17 Years

We convince ourselves; the moment we discern the soft tugging inside our chests and crumble into our blankets, we convince ourselves. We seek to induce our bloodstream with the in-betweens of clarity and obscurity: 1) “get up!” 2) “5 more minutes.” We immerse and alleviate our needing by the satisfaction of the opposite. We are walking paradoxes and sleeping truths. These, let’s talk about as I rumble upon being at the almost-end of the bridge and at the almost-verge of the slope. Seventeen is waiting for its replacement.

This is quite something, I believe. The thought reverberates and I think more profoundly. I deem humans mostly as those choosing the opposite. Most of us are worn out from last night’s battle but we decide on going further. The providers. The earners. The passionate. The need for a better life. The need for shelter. The need to answer prayers. The need to shoulder the needs of others. Humans, most of them, ignore the sounds of cracking bones and wheezing lungs because they believe in something bigger than pain. They do not hear the applause- but they do it anyway. Even in the persistent, inhibiting selections between clarity and obscurity, they open their eyes once they are conscious of their heart beating. Some are even unsure if they are alive, but they head on nevertheless.

Clarity. The ones who see things from a wider perspective. I believe they are souls brave enough to feel what kind of blue the sky is. If they reach that kind of height, I do trust that they did not journey their way up to see how little skyscrapers and humans and automobiles are to reckon themselves as superior. They have sketched their voyage the night before their flee; they keep their visions locked in their chests. They heed likelihood of specters that they take in a good dose of spontaneity. At times too, I suppose they camouflage their setbacks and sadness and doubts into smiling and kindness and hope to stay aligned with their  idea of a destination. In addition, they are most true to themselves; they know when to to take a rest and when to start again. These weary yet visionary eyes know exactly what their plea is to the mystic. They have sent them already— their little, buoyant letter for the universe to grant.

Obscurity. The ones who look from a tiny lens but whose minds are rather bulking with so much thoughts. Sometimes, the lack thereof. These are the ones who fail to recognize their need for adrenaline and exhaustion. They crumble into their clouds of musing thinking, “this is how I could be” but simply choose to end it at that thought. They may feel as though they are neglected— but really, to me, they are on the process of finding their spot in this allotted space in our universe. They choose the delay for reasons they consider but mostly because they cannot see distinctly. They have baggage they choose to unpack and unload first before they could curate their route to embracing the light of day. Eventually, they will know which plane to board while knowing it could crash any second. They will choose it anyway because they are certain that what comes with relief comes with torment. A little push would do for them to get up, but let them take that 5 more minutes. Believe them. Believe in them.

And then there are people who rove the in-between. The mortals who could do it—who could have done it. The ones who are about to send their letters off for the mailman to deliver. The unsure. I presume this is where most humans lie. This is where I have lived all my life. Lastly, this is how it feels like to be propelling myself forward.

While having gone through 17 years, I have predominantly observed humankind. The struggles, the successes, the yearning for tomorrow and even for different kinds of pain. But I have only known so little—that I am certain of. I think for a second I know better, but taking into account the contradictory and incongruous nature of things, I know I have yet to know more. It took me a long time to understand the state that I am in; it even took me a disturbingly protracted time to assure myself: this is real—I am real.

It is odd though, because I have never felt so alive. I am in complete control of my expedition. I am capable of loving and of loving enough. I am capable of growing and growing more. Every two seconds or so, I blink; I blink the melancholy away and open my eyes to a brand new feeling I am always so eager to feel. I know now; I am done roaming the in-between of clarity and obscurity. I have got to choose. And I choose clarity. I have sent my letter for the mailman to deliver. I hope the universe accepts.

There is always a choice. If there are no options, make options. Choose. Choose where you belong now and where you belong best. Clarity or obscurity or the in-between. If you find yourself satisfied with choosing the same option every day, then you are right where you should be.

Good luck to all of us.

©

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