I happened to stumble upon an old journal that my mom had tucked away and kept for me while I was out exploring my independence in the early 20’s, and found this entry written on March 14, 2006. I was 22 years old and based on the philosophical nature of the composition, I was definitely going through some shit.
There’s a silent truth in every suffering. A truth that speaks of countless desires. Ephemerous needs and cravings that last a lifetime. The need to belong is spoken for, but the need to love is a hidden fact that most fear and loathe. The fear to surrender to the powerful sensation runs through our veins. An uncontrollable phenomenon that controls our mind and heart. An endless cycle that ends in suffering. A bitter emotion that shall dwell within our soul; for heaven’s sake we appear vulnerable. For heaven’s sake, we rely on the other’s love.
Dependence is an issue we turn our other cheek to. To independence, we open our arms. Acceptable. But unacceptable is to give in or yearn to be loved, protected, or sheltered. Thus in the end of the road, suffering awaits. ‘Tis the gates to our salvation. To overcome it is to live one thousand life times and surrender to love. Yes. It is then you know what love is like.
The other, a disguise, a mask we wear to shield our truth. Our conscience build on honest lies. A struggle for identity. But what is it? Who defines it? Is it deep beneath the rugged folds of self or is already exposed through minute mannerisms? It is a wonder, a curiosity that gnaws at my soul. To be myself. To shed thy other who seeks approval from outside. I want to be content, I want adventure, and I seek thrill.
What is life without air? Without music’s brilliant magic? Listen to the notes. It’s in the air. It speaks.
It sings.
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