Dinata

Enjoy The Life, How It is, And As It Comes ♥

I have lived so little that whenever I feel discouraged, I tend to remind myself that I have whole life ahead of me. It is that small ounce of hope that keeps me from going insane. It seems improbable that human existence can be reduced to so little, and it is almost terrifying that we have every control on what happens right here in this moment or what happens tomorrow and the day after. In the back of our heads, we know that sooner or later something is bound to happen. My days seem short and empty. They slip by indifferently—life is so slow to arrive, yet so quick to leave. I have this strange feeling in my bones. I think they are telling me that someday soon this will come to a sudden stop.

You always say, “We’ll talk.” We will talk about what? What is there to talk about? Why do you think that we will have a conversation and voilà, we will have a solution? If you want to apologize, apologize with a change in attitude and a change in action. Do not continue to force me into an endless palaver. 

I feel like I swallowed up all the grey clouds that were up in the sky today. They are now floating in my mind and pouring acid rain on all the beauty. My heart hurts so much. How much can a heart ache? I do not think I am ever going to get better. I do not belong in this world. There is a huge gap separating me from the world, like a curtain separating sick patients in a hospital. I cannot shake off this feeling that I am going to die too soon. 

A lot of the times when I am lonely or depressed, I do not reach out to other people because I feel like I do not deserve what they have to offer me. I am living while mostly thinking about dying, and I am sorry I had to tell you that so early in the morning. I just cannot keep my thoughts in my head anymore. There is no more room, so they are spilling out onto these papers. Normally I would just go to sleep and forget about everything that ever bad happened to me, but sleep eludes me. You once told me that if I needed to be saved, I should go to you. If you still want to save me, now is the right time to grab and pull me out of my head. 

Every day I have to hold in my breath and wait for my life to become what it should be. Hopefully sooner rather than later, that moment will come to me before my lungs collapse one-by-one. It seems I can only breathe in my dreams.

I always thought there was a problem with life. Not particular mine, but life in general. I feel like we never get enough time to stare at our ceiling or at a blank wall and try to sort out our thoughts. I love to write, but it is sometimes difficult to filter out my mind and articulate what I want to say. We never have enough time to figure out what is going on. “This is life in the making”, but why is the process so slow yet so short? Life is full of opportunities, so we can make many stupid decisions and find ourselves back on our feet again. To live everyday knowing that death could steal everything from us—what do we do if we have no tomorrow? “Live everyday as if it’s your last!” they say, but that does not seem convenient.

“It’s alright,” she said while smiling. He was not sure if she was telling the truth because he often heard her say the same words to anybody who have wronged her. If it was not “It’s alright”, it was “I’m okay” or “Oh, it’s no problem.” He was worried for the most part, but he figured that he should not ask her about it, in fear that he might hurt her in some way. Immersed in his own thoughts, he didn’t realize that someone has been tugging onto his coat sleeve.

“What are you doing? We have to go back now,” she said. He looked straight into her eyes, as thought he saw something peculiar in them, or something rather special.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Your eyes—they’re beautiful.”

She turned her head to the side and started to walk awkwardly along the platform, waiting for the train to pass by to take them back home. He caught her smiling a little and noticed her cheeks growing a bit red. He felt like teasing her about it, but stopped himself. “Seeing her smile today is enough,” he thought.

He got up from the bench and hurried over to stand next to her side. They were now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their hands a couple of millimetres apart. There was no one else waiting for the train, just the two of them. He did not know what to do at that point. He was feeling a bit anxious, standing next to her like a statue. He sighed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah…I’m just…a bit cold. It’s winter. I don’t like winter, remember?”

She giggled. “What was so funny?” he thought to himself.

He soon saw her lift her hand up with the palm facing up. “Take my hand.” “What,” he asked, as if he did not hear her properly the first time. She took his hand and locked it with hers. “There you go. Now you won’t be cold.”

He laughed a little. He was happy. He was just really happy.

It sounds awful when people strongly believe that I am a negative person. There is some truth in it, but there are days where I truly feel… normal. On some days, my emotions are regulated and not spiraling inside of me like a tornado. I do not believe myself to be incurably sad. Everyone has their good and bad days, right? There is something that I have to achieve and hold onto with all of my might and that is, a peace of mind. People revert to it, but I need it.

Sometimes I feel like people want me to be someone who I am not. They have this idea of me and then on one day, they find out that I am someone entirely different from who they thought I was. They become unhappy with me, but what can I do? I have no responsibility to live up to what other people think of me, but at times it becomes upsetting and draining. I feel like all I have been doing is tearing down my façade and putting another one back up just to have people understand me. I always thought there was a veil separating me from humanity, but I believe I am also three-times removed from my body. On some days, I feel like a puzzle—trying to put pieces of me back together. However, there is always one piece missing and I still have not figured out what that piece is. 

Anonymous asks:
How do you feel about letting go of people that you really care about?

Letting go means to come to the realization that the only person you have control over is yourself. I used to think it was tough to let go of some people, but nowadays, I can drop them like a ball. Not in a cruel way, of course. It’s not like I stopped caring about people. 

I’m constantly moving forward and burning bridges. There’s just no way around it. People let go of me, too. It’s just nice in a while to say, “You go on your own way and I’ll go on mine.”

Anonymous asks:
I love your writing. Mostly because I can relate to most of the things you write and your words just warm me up. I appreciate when people are able to touch me so much just with their words. I wanted to talk to you and get to know you but I'm afraid it might not be the best idea.

I truly love this message that you have sent me. It means a lot that you took a few moments to send me this and I’m more than grateful to receive such compliments about my writing. Thank you so much! 

I might seem unapproachable, but I really don’t mind having conversations. It’s never a bad idea to get to know someone, right?

Anonymous asks:
why do you live if all you talk about in your writing is depressing stuff?

This “depressing stuff”… They are my thoughts, my experiences. If I don’t write, then I’m afraid I won’t  be able to say that I have lived. I don’t know why it became a necessity to remember how I felt in a particular day or why I have to keep writing until all I see is paper saturated in ink. 

I write to live. I have to live. So please, don’t consider my writing as just “depressing stuff”.