Life Is Trying

Happiness is elusive

Love is bittersweet

Living in anxiety

Unable to sleep

Our existence

Fleeting moments

Passing fancies

Idiosyncrasies

living dead

Christmas is one of those seasons that make me depressed. In the recent five years, anxiety has been my general feeling towards the holidays.

Although a few years ago I would still write a Christmas reflection on how the timeless narrative finds meaning in the confusion of the times. I used to believe those pieces were my theological contributions to the triumphalism of the born again evangelical Christianity that I have distanced myself from a decade earlier.

To sum it up, in my biased opinion: I live a joyless existence.

The sadness magnified exponentially by the 9-month lockdown; the omnipresent threat of contracting COVID-19; the rampant killings; the vilification of activism; the looming fear that we would breach thresholds  that would lead us to runaway climate change.

But beyond that is the personal: the physical exhaustion; the low morale of me and my collective; the recent developments in my personal circumstances that are beyond my control; and finally the paradox of finding meaning and purpose in the precariousness of activism in this current political climate.

I see no hope in sight. No shining light beyond the horizon. I am living dead and living in hell. I wake up to dreamless sleep and open my eyes without any zest for life.

I don't want explanations nor comforting words saying that things would work out well or that there is cosmic meaning in pain and suffering.

Maybe there is--but as far as I'm concerned it is nowhere in sight.

loneliness

 Loneliness is realizing that 

You've been robbed of your youth

Robbed of something you can

No longer take back

If only patience had expiration dates

I live in a house that 

I don't want to go home to

Am I just exaggerating?

But I've lost all zest for life

No hero complex

Just grasping at straws

Imagining the illusive

Better days that

I can't enjoy

amor percussit propter tristitiam

 Sadness eats my chest

The palpitations and 

The feeling that

My heart would burst

You're gone but still there

We're over but you're still here

You're so near yet so far

And all I have are

The memories and tears

Sleepless nights

And Netflix binging 

Lonesome bike rides 

And guitar noodling

Wishing to catch back

That spark of lightning

Meals are the worst.

I can no longer force myself to small talk.

I can't sit through the deafening volume of the television.

I can't stand that I am faulted for finishing my meal before they finish it.

I can't stand the commentary on the deficiencies of the food on the table.

I can't stand how they don't wash their hands and how they take offense when they're reminded of that.

I can't stand how much food go to waste because of spillage and how they easily decide to throw things away.

I can't stand that I am no longer finding joy in simple things like meals.

I am too far gone.

It's not working out

It’s not working out.

It has been half-a-year —work from home.

Many love it but for me it has proven to be tiresome and unproductive.

Some say Zoom meetings prove that we actually don’t need office spaces anymore.

But I’ve been on the average been spending at least 3hrs a day in Zoom and I feel that it is almost all that I’ve been doing.

I  join calls. In between I process the downloaded information that came from the conversations. In between that I take care of the household chores that has to be done since I’m taking care of my parents both elderly and both increasingly becoming dependent on my capacity to be mobile.

I can’t even begin to tell the whole gamut of anxiety that this lockdown has opened up. Not to mention the whole range of experiences that I’ve gone through in the past 6 months.

Generally I just feel tired. Physically. But in spite of that I often find myself having difficulty sleeping. And when I do finally start to fall into a deep sleep I am woken up by someone calling my name to ask me to do something for them. Or the loud volume of the television. Or the dogs barking. Or an item in my to-do list somehow finds itself in my dreams and I am jolted back into the living dead that is my life.

My life that sucks. My life made more miserable by this curveball of a pandemic and this hellhole of a country ran by thieves and murderers. 

It’s just not working out.

Our post-apocalyptic existence

 

The world as we know it already ended.

It did not came with the grinding halt of industry and the surge of Covid infections.

No those were just the more garish reminders that we are already living at the end of the line.

It came more subtly. It came when we became enamoured in the illussion that we can chart our individual destinies without looking at the bigger picture.

It came when we started looking at the earth as a machine, a resource that can be controled rather than as a nurturing mother that needs to be loved and respected.

It came when we looked on to visionary messiahs who will realize our visions of a prosperous world without getting our hands dirty in the work of building it.

There is no use in explaining away our sorrows. No sense in finding meaning in our misery. We can mourn. We can shed tears.  Let us do away with heroes, gods and saviors. Let us be content with the possibility that the pursuit of our dreams will forever be futile.

When the smoke settles, we can only hope that the swords have indeed been turned into plowshares.

We can only hope that a new dawn arises. A clean slate, a new beginning rises from the ashes of the former.

We can only hope that hope is finally realized and faith is now rendered obsolete.

We can only hope. We can only breathe. We can only open our eyes. One day at a time.

Microcosm

My home is a microcosm of the fucked up state of the world: His convenience at the expense and misery of everyone else.

Still no silver linings in sight

For months I've been staring at the abyss. Never in my life have I lost meaning in purpose. All symbols of certainty -- gone. Hope flailing. Life: a constant, protracted march to the grave. Still no silver linings in sight.

late night/early morning

Happiness is elusive.
The pain is bittersweet.
We love those who won't reciprocate.
At times we love in anger, anguish and pity.
Even the act of loving cannot be done on our own terms.
We can only sigh and walk it off.
Living in anxiety.
Thinking how long can we keep it up.