Mysterious Skin

Masquerade

What is beauty, this mystery that shrouds my skin?
This thing that casts an odd glow on my rather-not-mentioned sins.
Here I stand with wrinkles and lines, still the same person only slower,
Still the same person only duller.

Do my lines define me?
I think they do…
They define not what I think of myself but what is viewed of me.
I’ve grown to loathe all the grey bits that sporadically appear on my head,
Not until I’m fifty! Or closer to agéd death.

How does one keep their cool while trudging this line called life?
How does one stop the clock that slowly penetrates the nights?
My greys and aged skin do not bask humbly by the window –
Willingly waiting for moments of thrilling youthful endeavours.

I, nay, we all sit by this folly,
Braving the days… or maybe not so much bravery when it comes to the uncertain.
Still, life gives little choice to those who breathe this air,
And eventually, unless we die young, we all face the call of the aging glare.

A Day Like Any Other

PouringCoffee

 

My day began like any other, except now that my boyfriend is staying with me in my tiny apartment for three months – I’m awakened by the sound of the refrigerator door opening, glass clicking and the burst of acidic air from a bottle of coke. Ah yes, just… peeking through one eye at the time… forty-five minutes before my alarm goes off – the joys of cohabitating. Don’t get me wrong, I love that he’s visiting me on the other side of the planet, but my morning side was never made of rainbow and sunshine. As far as I’m concerned, no human contact before 10 a.m. should be a well-enforced law – well, except for early morning sex. That’s great. No talking, no cuddling, just fucking, and then you roll over and go back to sleep.

Anyway, at this point I tried to salvage a little more sleep, although I already knew it was more wishful thinking than realistic. But before I could go back to the already forgotten land of dreams, I smelt the distinct odor of tobacco. Ok, I give up. Literally rolling from my bed I automatically reached for the remote to turn on the heat – morning rituals, plus cold, equals “fuck work I’m going back to bed.” And we definitely can’t have that (too often) now can we?

After some coffee, grilled cheese, getting my hair to look functionally decent, watching a few cartoons and having a smoke – I realized that almost two hours had passed and I was already (almost) late. So I grabbed a dress threw it on and ran out the door. Soon enough, after looking down, I discovered that my previously-unworn-dress was way shorter than I’d anticipated, barely reaching mid-thigh on my 5’10” legs and somehow even shorter in the back. Yup, this will definitely not work around teenagers.

While practically running the 10-minute walking distance to my destination and clutching my coat around me like a protective armor, I called my apartment phone which was picked up on the third ring with a cheery “moshi moshi.” I couldn’t help smiling at his noble attempt. “Could you bring me a pair of pants…?” I asked, dodging a co-worker’s eye contact and slipping stealthily into a nearby bathroom.

Just a day like any other.

Passings

silence

Another quiet morning has passed where, upon tumbling out of bed, I muse to myself, “what the hell was that dream?” Not that I don’t appreciate the memory of my flights and celestial fancies, but sometimes I truly have to wonder what my subconscious is up to when I delve into these otherworlds.

Sitting on the outskirts of my mind, I look around my tiny apartment and feel the closeness of everything choking me back into my safety net. That slumber that never leaves. It’s sort of like my security blanket – always there to rock me into submission.

Going into auto-pilot, my morning glides from task to task, continuously the same yet somewhat different. I can never seem to do the same exact thing twice.

Sometimes time plays tricks on me, telling me we’re cool and will roll together. But as soon as complacency sits in, I’m tossed in a whirlwind of ticks and missing beats. I can never get mad though, I know time sits still and I’m the one that flows. Still, these moments remain, almost like a reminder of my movement between these planes – forever on the move, yet remaining the same.

Occasionally, I would sit as still as possible and relish in the shifts that exist with and through me. I’m in a million different places right now – how many people know this?

So, back in my apartment, my home away from home, I try to stay with time and have friendly conversations to appease as I go through the motions.

And soon, sometimes too soon, I greet the morning that sits on the outside of my door.

Hello world…

The Theory of Love

pinky-love

Love, such a tricky thing. Where does it come from? Why do we experience it? And, is it really the root of all evil? Okay, maybe that last question is a bit off, but love does hold a certain kind of je ne sais quoi that makes it easy to theorize until we’re personally satisfied.

We all have our stories and different approaches when it comes to love – some try to avoid it at all cost, many search for it with an almost obsessive passion, and others, well, they just leave it to fate.

Scientists suffice that the brain produces its own substances that are involved in bonding. That it’s thanks to certain chemicals and hormones why your heart swoops. According to science, there are a variety of different neurochemical processes and external stimuli that have to click in the right complex and the right sequence for someone to fall in love. Plausible…possibly… But one cannot help thinking that the beauty of love is not just because of neurotransmitters and chemicals like serotonin and dopamine. That’s not very romantic now is it? And love is supposed to be this amazing, romantic thing, right?

That’s why many of us find it so easy to believe that we are destined to be with someone – that one mate for our soul. We meet, fall in love, and (for those who are a bit dreamy) live happily ever after. But is that really love? Is it really that beautiful romantic thing that so many of us crave to find with that one special person? Or, is it something of a more sinister nature? I mean, many have died because of love. And a heartbreak, oh a heartbreak can be the worst kind of pain. Still, we search, whether intentionally or not, we all have, at one point or another, been a slave to those four letters.

We cannot orchestrate falling in love with someone, either it’ll happen or it won’t. And many times we’re not even aware of that exact moment when it does happen. If you think you do, then you, my friend, are reaching because when you sit down and really think about it you will find that it’s not actually that exact instant when you fell in love that you remember, but it’s the epiphanic moment when you realized that it had, in fact, already happened.

Maybe it’s chemicals dancing up a storm in our brains, or maybe it’s a fateful connection on a soul level. Whatever it is, the bottom line remains, it’s called falling in love for a reason. Because once you’re in, baby, and I mean truly in, it can be one of the most heart-wrenching and agonizing experiences to get out of. But, hey, don’t let that deter you from enjoying it when it does happen. Love, despite the pain and suffering that goes along with it, does hold the absolute best feeling you’ll ever have in this lifetime – especially when the person that you’re in love with loves you back with just as much passion, or more.