Not much has changed, but I feel obliged to write, since it’s my birthday and I haven’t written an update in a long time.

These days, the most common words that resound in my head is “I don’t know”. And these words have a multitude of meaning. One, I don’t know what to think. Two, I don’t want to think. Three, I don’t know the wherefores of my existence because I probably won’t get to where I want to be. Four, I don’t know what you are playing at, but you don’t know how happy and miserable I feel when we talk. Five, I just don’t know…

Even with constant greetings of ‘Happy Birthday’ on social media, the one thing that is lacking is the part about being happy. One can immerse himself in a world of illusion for awhile, but the emptiness eventually catches up. What’s worse is when the melancholy hits you, and you have forgotten the wherefores of sadness because you have lied to yourself for too long.

As I walked home tonight, slowing the pace in sync with the melancholy and burden within, I stepped over a page of the obituary left on the concrete path. The lady’s face and obituary post covered half the page, and she must have mattered to those whose life she touched. But the rest of the world moves on, uncaring and indifferent, evident from the many shoe marks upon the page.

Therein lies the very poetic nature of our sad reality. People die, and when they do, the world rotates without missing a beat.

We convince ourselves that we are eternal in how we live, constantly in denial of the fact that we shall meet our quietus one day. We pretend that the memories we create and share will exist till time ceases. But no… no one cares. For most, getting an obituary will be a temporary form of remembrance. Eventually , the portrait announcing your death find its way into a landfill. People forget and people move on.

On a note related to death, the lucky ones, who are ever so cheerful, take for granted the happiness they have. And the rest of us suffers from the cruelty and selfishness we inflict upon one and other. But just as happiness is temporal, so is suffering. The ultimate end is when the rented vessel (we call our body) lies in a beautifully crafted wooden box. And that box is all that it is, just a box to keep a relic of forgotten memories.

What is the point? Really, what is the point…

Some will have flashes of regret on their dying day, while others who have lived in constant agony will welcome the relief. I’m not certain that I will welcome the relief with open arms, but on some days, it beats having to feel the desperate and lonely emptiness of it all arising from this curse.

Nothing changes. I’m forcing out words because I know not what to say. The depth of my sadness is overwhelming. I don’t question where, but I know I don’t belong here. I see happy people and sometimes resent them. And I see people facing common problems and resent them more. That’s all I have to say.

Silence can be both a blessing and a terrible thing. And to remain silent for fear of loss is a curse.

It’s been so long, yet I still feel strongly about you. I remember your scent. I remember your smile. I remember your kindness. I remember your idiocy and cheeky retorts. I remember your cruelty. I remember you, and the fond memories and moments.

And whatever I remember of you, I cannot let go. My ambiguity serves to confuse and mislead, so as to preserve my privacy and secrets. I want you to know this. I want you to know this… You are meant not to know for sure.

There will come a time when we become complete strangers; it would be better to let the natural law of impermanence prevail. Drifting apart is better than rejection. At least I’d know you didn’t leave by outright choice. Your seeming indifference hurts though. And my biased eyes cannot tell for sure…

I don’t want to lose you. But our ships have set sail in irreversible courses to different destinations. Be happy please. Brighten another person’s life with that smile of yours.