Ad Infinitum

To be born into the world, without any choice
To walk a solitary path, without any guiding light
I refused to give in… I yelled “not anymore”
With utmost pride, I declared: “Gott ist tot!”
Then I drank from the cup of freedom
But still so many questions remain unanswered
What is it that I fear?
What is it that I want?
What is it that I seek?
What is destiny?
What awaits for me at the end of my journey?
Under the endless skies, under the bleeding sun
Oh the winds, take my thoughts afar
Silently I hoped…
To find the answers to the my endless questions
Before the sun disappears into the horizon.

The Lost Man

(Translation of “မေမွ်ာ္လင့္ဘဲ အတိတ္ေမ့ေနတဲ့ လူ” by Black Pirate)

I don’t usually write outdoors. Mostly I write indoors. But, it’s not like I’ve never written anything outdoors. I’ve written it while waiting for someone or so.  What I’ve usually written at those times were not whole articles or poems but just one or two short sentences, something like notes. Sometimes, I see people writing at parks or cafes.  I can understand writing at parks but at noisy cafes? I don’t really get that. I think a certain amount of concentration is needed to write some. Even when I write at home, I don’t like writing in the afternoons when it’s not quiet. Usually the times I write are at midnight or early mornings – when the world is silent.

Today, I thought I would write something outdoors so I made my way to the local park. A friend once told me that writing outdoors is better than indoors. When I got to the park, it’s almost evening, when the heat was subsiding. I don’t usually go out in Yangon’s summer because when it’s too hot, I don’t really feel well and makes me feel like I am angry or depressed without any reason. Maybe that’s why people say “As the sun goes higher in the sky, the insanity gets worse”. I don’t go out on very hot days but if the heat lessens in the evenings, I do.

There weren’t many people in the park when I entered, probably because it was a weekday and the sun’s heat hadn’t lessened much. I’ve been to the park several times at that time of the day before for various reasons but this was the first time that I went there with the idea of writing something.  During the weekends, the park is usually crowded, filled with students, couples and families. Today was pretty empty as there were only some couples. I looked at the sky. It’s a habit of mine, looking at the sky, when I’ve got nothing to do or when I’m thinking about something. Maybe it’s because I like the feeling of freedom and openness the sky gives me. Today, the sky was clear. One of the reasons I dislike summer is because I can’t see the clouds in the sky. I don’t like clear skies. It makes me feel like the sky is incomplete.

I went to find a place to sit. It was a chair connected with a table. Pretty convenient to put the book on, I must say. Stupid I know, but I felt bad for other chairs because I picked this one over them. I don’t like making choices. When making choices, there is, more or less bias. It would be great if “by fate” or “by God’s will” are really true. Then, there won’t be much of making choices in life. However, the hard thing is that once you were born a human, you got to make choices all the time in life, except for the fact that you are existing as a human. For now, I gave reason that I picked it due to convenience for writing since that chair was the only one I could sit and write comfortably with.

And so, I dropped the book on the table and started to think what to write. But, the thing is, nothing came to my mind. I didn’t prepare anything or thought of anything before I went to the park. I just went there with the aim of writing something. Some post-modernists might argue that in a piece of writing, inspiration is not the main point. But what was happening was not only inspiration. I couldn’t even think of a word. I can’t write anything without any words. I even thought (quite stupidly) of just putting the title “Empty”, without really writing anything and label it as a post-modern poem. I didn’t though because I felt embarrassed. This kind of stunt is only for those well-versed in such subjects and I am definitely not one of them!

With my mind full of disappointment, I watched the couple not far from me. It’s not a strange thing about couples coming to this park. I imagined. Maybe it might be a good idea to write a short story using the park as a background setting. Something like – the boy was waiting at park wearing white shirt and jeans and holding a bouquet of flowers for his girl. He was pretty excited. That day was the first day the two of them meeting as a couple. In a while he heard soft footsteps from behind. With great expectations he turned. But who he saw wasn’t his girlfriend. And there, I suddenly stopped thinking. Should I let the couple meet? Or the girl was in an accident on her way and was hospitalized? This was too simple. It’s like those stories in cheap magazines. These kinds of stories top my “non-reading” list; hence, I hesitate to write so. So quickly, I discarded the thought.

My “disease” of arrogance is not small. Even though I, myself, can’t write this kind of story, I look down on others who write this kind of stuff. Sometimes, I would shamelessly say, “My brain is not for this kind of stuff”. The “disease” of arrogance ain’t any good for sure. But I let it grow by giving reasons like this kind of disease is only limited for prodigies and boosts self-confidence. So I went on thinking. I once heard about some people saying “art comes from the artist’s memories”. So, it ain’t just about the present! The previous experiences can also give motivation and so, I stepped into my memories.

