Can it be that simple?

Two days ago, it was boiling and then it started raining with chilling winds. Go figure. This is summer in Vancouver. Humidity, rain and heat. The mind cannot fall into a resting place in such circumstances. The body is lazy. My knee is still hurting from a ligament sprain. Internet access has been cut off from my work place. I have gone on a spending spree buying books and changing my wardrobe. Vancouver gets quite boring sometimes.

Not everyone lives their life out on facebook or twitter for that matter. I am strawberries that wish to be oranges. When you are inside, you wish to be outside and vice versa. My life is balanced with dilemmas.

Staring into space, my mind wanders aimlessly for something to draw my focus. There are days spent on YouTube or random shows on PPStream and occasions spent sucking in the rainy air by planting my face out the window. Picking through my notebook, there are unfinished works I wrote a long time ago which I can readily try and finish or at least permanently remove from the recycling bin. Closure is liberating. No need for a plot or characters though they always seem to come into their own place at their own time. Breathing fresh air in as I yawn in retaliation to boredom. For some things, there is no beginning and there is no end, just perpetual rolling of the film or a looping song.

The rain confines you indoors and compels you to think. The silence teaches you to listen. There I am, a badly placed pronoun and an adjective too many. There are no chapters in my life, no finished diaries. I am passing by as an utilitarian block poem. I have long forsaken punctuation as a juxtaposition of its own making, constricting to meaning. Need to cut down on those long-out-of-breath sentences with no emphasis here or there. Just like a disease that changes and adapts.

I am words in a breeze, rain at a funeral, thunder in a murder mystery and an abstract salad bowl of despair. Quick frankly, this imagination is a curse. Flooding you with countless possibilities and impossibilities, it leaves you stranded with no answers but more questions. Then the questions build up, ricocheting in my head. The new ones come in like a sledgehammer each time, smashing my sanity. Reason and logic are little help, probably even misleading. Your gut is already credit bankrupt. Suddenly, you realize that this is what it means to be human. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Then you tune and fine-tune until you reach the point where you can never go back to the mundane and ordinary. You have then found your source of pride and more importantly drive for life. When you look back at those who had fallen in your path, whether as stepping stones or simply lost, I hope you can still share a little pity for them.

Are there any worthy of sharing the same web space with geniuses, read the same books, walk the same land or breathe the same air? In a perfect world, I think not. But I suppose one must give others hope… or at least the illusion of hope... To be human is to be imperfect.

And why do I write, make my own blog and relentless expose myself to the scrutiny and criticisms of the public? Do I crave for the acknowledgement that I am a human, flawed to say the least? Can the answer be that simple?