I can love, big deal

In the past few weeks, I have thought to myself why I am unable to write. Have I lost my ability to love words? Have I fallen off the wagon so much that I forgot who I am? Who am I now? The true answer to all these is the same: I don’t know.

I haven’t written because I haven’t written. It’s an iterative sentence yes but at the end of the day, I know one follows another. Repetition becomes habit and habit becomes your life.

What you resist, persists.

The reason I am writing today is because I love and I don’t want to love. I don’t want to ever love anything. Even cupid has his off days but, if I was to be honest about it but exploring love whether for self or others doesn’t always lead to the best results.

Difficult things and times teach us a lot about our self. Being able to grow up without negative emotions is not a realistic aim. The weird thing though is that even knowing that doesn’t bring me comfort. Just because you know entropy increases, you sometimes do hate it for being that way.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve even opened this blog to try and put down thoughts. Whether my thoughts were personal or borrowed, I wouldn’t be able to write them down without feeling a need to erase them and reword them. Sometimes, there is only the cloud.

I can love but that fucking doesn't help. You love and become excited, make plans and become completely into it but then, life comes along. Your plans starts to shave off. They don’t exist because they can’t exist. It is never going to be as good as what you want them to be. Maybe, I am interrelating love and expectation. Could I even love without expectation?

On some level, I’ve only ever maybe loved Harry Potter without expectation and even that I do not find comforting at this moment. One might wonder whether I have some bug: some sickness of a kind or two. Am I ill or is it the weather playing tricks on me? The truth is: I don’t want to be this person. This person that Hong Kong makes me.

To resist is hard, and because I resist it so unduly persists. I resist the change Hong Kong wants to bring in me. It wants me to feel like I am worthless, it wants to exercise, it wants me to take the easy path, to stare at my phone all the time, to work like crazy. It demands me all. I do not have all left in me to give. What I want for myself is not what this (and here) would ever be able to give me. If it would have its way: I’d be spending all my time and money trying to feel an ounce of feeling. At the same time, I’d feel dead inside.

This is also how I feel about work. I feel and I feel and I feel. Writing it out doesn’t make it better but maybe, this is not for an audience. It is not even for me to ask for repentance. We all need a break from making sense. This is for the senseless in me.

I am queasy in my stomach. This could be due to food or jam or cheese or coke (caramel & coffee) but if I were being honest: I am queasy because of that mortifying feeling I’ve been trying to ignore. That feeling that tells me that none of the rooftop tarps will ever be enough. None of the menu planning or insane cooking or talking on the phone with friends will ever be enough. Nothing will ever fill the void inside the heart that bleeds for love.

I can love, big deal. I can hurt, bigger deal.

This hurt of trying and failing is basically what I think was missing in Portland… there I couldn’t fail. Here I am no longer even feeling up to falling. What do I want to become? It is as if my bad luck has followed me home in a box. How do I build a life when I don’t have a picture in my mind?