Struggle against the Meaningless

These days I'm struggling against the meaningless. Not searching for meaning, but making out meaning. In fact, it's nothing new for me to do it, since I've fought for meaning in my life all the time. All the meanings I’ve made have incessantly slipped away from me, though. Whenever I try to lock the meaning within my store, it gradually disappears as if melted or evaporated in the air. I’ve put my-made-meaning on every meaningless on which I thought it’s needed, nonetheless, there always left nothing. I think I'll have to do the same thing forever and ever, even though it sometimes gets tougher than usual and overwhelms me. Now my days are full of meaningless and I must give them some meaning, any meaning.

If I wouldn’t put the meaning on the meaningless, the Death will do it. Before the Death, all of us are going to hang out a white flag. Only death can put the real meaning on the meaningless, so we’re about to embrace the meaning that the death throws. We cannot not only conquer or defeat the death but also stand against it. If so, do we want to disturb its way and deter the process, then? Even if there’s hope or expectation to discourage the destination in my mind, it doesn’t reveal on the surface. Mine has just been in the realm of the subconscious, recognising as it can be. Even when I’m eager to die, I want to make out the meaning prior to the death. Perhaps do I expect the quasi-meaning I make before death could help me to be pompous in front of death?

Brit…

On and on

Can't let go, yet holding harm
Starts from that she really loves him,
Keep preparing farewell for.
Though it hurts him,
Can't let his toil die of loving her.

Brit...

Dream

Let her dream and stay beside her. Please be willing to play different roles in her dream at her whims. Maybe it’d be also your dream. The two are alike in absurdity. Their illusions seem to resemble with each other. She doesn’t know how to deal with the situation, yet or rather, she wants to do nothing.

Brit…(Written on 14 July)

Mixed up

Meeting's carried,
Mind's complicated,
Mood's contradicted,
Matter's coiled . . .

Moving forward [is it or not],
Mixed up, though.

Brit...

PS)
Self-rationalisation and self-persuasion seem to be like filling a bottomless vessel.

Q&A, and Q

Am I doing wrong? Apparently yes.
Am I going to hurt someone[s]? Probably yes.
Am I selfish? Doubtlessly Yes.
Do I have to stop it? Considerably yes.
Is there more yeses? Supposedly yes.

------------------------

Against all yeses, do you think it’s your destination?
Facing with all facts, can you stick to your own truth?
Despite all odds, are you willing to take stigmas outside?

Brit...

(To the world, ps.)
Whether appearing good or bad at the moment, it's me. I am as I was, though I seem to be different from before or changed or away from your expectation.

A Covered Thing for Years

She finally told him that. At the instance when it was popped out from her lips unwittingly, she felt embarrassed to herself. Is it better not to tell the truth, which she’s kept for years to herself? Absolutely yes! She’s had a mind to tell him the thing someday, but it has to be done after passing about twenty years & more. She spoke it too early, that is, it was not the right time to tell the truth. What for on earth did she unveil it? It would definitely hurt his heart as much as it broke her heart nine years ago. Did she want him to be in agony, the similar agony to hers, which had driven her to deadly despair for last ten years? Did she want to retaliate on him for something desperate in her mind? Probably no! Now she knows that he’s constantly loved her so much and loves her maybe much more than ten years ago. She’d be going to regret . . . better not tell him now.

Brit…
(Written on 21 June)

First Semester's Ending

This semester ends soon.

All my classes in this semester are over. I already ended two classes of Practical English (Comprehensive Reading) and a Basic English (Basic Grammar) class last Friday. Today the remaining PE class and the History of British Literature class have gotten out of my hands. Feeling empty inside, I was subsiding into the chair after the final class. I felt like fading away, and it’s just like something full inside me has been swept away.

This morning I was strangely upbeat as if being injected stimulant. I wondered why, because nothing had provoked or encouraged me. P said it might be due to the nice weather or becoming-to-end semester, but I didn’t think so. Today’s weather was really beautiful, a little bit hot, and besides, I’ve always loved my classes, yet there was something different which made me cheered up, though I couldn’t specify. Having been intoxicated with such mood, I vigorously gave my classes all over.

Anyway it’s gone now. The bubbles suddenly burst down with the ending of my final class. I said good-by to hundreds of bright eyes for the time being, since my seasonal classes will begin two weeks later. In the afternoon, then, I’ve been groggy more than for five hours with heavy eyelids. I have to shake myself off this submergence, though. There remains so much official work in front of me, such as examining of papers, giving of tests, marking and grading for my 240 students.

Brit…

A Fairy-tale

A Sad Fairy-tale of a Boy who loved a Butterfly

Once upon a time there was a boy who dearly loved a butterfly. They were enchanted with each other at first sight, forgot what/who and where they were, and desired the forbidden in and out of themselves. The butterfly longed to be with him though it mustn’t have done that. Their love couldn’t last, though. The boy thought the butterfly would belong to him forever but didn't know how delicate she was. He must’ve been attentive to his butterfly all the time, but gradually became negligent of his sincerity, and didn’t perceive her wings were hurt bit by bit. The butterfly couldn't stand it anymore, so she didn't stay around and flied away from him, fluttering her broken wings though the hurt would take a long time to heal. When she disappeared, the boy realised that he lost his dearest one. With despair he has searched for her with undiminished affection and wandered about in dreams of taking her back. Finally he found his dearest and cried out never-ending love for her. The butterfly, however, once she's gone, would never come back, for now she wants to belong to none. She’s free and could fly to anywhere in the air.

