemma that I’m in while I’m on this new regime of dieting again. What is my purpose really? Is it to be noticed? Or is it more for my self-satisfaction? I would vote 200 times for the latter. But what’s nagging me is that I’m pretty happy with myself. It’s just that other people aren’t. Why be bothered? I am kind to others and nasty harsh to haters. I know that I am smart and that I can join whatever kind of conversation I want with anyone and make it fun. I know that I am good at a lot of things and there’s no need to brag about it. I know that I am capable of loving just one person and make that one the happiest man on earth. Most of all, I know I have a heart. A heart that makes me human and naive and vulnerable. And I like it. I have a lot of weird experiences when it comes to building and destroying relationships. I have had very educating experiences in relationships. And as I have thought of those that I had in the past, it made me realize that I’m like fire, and men are wood. Wood that I consume until I burn out. Some woods burn quick, and some last for some time. But none really survives, not even the thickest ones. It has been that way with my relationships. Some are short-lived, and some burnt some painful memories. But I do know that after each heart break and disappointment, I come out stronger. Stronger in knowing that I am way better than this, and that I need to be treated no less than what I deserve. But this is not the set up that I want. I wanna be that kind of fire that would live on and shed light and warmth day and night. So maybe, I don’t need wood. Maybe I need air. For without air, fire cannot start. It would need a good amount of oxygen to spark and start burning and flickering. Maybe all this time, I’ve been building the wrong fire. As it seems, more and more of me are burned to nothing making me all cold and numb. Making me oblivious to the truth and to hurt and pain. I’ve been so used up that I myself don’t know what use I still have left. And I’m not sure when will I be burned to nothingness. And so I choose to be cold instead. Hiding away the pain and putting on that poker face. That innocent unknowing face. But then, I really don’t know what I am. I really don’t know what I want to be. Someone please tell me what wood I need. So I can finally say what kind of fire I’m gonna be. I’ve been put out for so long.