I know where I’m going

You thought you were moving on but suddenly you feel like you’re the one left behind, and never will have time to fill the gaps that are here to stay, never get a chance to say what you want to say.

Thousands of twenty-four hours have passed away the way tides swell and retire; not here to stay, not here to stay, they seem to murmur to those who would listen.
And the darkness descends like curtains after a play; only the anticipated thunderous applause is exchanged for an ear-splitting silence.

Dead. Gone.

Nothing remains the same.

And you. You are the one left behind.

Those you knew and loved, speedily slip away from you like gentle ghostly mist floating into oblivion on a wintry day; they’re leaving, all of them and you are stupidly clinging to the pitiful little trinkets you keep that reminds you of them to find a solace for yourself.

Your shrivelled brain, filled with complicated innumerable theories and age old proven formulas, yet strangled with some dust framed memories of some previously loved pretty muse but you were moving on.

Or were you?

Weaving in and out of an insanely endless cyclical routine, it’s ridiculously easy to forget what you’re doing and why you’re doing what you’re doing.

The lines, where are the lines, you scream, as an agony deep in your soul firms its unmerciful enslaving grasp around your neck, stifling your breath and oh, it hurts.
Where are the lines that should you cross you would be deemed extreme. If only they were drawn with lead and graphite and washed with a coat of the blackest ink, and you would never cross that repulsive line.

You don’t want to be defined as extreme, do you?

And the whole mocking world now includes the ones who claim to walk the same walk with you, and they make you the championing fool. They seem to take a cruel delight in blurring all the lines for you with open, high, intellectual ‘non-judgmental’ talk, crafted with fake innocence to belittle you, and make you feel small and basically a nothing. The fact is, in the end, they make you think that they’re better than you.

If there ever was a living paradoxical flummox that would drive them, drive them up the wall, drive them crazy, they point at you and you’re that one.

Here I stand, the most miserable forgetful creature.
How dreadful to claim weakness as brother to my living and dishonor the Victory that reigns in me.

Redeeming Love called me from darkness into Light, and yet selfish pride and waves of bitterness engulfs me, filling me from the very depths of my chest, then over spilling and eagerly consuming, threatening to maliciously devour my entire being, to take me captive.

I look in the mirror and yes, I see how wretched I am.

I realize I don’t deserve the Lord’s lovingkindness, but He is so kind to me.
I thank and praise Him for loving me even when I rejected and despised His longsuffering towards me.

He is so, so good to me.

I am compelled by Love Himself and I must follow Him.

1 Peter 2:9-10 KJV
But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light: Which in time past were not a people, but are now the people of God: which had not obtained mercy, but now have obtained mercy.

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Thursday Thoughts: Stronger.

There is no weakness in forgiveness. Only strength and courage.

In today’s world, humility is mistaken for weakness and self-control for lack of spirit.
But I tell you, the one who has the courage to keep on being faithful to his calling while being trodden on, no one has more inner strength and stability than that man.

Saturday Series: Cacophonous Silence.

“The world was too overwhelming for the child, so she hid in her mind. And if only she knew how loud her mind could be too, she wouldn’t be screaming the way she is today.”

Who knew the lies I was told as a child would create a monster that would haunt me, into my youth.
Who knew teenhood would not be marked with life’s greatest adventures but with tears and blood running after, sorrow upon sorrow.

Ugly lies that would echo menacingly at inopportune times, when my insecurity crept in, snaking its cold unrelenting grasp around my neck, choking me, bringing me to my knees at the casket of memory I had tried so hard to bury.

People didn’t like me ; everything I did was not good ; my success depended on the reaction of others, if they were happy, I did well, if not, I was a failure.

These thoughts leering at my distress every hour, made their long term abode in my tormented mind.

And I kept silent.

Then, how the silence roared in my head and how it eagerly tried to consume every inch of my pain-filled soul.

Like a wound up toy soldier, I marched to the complicated tune of people’s wishes and fancies.

Donning a fool-proof facade, taking a sword and a shield, I faced the world with my false bravado.

But soon.

The no longer shining armour began to feel tremendously weighty, pulling me down, wearing me out and dragging me into the dust.
My shoulders shook, how strange, I thought, it never did before, or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention to it.
The sword, stained with blood, and I, with no recollection of victories, bore mottled bruises and wore countless scars.

How tired I felt ; I laid down and let the world pass by.

And still I kept silent.

Maybe it was a good thing, letting the heat of the noon day set my body ablaze and then fighting the excruciating pain, mind warring against flesh, to allow the cold midnight winds to freeze my charred spirit.

And it was the harshest climates that woke my quite dead resolve to press forward.

The heat planted a thirst to rise like the sun and the biting winds fanned a desire to try again.
And by and by, after conquering myself and my sick mind, I learned not to fear people’s opinion about me.
I no longer cared about their insolent attitudes toward me, their sharp tongues or fiery words.

Painfully peeling off the rusted armour that clung to me, I threw down my sword and shield and for a first, exchanged it for faith and love.

Now, no longer silent, hear my voice above the storm as I rise from the ashes.
I may be knocked down and belittled by you, but I will get up and I will try again.

[ Saturday Series ] ; Bona fide

[Bona fide]
ˌbəʊnə ˈfʌɪdi/

adjective

1. genuine; real.

I am not interested in going out of the way to make friends with people just because they’re good-looking or famous or considered cool. Those that are always in the limelight are showered with a ridiculous amount of attention and love, I don’t want to be part of that crowd.

But I am interested in the people neglected and forgotten by the world.

I’d rather choose to be beside the abandoned, desolate, decrepit souls of the world, giving them what I can give of the love that they have always deserved.

I don’t want to be someone that people have to try to or even feel a need to impress for whatever reasons I don’t care.

I don’t want indifferent, I don’t want cool.

I want genuine.

I want honest.

I want to be someone who reminds people that are around me of their worth.

Thursday Thoughts: Oxymorons

And the worse thing was that she knew she deserved so much better, but, oh, how appallingly weak-willed she was, to keep falling for the pair of hands that constantly tore what remained of her soul apart.

It’s so painfully ironic seeing people degenerate into a pathetic state where they purposefully love someone that continually hurts them and breaks their fragile heart, but so willingly hurt the angels that genuinely love them for their mere existence; a troubling time in a confused world where people show mind-boggling extra care & out-of-the-way concern for those who ignore them, while deliberately ignoring the ones that truly care about them.

Monday morn

It’s gonna be the first day at camp. and it’s raining. oh btw, I won’t be updating my blog from Tues to Thurs cus I’ll be at camp. I’l only come back on Fri and then I’ll post stuff. wish I could tho~

I got this pic from a friends blog and I like it

It’s only 10..53 a.m. but so far, today’s been pretty stormy. I don’t know what’s going on. I am feeling a lot of things but I can’t tell you guys. I wish I could blast everything out but now’s just not the time. Things been rocky and I hate it. If I had my way, I want to be alone, not in camp. I want to stay in my room where my world shrinks to comprehensible proportions. sigh. I’ll never ever understand why such things happen but I’m ready to give up. Maybe I’m  just dreaming and it’s all a bad dream. Maybe I’ll wake up one day and find out that things are actually all alright. Maybe. just maybe.

meanwhile. I hope you all will have a much better day than me. I love you all.

Jo