hello dear

How long has it been since we last met? Since your sweet voice caressed my earlobe and burrowed into my heart?  How long since my body was last paralyzed by your piercing gaze staring at me—into my soul—with captivating intensity?  

fatal flaw

lately I’ve been comtemplating—am I a good person? I reminisce on the past and cannot help but marvel at how many people I once called friends but are now cold and distant.  I always think I’m acting out of good will, trying to do the right, moral—if such a thing exists—in any situation regardless of consequence.  Yet I also sometimes reflect on my reactions and see outright caprice—such irrationality that erupts into flames as the scales of equality tip in the courtroom of my cranium.  I think lately these have weighed on my mind more, as I tried to understand why I do it—and yet why I am a moral creature who is, if anything, guided exclusively on grounds of justice and (granted my perspective of) equality.

and then I realized what it was—what my fatal flaw is: like a mirror, I treat all others as they treat me.  Be kind to me, and I will reciprocate because it is only fair.  Favor others or treat me as an afterthought, and I will lash out at you to inform you of this misgiving without regard to our previous friendship—just as you paid no heed to it prior.  And so when I look over my shoulder, into that haze of my nebulous past, I realized that I seem to be so flaw-ridden, paradoxical and estranged because I reflect what my company possesses.  I reflect and refract their flaws back to them—like a mirror, I do not judge theirs but they are ruthless to attack mine—more pointed because they know them well as they are their own.  But I am a mirror—an object to be used by the vain and criticized when they espy their own flaws within me. Flaws they gave me. Flaws that crack me because I wonder if they are inert within my form.

But then I look to the people who have stayed—who hold me together like glue.  Who have weathered my jagged edges—who have looked at me in a frenzied state unflinchingly.   The people who stay are always the best—the strongest—the ones who have endured so much more—who have already conquered their demons.  So they can stare at berserk me—their own perfections—without fear. They understand because I am them and I understand them because they are me. Because those who can stare at themselves through me are my greatest strength, my greatest teachers and fondest of friends. 

My fatal flaw cannot be understood through my actions but rather through the balancing of the scales my personality lives upon, ever traversing the hazed gray area between, searching for equilibrium. The flaw is not what I have done but rather that I empowered undeserving others the opportunity. I was too open—too honest—a perfect mirror before clear eyes.  I need to learn to hide myself—to close myself off and reveal my shining, unblemished reflectivity only to those worthy of their reflection.  I cannot be an unthinking, unabashed mirror any longer—I must be selective and distort myself before unworthy eyes.   And what a world we live in when even mirrors must cannot be true lest they crumble before hypocritical judgment. 

legacy

I don’t understand how some people view having kids as the pinnacle of life—their highest or even sole priority and the only way to be attain true fulfillment—their only true legacy. Do you think the universe will not live on after you die unless you leave another generation in your wake?  You think children are the only way to ensure you are not forgotten? You are comforted that after you die, people will reflect upon their ancestors and that shall be the only monument to your existence?

Leaving a legacy of bloodlines is not my deepest desire—it is a lower priority at best but more akin to a mere possibility among a sea of others. Children should augment your life because you can provide for them and create beings who can make the world a better place. They are not tools to fulfill a misguided, lost sense of worldly purpose.

I want my legacy to be some accomplishment—to have done something—something that affects others.  I’d rather save a business, save people’s jobs or, better, create some to benefit the entirety of society. I want to save a life—make someone happy—help someone find the beauty that is life. At the very least, make someone smile.  

I’d rather help save the world and fall in love with her whilst doing it. I want to know my beautiful planet for we are all her children. I want to sleep beneath the stars, breathe in the universe, and feel the exhilaration as the wilderness courses through my being.  I want to experience her like it’s two lovers’ last night together. I want to see her secrets, to witness her beauty at its fullest and admire the wondrous creatures life, evolution and time have laboriously wrought.

And when I die, I want to be buried without a coffin. So my remains can be fertilizer to the plants, which can reach out to the sun and stars, forever seeking the mysteries of the universe and sustaining the world after my conscious fades from the living. My energy will live unto eternity feeding into the workings of this beautiful planet—for I was never my forefather’s legacy.  I am a daughter of this beautiful planet—the product of mother nature and father time and am beholden to them and no one else.  I am a child of this Earth and its lovely stars and will never forget that.