#midnight musings series by unsilencedk

[unsilencedk]

Midnight Musings #2

There are a lot of things I want to tell the world. This midnight's topic is about the rivalry of theory and fact. I once met a man. He lived inside a box. He was beautiful, but his actions are based on what is being dictated to him, which was written by someone. And this is what he, arguably, beautifully said, "I've always believed in numbers, in equations, in logic and reason. But after a lifetime of such pursuits: I ask, 'What truly is logic? Who decides reason?' My quest has taken me to the physical, the metaphysical, the delusional, and back. I have made the most important discovery of my career - the most important discovery of my life. It is only in the mysterious equations of love that any logic or reasons can be found. I am only here tonight because of you."

The profound impact of those words made way to this lady's heart—a lady I happen to have a serious talk on a 9-hour, dizzying ship travel. She told me about her pursuit of leaving a lasting legacy to the world through her ability to ink her thoughts. She is extreme when talking to her strengths and weaknesses. The laughter she holds when she heard strange words from our conversation was resounding. All the colors of the rainbow surrounded her like a Zoom meeting background. She glistened and glowed like gold, like morning glories in a sunny garden. But insider her, there's a raging super typhoon.

She was extreme in hiding her pain inflicted by the absence of warmth, fulfillment, and understanding. Often hiding behind her sunny clouds were her destructive and depressing thoughts, pouring so suddenly like the climate change of the 21st century. One moment she's laughing, and then once alone, she's breathing deep trying to keep her head above her flooded thoughts. People like her enables me to be a master of my senses. When she's laughing, all I see was the tears she's been holding back. The active and lively voice sounded like rumbling thunders suppressed by bottles of unhealed traumas and unaddressed emotional and mental pain. When she initiates these gentle touches, all I feel was the violence she received. Countless, that it no longer brought her discomfort. I could smell the anger and hatred amidst the beautiful scent she splashed over her floral dress. It was only the sound of her soulful satiating story of love that I cannot get a taste of. How could I not get a single pint of bitterness, sourness, nor spiced-up bullshits in the love that she found?

I often thought about her, and the logic behind people like her. How they are able to be a walking spring and summer with a destructive typhoon and frigid winters, disturbing them from the inside, and at the same time, have the capacity to believe in the existence of love—a feeling that was the reason for all the unpleasant weather that burned and drowned her most of her life. I'm still in awe of her beauty wearing that floral dress, and how much she glowed talking about the true love she deserved.

"There were bruises before these flowers. When I tell them my story, people think these inked stories were fictional, like how capitalists claim climate change as theoretical. But all the witnesses of its devastation know it's a bitter fact none of those toads can relate," I read aloud from her book.

[unsilencedk]

Midnight Musings #1

There are a lot of things I want to say to the world — my thoughts, my feelings, and my mental state. Clearly, I can if I would. But the vicious villain living free rent in my head kept telling me I can't. Self-doubts overpower passion. Is it true? That the burning fire of your passion can die with a splash of self-doubts and little regard for one's ability to do things? Well, I'll at least try to return the spark in these musings.

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There are a lot of things I want to say to the world. I want to tell them about the girl I met during childhood. She was carefree, active, playful, and happy. She never gets tired, and she always sought company from others through games. For her, playing is like the body of an essay. It is the main thesis of her academic paper. To have fun and laugh with friends and be smug about winning a game, they are phrases that completes the sentences, which completes the paragraphs that builds and finishes the essay that describes her life. It was full of grammatical errors unconsciously and impulsively sent to people; misplaced punctuations on her decisions; run-on sentences of emotions that confuses everyone around her; and undefined, unstructured, and incomplete sentences of self-promises, vows, and dreams that's waiting to make sense. She's an essay filled with bad sentences, hoping to be comprehensive. And while she's getting constructive feedback from time to time, she's rearranging the words to make them right. A moment where she could not comprehend the words that felt like wasn't written by her.

"Who was I writing for? Who am I entertaining and impressing?" she asked. While I was a bad sentence, I understand me. Now that the sentence was correct, I lost the ability to read.