Brit…

Stalemate

The verbal articulation of mind is difficult indeed. The speaking words once uttered helplessly get entangled as mind gets messy and perplexed. Words can hardly make oneself understood properly. Then we write letters but they aren’t perfect, either. Michael once talked about easing of relationship and I stubbornly refuted the attitude though apparently knew what he meant. I might have just shifted some emotional burden of mine on to Michael by contradicting him. Or maybe I found someone I knew in Michael, even though the two were absolutely strangers and different from each other. I was not angry with Michael but with the other.

Their thoughts about the relationship conflict with each other. One is totally different from the other, but both are emotionally responsible for each other. It is not important that who first provoked and started the war. Definitely they started at the same time. Now the problem is that they cannot stop the battles and often embarrassingly hurt each other on their own whims. Nevertheless, they don’t want to lose each other and that is more serious problem. Maybe one has thought that the other could be changed (deluding themselves in many respects). Seemingly they don’t want to face the situation as it is. Even if they finally face it, though, and it’s probably hard to make themselves be rationalised. We can say that they love each other, as far as we recognise that love has two contrary faces. They mightn’t know how to deal with each other in their minds. At least there is something they don’t perceive, let alone absurdity and arrogant pride. They cannot be everyone in their minds.

Everything would go on as ever with nothing changed. The war game would be going on, too. Someday they would consume all the feeling and become tired. Then the exhausted souls will put their arms down and regret lost time with which they could share for many things together. On that day, the two broken hearts would cry for the precious illusions that they had to make realised in their lives. Therefore, they would have to dream further.

Brit…

(30 March 2011)

Fragments of Memoranda in months

1. A friend is only a friend, cannot be more or less. (Then just more than that: 27 Oct. 2010)

2. If there’s a guy who makes me totally forget about my age, that is, who makes me feel like just a girl, I think I cannot but love him. (For me really younger than anyone else: 11 Nov. 2010)

3. Sometimes she asks herself if she’s a woman, indeed. Well, she’s seemingly a lady, but I cannot tell about “a woman,” though she provokes someone at times. (Whenever perceiving her, he’s struck and becomes honest as he is: 14 Nov. 2010)

4. My inside frequently rebels me, so more these days that I’m overwhelmed at every moment. What am I supposed to do? (Let it be or flow: 24 Nov. 2010)

5. Virtue disguised morals is often much more hypocrite than vice itself. It isn’t honest at all at times. (So, can it be a excuse? 24 Nov. 2010)

6. Love never demands pay, and it won't as ever. (It’s O.K: 3 Dec. 2010)

7. About the procedure of their relationship, there are separately two ways, at worst two ways and at best two ways. At worst, she falls in love with him, or she breaks her fantasy and stops making the fairy-tale. At best, she makes an affair with him, or she wakes herself up from self-delusion and recovers self-consciousness. He constantly encourages her amnesia, but often her self-consciousness interrupts in, which where her identity is embedded in and engraved on. I think she won’t make an affair with him, because love is blind and foolish but an affair has eyes. Definitely it’s hard for her to accept him embracing all the things she cannot understand about him. Not only he is in the realm of a haze for her, but also she doesn’t like to be in the same basket bustling with his girls. The roué's girls! (I’m blind / Pardon? / No, nothing: 12 Dec. 2010)

8. I think he can’t give her what she wants. I know it so well because he even doesn't know about what she wants. She knows about what he wants, though, she doesn't give it to him. In that sense, he is a fool and she an evil, but in reverse, in different sense, she is a fool and he an evil. The poor girl is dreaming of something romantic whatever it contains. (I don’t agree yet I know: 12 Dec. 2010)

9. I advised her to spare a little distance from him because he was so cruel. Without loving her (as far as I think), he woke up her deep and long sleeping instinct and fired on it for her desire to flame up. The poor girl doesn't know how to control it and how to take her composure back as before. She is helpless at times. She wants to hate him, but can't do that. Rather, she likes him and doesn’t want to lose him. She needs him as much as he does her. He is the knight in her fairy tale as well as the fierce demon of inevitable reality. Then she must harmonise the fairy-tale with the reality and keep up with her purity simultaneously compromising her instinctive vulgarity. (I understand: 15 Dec. 2010)

10. Is saying longer sentences such hard? It makes you look blunt as if being angry with me. I want my man to be tender of my feelings. (Ok, promised: 12 Jan, 2011)

11. Generously granting for the knight’s storage! Take one whenever she asks something! Not bad would be sharing with her! (Actually good it is: 18 Jan, 2011)

Did I need to write them down? Well, I don’t know, but for a catharsis.

Brit…