grub + travels + perspectives

Bloc Party Made Me Do It

'No Help For That' from You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense by Charles Bukowski, 1986

Just when you're thinking of how to start, the song that best describes what you want to write about plays. Just when you've set your mind to unlearn something. Just when you thought you got it all figured out. Just when you thought your mind is past its state of drunkenness. Just when you told yourself not to dip your feet in the water, you went ahead and dove in.

Everything is so familiar yet so new. Sure, it was not the first time you woke up next to someone, but it was the first time the warm heat of the sun on your skin was the sensation that started your day. The sound of Sunday old music softly playing is not an unfamiliar scene waking up to but it was the first time someone felt you stir and open your eyes and lulled you back to sleep. It was not the first time someone shared a part of himself with you, but it was the first time someone asked you to be a part of himself.

If you ask me, everything just sounds lovely and wonderful. But it's not. In fact, it's quite the opposite. It's all you ever crave for, it's within reach, so close you could breathe it in but you know it's something you can't have. Because you're back to square one. It's back to the question of "What does this mean?" or worse, "Does this mean anything?" It was all 100 shades of pure in between. The overthinker in me is such a buzzkill. And no matter how they tell you not to read into things too much, you can't help it. It's who you are.

They always expect you to know better, to do what's rational. Did you? Do you? It's like that Postal Service song:

They won't see us waving from such great heights,
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now," but we'll stay.

But then again, we can't stay. At least I can't. It's like a disaster waiting to happen, and even though you want it, you're just too tired of people being right and rubbing it in.

It's been almost a decade but you keep asking yourself the same questions. Like you're in a perpetual hangover. It goes on and on, over and over and over again.

You're not the solution to any of their problems but you never fail to present yourself as one. You always gladly take the part. You just wanted to feel wanted, and after a long while, to some miserable degree, right now, you are. So why the hell does it feel so bad?

You're not actually sad that you're alone, in fact, you're doing quite well. But it's so nice to have at least one person that shares the same interests as you. Someone that sees you equally interesting as the topics of your conversation. Someone that looks forward to seeing you. Someone that's got your back. Someone that just... gets you. And most of all, you would like to believe that this could be different.

This morning already felt like an entire day. The kind of day that you don't want to end. It's like a breath of fresh air because this time, you're not losing yourself but you're becoming you who want to be. It feels like finding your perfect complement but there's this tiny part that's sticking out so, well, it's still not a perfect fit but you don't mind rounding your edges. It's all a matter of perspective after all. And this? This is not bad. Not at all. It's one for the books. But the problem is, it's something you've already said before.

Today was not a copy of yesterday. It was the way how you always wanted it to be. It was just like how you pictured it to be.

It was a Sunday. It was perfect.
And sad.

(Originally written last March 30, 2014)


  1. Love this prose! It's very poignant!

  2. Thank you, Penda! (Or is it Penn? Hehe.) That's quite the intention. :)

  3. Whoa. This song is perfect for this autumn/fall season!

  4. Actually, most songs from this duo have that autumn ~feeling~
    Too bad they're already broken up. :(

  5. Love the way you wrote this prose.
    Just poignant and beautiful!


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