My kind of forever

I want to travel with you and we’ll have a picnic under the stars. We’ll stay up late in our tent cuddled together reading our favorite novels with the flashlight as our only source of light and we won’t stop reading until our eyes are sore and we’ll look at each other and still feel the same way. Then we’ll drive up north, far north and stop at the nearest Starbucks and stay there for half an hour until we travel again. We’ll stop at music shops and buy the albums our parents told us about and we’ll listen to them endlessly. We’ll take pictures of the places we’ve been to and we’ll write our own love story about how we met and what we used to do under the stars and we’ll pass it on to generations together with the albums we bought and even though a part of our memories are already shared to different people, we won’t mind because we’ll grow old together and our memories will stay young forever.

(Source: mtfv)

the artist and her lover

She put down her pencil and looked up at the clock, it said:

12:01. The moonlight that used to hit a faction of her artwork and her face was slowly dimming out. She was tired now, trying to brandish a new design for a week old commission that she agreed on doing. Her schedule has been full ever since people from all over the world wanted her. If only she can accommodate all of them, she would but being a free-lance artist still wasn’t enough to satisfy every company’s request.

12:03. She wanted to stand and turn off her desk light but her phone hasn’t stopped ringing and vibrating from all the messages and calls she’s been receiving, asking her when everything is going to be made and sent to their emails. The weight of the modern world was on her back.

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(Source: mtfv)

Behind the Camera

Once you get to find out that you most probably excel in taking pictures, you start getting used to being this anonymous person behind the camera. You have always been that one person who doesn’t see yourself in that event because you were surely somewhere else. You were in your own world where pixels and apertures exist. This is a good thing until you become someone else. Until you unconsciously become the person behind a wall, not a camera.

When the day ends and the only sustainable light is the one you have in your room, you open, see the pictures and say: I wasn’t here, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t with these people. I was alone. It was just my camera but it wasn’t me who was behind it. It was someone else. I have no memory of this place and of these people. Instead, I look back and see myself in one corner, facing a wall like second graders. 

Don’t let anything like this happen ever again. You were a person built and gifted as someone who can record a memory and at the same time, be there while it is happening. Go, get up. Make the memory that can last inside of you and in the pictures that you take.

Perfection.

What is perfection, really? Don’t you guys find it ironic how nothing is perfect but still, we keep on trying to be?

Here’s what I have to say. It isn’t perfection we look for. Most of the time we mistake our own definition of perfection from acceptance in the society and pride in our reputation. It is the idea of being perfect that we look up to.

Take these situations for example.

1.) Materialism. This isn’t perfection. It is simply jealousy and hunger for something we do not have…it is yearning for perfection in terms of having something to show off to the society.

2.) Acceptance. Okay, so most of us aren’t accepted. Well, that I can say. Most of us or maybe even all of us have experienced rejection once in our lives. As simple as not being able to belong in the group of your so-called friends is already a form of rejection. You want to be accepted in this petty world therefore you try to change and you try to be someone you’re not which is being desperate or at light cases, just being bullied by the other side of society. 

3.) Reputation and Pride. As artists, as bloggers, teachers, scientists and whatnot, we have tried so hard to build our name and let it grow for people to remember. For years and decades we have been sitting straightly, speaking with dignity and doing our best not to trip, fall or look  crooked on our stolen pictures. But sometimes we cross the boundaries too much, we tend not only to keep up with what we started but we are already abusing ourselves. Too.much.requirements.to.be.myself.

4.) Criticism. This is somehow related to numbers 2 and 3. We try to be perfect that the moment we receive criticisms or corrections, we become too proud to accept them. Therefore we insist on what we really want but still, that single criticism keeps us busy all day. Ayt? Most of the time, this leads to insecurity.

5. Insecurity. From the range of 1-10, 10 being the highest, I think being insecure is the highest form of depression. I’m not being over-reactive here, I’m trying to be realistic about how serious insecurity is. We look at her, at him, I definitely need those pants, that phone, that ombre hair, that girlfriend that anything. I want to be blemish free, I want to talk like her, so full of confidence, I want to be her. I don’t need your small talk. Just tell me this work of mine is cool and I’ll be cool with you. Seriously? I understand how we have our own insecurities but I’m also trying my best not to be too attached with mine because the more I see how imperfect I am, the more I kind of love myself.

The more people make mistakes, the more I realize I have even more. The more I see how people judge me, the more I don’t want to judge them, because I’m not one to judge. Let’s all work hand-in-hand to stop the crave of various perfections and the negativity it brings that captivates us for the rest of our lives.

(Source: mtfv)

Hidden Wounds (Part II)

She sat on the edge of her bed and out of nowhere, she heard whispers and footsteps. She started crying again and for the past few weeks she seemed to be getting worse. She searched her room for shadows and little creaking noises but only the door that was half opened, scared her through the minute. Her window was open so as to prevent any more terrifying imaginations, she immediately closed it and locked it. From there, the street lights illuminated some parts of her room and somehow she felt at ease. *Thud* She kept her mouth close, swallowed her scream and tried to stay still. She waited for a second..a minute..and 5 minutes have passed and nothing. Everything was in her mind. She exhaled deeply and crawled back to bed. She tried to close her eyes but even that seemed to be a hard enough task, though she managed to do so, she was still terrified that something might happen again. She grabbed her sheets and slept. Along that night, the incident came rushing to her just as it did almost everytime she sleeps. She woke up panting, screaming, afraid and alone. There was no one to comfort her. No one.

Hidden Wounds (Part I)

She ran to the woods, afraid that anyone might see her. She kept running and running until there was nowhere else to turn to. She always looked back, hearing the leaves crackle and the birds flock scared her and those sounds always meant that something or someone was moving aside from her and she didn’t want any of those. As she grew tired from all the running, she sat down in between the roots of the biggest tree. She kept silent and still. Footsteps. *Thack* *Thack* And then silence. She started crying now, not knowing what to do. She stayed quiet, covered her mouth and tried to breathe as slowly as possible so as not to make so much noise. *Thack* *Thack* The sound was getting closer, she could hear someone else breathe. She closed her eyes and hoped that he wouldn’t see her, that he wouldn’t notice someone behind the tree from where he is at. But everything’s too late. *Thack* One more sound and then there he is standing in front of her. The forest became filled with screams and unending cries. She became wounded for the first time. And then was left scarred forever. *Thack* He leaves her lying on the ground.

The Pain that Changes Us

At times we wonder how the person we are today is like this, a crooked and insecure human-being who is trying to contain ourselves of what’s left in the so called facets of our torn up hearts and when we go back to what seemed like the memories written on our daily journals, it is yet the things that hurt us most are the ones that change us completely. Sometimes, the people that care for us are the ones that are being choked in misery and we could have done something but we didn’t because we are that selfish and imprudent. So for a second, we think we are strong enough to endure all these but no, we are not and if we try to be repulsive, things may go out of control and we may never put the pieces back together.

After all that’s been done and said, we still go back to the people who were there for us, to the people that have been dragged in our problems and how funny to think of this but they still forgive us. So we learn our lesson, we feel guilty but the pain that has been the reason for everything else is still there to haunt us for the rest of our lives. It sticks to us like daggers and knives in the hearts of men.

It is inseparable from us. It is what defines us.

(Source: mtfv)

You accept the love you think you deserve

You say you are not loved but look around you, dozens of people care for you and that… that is love. Maybe you’re just too blinded by your desires of the wrong love only because you’re partly too innocent and partly too hungry. So start to wake up—face reality. Get up—go and be open to any love because the love you think you deserve maybe isn’t the right one yet.