Cynicism

Thing about being in a clique of 9 people, is that it’s really unsettling sometimes.

This is the first time I’ve ever been involved in such things.

Conflicts, mistrust, and stuff. And Samuel’s becoming extremely cynical about everyone lately.

It’s like we sort of switched places and now I’m the one trying to convince him otherwise.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go about doing this.

Peacemaker… Be a peacemaker.

And somehow I always have what Pastor Joey said a few years ago during a sermon etched in my mind.

Build bridges, not barriers.

Cynicism is pretty toxic. My dad’s cynical about the church leaders too and it changes something. Perspectives, I guess. Everything they do and say, you’d take it the wrong way.

I don’t want to end up being a miserable, cynical person, bitter about everything and not being able to see good things.

I kinda wanna draw something that shows this. I’m not sure how.

I guess Cynicism is like a curse that slowly rots away all the light that you’d ever see.

Hmmm.

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The meadow

There is a place, that everyone is looking for, though they may or may not know it yet.

It is a quiet field, however if you stay long enough, sometimes you might even hear the soft pattering of an antelope, or the mysterious almost melodious whispers of the wind rushing past your ears.

It is no bigger than a few yards, and every blade of grass glistens in the sun, bathed in morning dew that stays forever. A ring of giant pines circle round this field, like guardians, hand in hand, branches intertwining thickly towering the undergrowth, protecting the land.

Small flowers of all sorts of colours and sizes dot the land, colours quite foreign to that of the eyes of mankind. Each petal, perfect and pristine, feels like velvet under one’s fingertips.

It’s is a place with strange magic, old magic, as you enter the meadow emerging from the forest of trees, you’d find yourself filled with overwhelming peace, and joy. If you explore the meadow long enough, you might even find love.

Now you may be wondering how one could ever find such a place, well I’ll tell you now that you can. Anyone can find the path that leads to the meadow, no matter where you are. Even if you find yourself stuck in the most polluted of bustling cities, or by the sea soaking your feet in the hot sand, or even in the middle of the ocean, an island in isolation. You might have already guessed that this meadow is not quite of this world, but that is all that anyone will ever know, for this meadow has been here since the dawn of the universe, older than even the crust of the earth.

Now, though anyone may find it, not everyone will. The route you’d take to get there is a rather confusing, time consuming journey. You’d often find yourself taking the wrong road from time to time, and you’d have to walk through places you’d least expect. Everyone finds the meadow in their own way and in their own time. But if you search long and hard enough, you certainly will.

All these voices in my head
I don’t know where they’re coming from
I can’t tell anyone what they’re saying
And it’s killing me

My head feels like it’s going to explode
One thought leads to the next
Telling me how much of a worthless
Burden
Pathetic
Useless
It’s piling up
And it feels like I’m back
To that time again

What did I do wrong now
To be in a place like this again
All of a sudden
It feels exactly the same

Mirror

You know what’s the saddest thing?

If we all lost our own thoughts.

If we forgot what it’s like to think on our own, reflect, create.

I feel like I’m starting to lose my thoughts.

I guess maybe I’ve felt too consumed by them that I thought they were a bad thing. But now that I hardly think about things as much as I did before, I really do realise how precious they are.

Instead, my head starts to fill up with other things. Or maybe it’s like a disease that spreads. A slow hardening, spreading, killing. And it gets tiring.

When I was in primary school, we had this teacher that made us write reflections after doing something wrong.

It was a burden, humiliating. The word doesn’t really give me much of a good feeling (I had to write quite a lot of these I think).

Now I think I know why they’re called reflections. If you don’t go back and remember, and think, and process everything that’s happened. Your feelings, your memories, you can’t create meaning from them.

It’s like a mirror. You stand in front of it, wipe the dust of its surface, and there you see yourself clearly. You can only see yourself as a reflection. In the same way, if you don’t reflect you can’t possibly look at every day with meaning. It’s the only way.

It seems like I’m passing by this mirror with only just a fleeting glance everyday now. I don’t take a closer look at the¬†way my eyes are starting to dull, the limpness of my hair, the¬†stagnancy of my smile.

I want to find myself again.

Darkness

I asked Victoria what’s wrong,

And she said it was too dark for me.

I don’t quite know what to feel about this.

Sad. I think I’m sad.

It’s funny. Sometimes I wish I could be a part of that darkness too. So I can understand.

Not that I’ve never been in darkness, everyone has their own sort of night.

But darkness is terrible. Because it’s hard to see an end to it if you can’t see anything at all.

A perfect, happy life, smooth going and all doesn’t really feel like a life.

This is probably the only thing that can back me up to prove I’m not insane, when I do feel like being sad even if I had no reason to at all.

I’m starting to get an idea for a story here.

Dancing fire

Tongues of fire dance in front of you,
Burning light reflecting off the tears in your eyes

Enticing, drawing you closer.
Beauty in a waltz of death

It feels like it’s protecting you from the shadows
And yet at the same time it burns you black

I can tell you’ve been stuck for a very long time
The soot at your feet outline your pain

The ash blinds your vision
And you can’t breath

Yet you can’t bring yourself to move

Paint

There’s always that person you try to paint.
A vivid masterpiece for all to see.
Bright yellow smiles and deep red hearts
Perfect brush strokes that you can never be

Is it wrong to paint this picture of you?
Spend your days fixing the lines
Why can’t you stare at your lovely face
Instead of the artist behind?

Is it worth a dirty apron,
and wait- your eyes don’t look quite the same!
This face only admired from afar
Up close, only the paint remains

FREEEEEEEEEEE

It hasn’t really hit me yet.

I have two whole months to do anything I want to from today onwards.

What do I want to do with two months?

Okay striking off work and volunteering for the reading programme and REACH youth centre I have maybe 60% of two months left.

Time slips by so easily. And it’s usually gone before we even know it’s there. This time I want to make sure I know exactly how much I have to use.

I’ll start by not sleeping my mornings away. Or at least I’ll try to. OKAY I WILL. I will wake up by 8:30. Max. Tops. But I’ll try for 7:30am. I CAN DO THIS.

Also I want to spend more time reading.

It’s really been a long long time since I completed an entire book.

And spend less on food so I have more for books. Hah. Haha.

And exercise.

And writing. Of course.

And art. I actually have the time now!!!

Okay thinking of all these things is really getting me quite excited.

Okay.

Okay.

OKAY