A game with mind

I used to dream about writing words that could move someone to kill himself just by reading them.

I wanted to know how much I could push him to think about these things that matter to me.

That they could not understand.

Somewhere deep inside, I wanted to be recognized.

I wanted them to feel what I feel; to enter my mind, to make them swallow the chaos that existed inside it.

And so, I decided to write them down.

I wrote them with knife that could pierce the heart and break it into pieces, so no one could even try to stick them together anymore.

I shed tears that filled with blood; dripping in every single word that consisted of my sadness, pain, and anger.

I put my own blood vessels in them, making the words to be as hurtful as I had felt since forever.

But at the end,

it was myself that was killed.

Then I realized,

that these words had crushed me from the inside, since the first time I made them up in my mind.

Flesh by flesh.

What are we?” she asked him, straight and clear.

"I suppose we are the constellation of everything we touch, my dear; the knowledge we learn, the books we read, and the objects we create," he answered.

She frowned. “But I don’t like the sound of it. Seems like we are very complicated, after all.”

"Well, okay. Let’s just make it simple," he pulled himself closer to her and whispered,

"we are the constellation of fallen stardust."


Is there no way out of the mind?

Sylvia Plath’s! Come on, let’s talk! I am sure we’ll get along well :-)

The kind of love I give to her is the one that brings her happiness. I can make her happy, but that’s it. I only know her smile, not her tears. But the kind of love you give to her is the one that tames her demons. You can handle her sorrow and that’s everything. You know her pain and its remedy,” he said.

His words struck me like a lightning, right into the remaining of my sanity.

"She might choose me, but it’s you whom fate has chosen. I can have her body, but you have her soul," he continued with a slight smile on his face, "I am a part of her, while you are all."



… Oscar Wilde keeps coming back to me as I sit at the corner of a coffee shop and see people around me busy with their own things. I am one of those who love looking at people’s activities, hearing different conversations, with their distinct faces and distant feelings. Things like these always remind me that I am not the only one who is alone, as everyone who is connected with another in this universe is just the same as I am; we share the same solitude in the deepest side of our souls.

If there is one thing that I can conclude from people is that we are always fascinated by the idea of finding happiness. Finding goodness for ourselves. I think we are all mesmerized by the thought that this universe has much to offer for us. Dreams, passions, fame, things, you name it. Sometimes those things are our reasons for living and keep on fighting, but sometimes they also contribute to our breakdown that lead us to dying. The same old nature of Janus-faced, life is.

Maybe the only reason why we are always be the ones who are seeking for treasures in life is because we want to feel alive. Doesn’t it feel good to know that there is still a thing in which you can hang on to and to think that life is worth living? In Symposium, Socrates says that ones always look for things that they can possess so they can be happy. But what kind of possession that will bring goodness to oneself? Have you ever heard that sometimes, things that you possess will end up possess you? Maybe that is another question in life that we cannot answer but ponder.

I always have this kind of perception that people are naturally born realists. Humans never feel enough; always searching for things that will satisfy them, but then they never feel satisfied anyway. Isn’t Darwin right that life is survival of the fittest? Where everyone competes to get what they want in this world full of greed? I think what differs us or what shifts us from our nature of being realists is just our different paths in life. What makes us become liberalist, structuralist, existentialist, or even modernist is the way we live; our different method of getting through reality that bites us from the inside.

I used to think that the feeling of being enough is what makes us happy. When you don’t have another wishful thinking about things that would have been or could be, that is when you can feel that happiness is already inside you. But then again, I wonder what will happen when all of us feel that we do not lack anything more. What will that make us? Just some kind of living creature who breath but does not feel alive?

People are like water in river. We need to keep flowing through our own current, to ensure ourselves that life still happens to us or in other words, we still exist for life. Once the flow has stopped and we are stuck in a still water, that is the turning point where we need to try to search for another fountain or another wave to find a new treasure that will keep us coming back to life. But one needs to be aware too, that not all treasure lost as we lost our flow. The most precious and eternal treasure in your life will then become part of your water and flow with you as one with your soul. I suppose, it is the one we call home.

I can say that the key to feel alive is to keep flowing and never let the flow stops. One of many other things to always keep on flowing is to never feel enough. When we have felt enough with everything in our lives, that is when we stop searching for things that we lack. Like Diotima says, how can one feels a lack when one does not even know of what one lacks? One needs to know what one lacks and the only way to discover it is to keep looking.

We, as humans, are beautiful living creatures with different minds. But I must say that regardless of our different perceptions about things that we perceive as our treasures—dreams, passions, or even tangible things like money and gold—we grow to love those things because of our knowledge of them. Because we learn about them. Do you think that one will grow to love dreaming if one does not acknowledge one’s own ability to dream?

I must say that Oscar Wilde is true about how rare it is for people to be truly living. Most of us are very ignorant sometimes, thinking that we have been living our lives to the fullest while actually we haven’t discovered anything beyond our consciousness. We often trapped inside our own subjectivity, blinded by our egos and prides. That is always the bitter truth about humans: we see things as we are, not as they are. And to make one’s able to peek beyond oneself, one needs a bridge between one’s ignorance and wisdom of life.

I believe that it is knowledge—the waves and tides that will help us to keep our current flowing. It is the path that will prevail to us that there is much more in this universe than meets the eye. Its purpose is to open our minds and make us realize that we understand nothing about everything, so that we will never feel enough. We will soon grow the thirst of searching for more. It will keep us flowing because we will always be seeking for our treasures even when we have grown old, mentally and physically. Through that we can feel alive and do not merely exist as just living corpses with no souls.

There must be reasons and purposes beyond our existence and I believe one of them is to make our presence significant in this universe. As simple as making someone smile or making someone laugh. I often think that life will be wasted in vain if we don’t have the courage to discover it. Discover more and peek beyond the visible.Cliche it is, but we only live once. And in my opinion, undiscovered life is just meaningless.

I am just a 21 years old human who haven’t experienced the bitterness of the real world, even though the life I live is not really that sweet at all. But as a conclusion, I personally believe that the key to be alive is knowledge itself.

There is more.

You have to love people who love knowledge. Because maybe, just maybe, they are also the ones who keep you alive.

People aren’t used to that way of thinking. They want everything to stay the same—"
“—and the consequence of that is pain.

Paulo Coelho, Aleph.