It got worse. The problem was that… I found no inspiration… nothing solid was found. Some might not agree. They might think, as long as one’s memories are not lost, there must be something solid left in the head. But for me, it was almost empty. There were some facts here and there but that’s just it. It’s like waking up from and dreams and just remembering some parts of it. I wasn’t amazed though. This wasn’t the first time it happened. Whenever I delved into my memories, I only see the scattered bits. I tried to figure out why was this happening to me. I’ve never thought of it before. Maybe it’s because of my life which has little change. It’s rare to see something unusual in my life. It’s like a train, running on a set track, straight forward. It stops at stations once in a while but their details are hardly remembered. Since everything is going in this same cycle, my memories become dull. The details became hidden in the sub-conscious mind and I could hardly dig into it. In reality, I am a lost man. I will be going on this set path and without much notice, I will fade away from the world.

My hand began to shake and I began to sweat. I was scared of something. I was never this scared in my life but I don’t know what I was scared of. I looked at others around me. They seemed like they didn’t even notice they were there. They were talking, moving… but I was scared. I stood up, holding the book. I must get out of this place. I got out of the park with footsteps close to running.

When I got to the park’s entrance, I looked at the cars running on the road. I compared the freedom of a car and a train. A train can only run the set track and has no other choice. The only thing it could do is to stop before it reaches its destination. But a car, on the other hand, can go from any road, from anywhere… just so free. My fears were gone now. I smiled. For the first time in life, I came to love making choices. After all, every choice has responsibilities following. Making choices is a symbol of a person’s freedom. I walked out of the park but the path I was walking was not back home.

 

“Whoever will be free must make himself free. Freedom is no fairy gift to fall into a man’s lap. What is freedom? To have the will to be responsible for one’s self.”  -Max Stirner

Raunioilla

The earth is dreaming silently…

A lone wanderer walks slowly on the moonlit path and the winds of frost greet him in a cold embrace. What lies around him are ruins and flashes of his past.

He left what he once called home and made his way through the seas. Now, he is all on his own with the moon as his guide and his shadow for his friend. He knows there is no turning back but he doesn’t know what lies ahead.

He doesn’t know where he belongs and his home is where his legs carry him. But one day, he hopes to find a place where he belongs…

He has fought in the face of despair but never gave in. He would stand strong against the storm even though he knows he is all alone.

The cold winds are still blowing through the ruins, carrying whispers from the land beyond. He grasps his breath and treads through the season of cold.

In a world where gods have turned away, what is destiny and what is the meaning of life? He searches for answers to many of questions unanswered.

He silently wishes for the sun to rise and give him warmth… but the dawn is yet to come and it has been days since he had seen the sun.

The fog was too think to see through. What he could only see is what’s in front of him.

He refuses to look back. He refuses to regret his decisions. His pride would not allow him. But his exhaustion was taking toll and his senses were failing him.

He refuses to fall. He grits and makes his way into the mist. His creed and pride will carry him until he reaches the end. He will continue to walk this solitary path until he finds what he seeks.

And he believes, one day, he will.

 

 

 

(Title taken from the Moonsorrow song of the same name, meaning “Ruins” in Finnish)

What Once Was, What Will Never Be

And they are called “memories”.

That’s why “past” exists.

So what is past? People always say “learn from the past”. But, how many actually really learn from the past?

I bet it can be counted with hands ‘cuz it’s hard to learn from the past. Why? Because the past is a consequence of the last. It’s like a cycle. The one who can actually break the cycle is truly a wise person.

What once was, what will always be.

What happened in the past will always be. Why? Because it’s done. What’s done is done. Sometimes, past is better left untouched. But sometimes, past is better left unearthed. Again why? ‘Cuz the past is real unlike the uncertain dreams for the future. We don’t know what’s at the end of the tunnel. But we sure know the trail that we’ve taken up to this point.

Unless the darkness of the path we’ve been walking is so thick or our eyes have been blinded by the light.

What is it to fear and what is it to love? What is to be valued and what is to be damned? When you know that the world is filled with savagery, will you give a blind eye? When you are in the darkness and your cries are left unheard, will you try to see in the dark or search in haste for the light?

Close your eyes and step into the path.

The past is just right behind you and it’s up to you to do whatever you want with it. But keep in mind…

What once was, what will never be.

But it’s up to you to decide.

 

 

 

(Partly inspired by “I am the Wargod (Ode to the Battle Slain)” by Deströyer 666)