A walk to remember

I almost forgot what it was like…
How it felt…
And who I am...

It was Christmas day. All was busy, crowded and noisy, when suddenly I felt this suffocating pressure in my throat. Like a lump I just couldn’t swallow around. I wasn't really concerned for my health since I’m not allergic to anything. But once my chest felt heavy, and I began to pace from room to room as though searching for something unknown, I knew what was happening. I don’t believe I officially suffer from claustrophobia, but I can certainly recognize when a serious case of restlessness encloses around me. And this time was no different: I HAD to get out. Now, I find that putting off the inevitable will only lead to unhappy frustration, so when that ruthless impulse tugged at me, I grabbed the nearest coat and shoes, piled them on and walked out; barely giving myself time to snatch my ipod for some music.

Once facing the street, I put my headphones on, cued the music, lifted my head and set my feet off. I figured a little fresh air and some light exercise would satisfy my little claustrophobic problem for a while. And yet, as I walked, with no particular destination in mind, a series of bracing sensations began to build up. I felt light, I felt refreshed, I felt spirited, I felt good, I felt... free. And then, the most incredible thing happened… I remembered. I remembered everything that I had promised myself not to forget, I remembered all the things I believed in since I was little, I remembered the dreams I had wanted for myself, that I’d hoped so many times would come true. I felt myself almost bloom in that instant of reverie, while my feet marched on to nameless places and the bright setting sun lit the way for my musings. It was like drinking a cool glass of water after settling for un-quenching beverages. I felt ready to soar, like my wings were just stretching after being kept restrained for so long; when before, I hardly noticed how I’d shackled my freedom and how it was wilting before my very eyes.

It was… an incredible feeling, to remember. To remember ME, myself, the person I know breathes beneath these layers of the everyday lifestyle, roles, struggles, distractions, tests and hardships. For that long short moment in time, I found myself. I remembered how I used to laugh at my own jokes, I remembered how I’d imagine at least ten impossible things each day, I remembered how I howled at the full moon when no one was looking, I remembered how I’d lay under the stars and tried to count each one, I remembered how I’d climb to the rooftop of my house to see the sunsets, I remember how I would run for no reason other than to feel free… I remember.

Perhaps it sounds contradictory to believe that one can be lost, yet not missing at the same time. But it CAN happen. It did to me. I might not have been at risk of transforming into this unidentifiable robot, yet it could have easily appeared that way. It certainly felt that way when I walked straight into this beautiful wall of enlightenment. Instead of being blinded by trivial details I was able to see myself again, the way I used to.

I think I’ll be going on long walks more often...

By: V.S

No excuses from me

Can someone come back from a long string of silence? Is there a quick way to explain how so many things have come about in so little time? Should I even attempt to compose a formal manner to excuse myself from my writing duties as a self-acclaimed love-writer (meaning I love to write)? I’ll take a giant leaping guess here and say the answer to all of these questions is: not likely.

- “Your love for writing shouldn’t be hindered by anything”, my heart speaks out.
- “Well, she’s had a lot on her mind”, my mind replies defensively.

- “What kind of cheap excuse is that? Everyday there’s something on her mind. Does that mean she can’t write and think at the same time?” my heart demands.
- “No. I’m simply saying that the poor woman has gone through some life-altering steps and that’s not something you can set aside, that you can just pretend to ignore for the sake of dabbling in the written word.”

- “Is the poor woman dying?” my heart asks skeptically, knowing the answer to the question.
- With a frown, my mind responds, “No.”

- “Then what should possibly keep this woman from doing something she loves; something she once swore was her calling; something she claimed she couldn’t live without, something she assures anyone, she will continue doing even if her passion goes unrecognized… unless of course, her hands and fingers have been torn off by a bloodthirsty mobster with a hunger for amateur writers,” my heart remarks, unaffectedly.
- “You’re a lot less pleasant than your name implies… I mean, isn’t the heart supposed to be kinder, sympathetic, polite?” my mind observes in horrified surprise.

- “Just because I’m the heart, doesn’t mean I’m blind to the truth. Me being the heart means, I know what she really wants and what she’s afraid of. And you, the mind, are the one that keeps her from doing what she aspires most to accomplish. You distract her to no end, you always have. You make her doubt, you make her think everything can wait, you make her give up the now for later.”
- “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Isn’t that just like a heart, to deny when you’ve failed her. If she’s so passionate about writing, then nothing would keep her from it, right? You, the heart, would lead the way, right? Then where have you been? Why have you left her, without a light, without a leader, without direction? I may have kept her head full of distracting events and diverting uncertainties and confusing perspectives, but YOU, her heart, should have been able to override all of it. Am I right?” my mind questions baldly, confident it turned the tables nicely.

- After a moment of silence, my heart admits sadly, “I think… we’ve both failed her. When she needed us most, you blinded her with conflicting thoughts, and I bombarded her with conflicting emotions.”
- My mind, surprised again at the turn of the conversation, takes a second to consider such words. Then, with a wicked gleam, says, “I think… we may get away with blaming her soul. It doesn’t really do much, just lies there all day. Why not let someone else take the hit for this one? We are supposed to be a team.”

- My heart speaks disapprovingly, “That’s a horrible idea. No, I believe she’s reached that point where she feels like she has no where to turn. And we’ve allowed her to get to that despairing state. It’s time. It’s now. We give her back her ambition and her love, without pretense, without delay, without excuses.”
- Sighing heavily, my mind nods. “Alright. What happens if we’re not enough? What if she doesn’t get to the horizon or soars higher than the clouds or goes to infinity and beyond? What then?”

- “We try harder. We give her the drive, the hunger, the fight, the blood to go after what she’s always believed in. And we never stop,” my heart promises fiercely.
- With a reluctant smile, my mind teases, “You know, you’re starting to sound a lot more like yourself. It suits you.”

By: V.S