All the stars and boulevard. They don't seem too enough to lit the trails in the jungle. She runs her fingers through the leaves and dews. Lost and unfounded and never meant to be found. Like the darkness. Hates the brightness of the sun. And just adore that one spectrum of ray descending through the peeks of the leaves. Perhaps the world is her own to dwell within. With voices pouring in from the rim of the forest. And all they get in return is silence in the jostling wind from within. Late night, and it's not like they didn't try finding her. But it's late it's late. Don't try coming in now. She's gone she's gone. In the moon up there. She's that imprint you stare at every time you felt that sorrow and you needed to weep it away. The stars around her, that's her origami for sanity keepsake. One for every silent scream that did not escape her lips. And Venus on her left be that only shadow she cannot push away since the beginning of time. Venus, her love.
so is melancholy a sadness? a stigma to be eradicated? an emotion to be killed by Prozac and Valium?
so, is it?
but why?
who dictates happiness will be the answer to everyone? if happiness is sustainable, that wont be too good for the pharmaceutical industry. for didn't studies supposedly shown that happy and contented beings are generally more healthy? we're so apt at suppressing the sadder part of us that most of us are living in the portrayed happiness at then expense of ourselves. and here i stand corrected.
the 'im ok' and 'im fine's are irksome when repeated overtime. it's as if the world's MEANT to be perfectly happy and preppy. we are not allowed to moan, be sad, or even show to the streets our melancholic lingering minds. a frown and the prepsters will be by our side in no time, tel nos of befrienders and the sort will fill your pockets alongside hands patting your shoulder and bodies of stranger hugging you.
and for all that, i actually wont blame us for keeping the sadness within. the in-bred mechanism in which people are taught to respond to sadness is predictable and apprehensive in some ways.
to care so much how the eyes of the world see you, to dwell so much on the amount of control we have on our life. these are the pipes that drain our energy. at the end of the day, we sit ourselves down, wasted, wondering why is it so hard to be happy? should we keep repelling melancholia? is it more feasible to embrace the downs in life in order to achieve the true contentment?
i had always believe in order to master anything, the key is understanding. as quoted from a quirky tutor of mine, "what the mind dont know, the eyes dont see". so how are we to be happy if we haven't walk through all the shit and suffer the wrath the world have to offer? nobody can be truly okay if we just deny that woe/problem/unhappiness. to accept and confront it, i believe is an even more courageous task then to push it to the back of the head or to winge infinitely. im not against happiness like eric wilson. i just would like to put melancholy back in the balance of life.
but i do agree with him on certain grounds. that sadness reconciles us to realities. the world isnt a perfect globe, just as much as we the products are flawed in our own bits. and it is these flaws that made us us and not clones.
i should think if i am place in the streets filled with smiles, joy and love, i'll probably freak out at the plasticity. at the end of the day, i concur i am addicted to all the sorrows i can find.
just ask them people around me.
i just love this image. its so provocative i cant stop staring at it. it exudes mockery and a certain tinge of of cynicism just the way i like my art to be. not all those mary-poppin-happy pictures.
and i concur, that i like the unhappy being and the essence of melancholy. she said i like being in pain. he said i like inflicting pain. i wonder if i even like pain? perhaps a certain kind of pain.
but i do agree on the part where i like torturing myself. like doing my slides and assignments at the very last minute. i preach on self love and im killing myself overtime.
ironic? very.