Exist

February 23, 2015February 23, 2015 Cunningly.LostCunningly.Lost, Imagination, WritingLeave a comment

I am me. I think i exist.

You are you. You also think you exist.

Solely to that thought we think we exist.

–

But then again why do we need to prove our existence?

Alone, we wander deep in thought for our existence.

–

To be able to exist one must need another party.

–

God for example. He needs us to prove His existence.

Without us, He would be out of occupation as God.

What kind of living being with conscious you are

if you don’t have anyone to acknowledge that you exist?

And perhaps that was the reason He created us.

Simply to acknowledge His existence.

–

That’s why I need you to acknowledge mine.

Happiness Is A Bitch

January 30, 2015April 13, 2015 Cunningly.LostCunningly.Lost, Imagination, WritingLeave a comment

– Are you happy?
– Why do you ask that?
– You don’t look happy to me. That’s all.
– So I have to be able to tell you all that I am happy without uttering a word. Is that it?
– No. That’s not what I meant.
– So elaborate.
– Normal people would express their happiness. From their facial expression, their gestures, their way of talking, their choice of songs to sing, and everything else normal person would do when they are happy.
– Why so? Why can’t I keep my happiness for my own? Continue reading “Happiness Is A Bitch” →

Teens part 2

September 4, 2014April 13, 2015 Cunningly.LostCunningly.LostLeave a comment

That little note he left made us all wondering.

“I exist.”

I knew that particular detail from my mom. She was a friend of his mother. He hung himself with a guitar strap in his room. Not even his parents know why.

He was a normal kid with the least of problem in his hands. He was an only child. All affection went to him alone. He got all the needs he asked.

The question of why haunted everyone including me. That smile he sent me must’ve meant something.

But the police never tried harder. They ended the case with a simply suicide of a teen. My mind wondered further to be his personal detective.

“Being afraid is a serious violation of the force in the universe.” He said on a clear day when we were still a pair of close friends. Continue reading “Teens part 2” →

Teens part 1

August 4, 2014April 13, 2015 Cunningly.LostCunningly.Lost, ImaginationLeave a comment

And she asked him, the most cunning boy in the room.

“How old are you?”
“16 ma’am”
“Lovely. So tell me, what do you think of teen as a teen?”

She smiled after the question. That smile lingered waiting upon his answer.

He didn’t answer it right away. He began to look around the room. He looked into each one if us. That flat face on his face gazed down to our deepest souls. I was the last boy he stared. He smiled at me and went back to her.

We all held our breath waiting for his word. He knew. He enjoyed being at the center of attention. Continue reading “Teens part 1” →

The Peculiar World

February 16, 2014July 26, 2015 Cunningly.LostCunningly.Lost, Imagination, Writing2 Comments

This year in a few months, I will be 24. They say I’m becoming a man. I say I’m becoming myself and nobody else. And it sounds like something far beyond imagination on my tenth birthday, when I think about being twenty-plus. And someday near from now or tomorrow, without I’m being aware of it, 50 would come when I’m sleeping. But time is something insignificant to me. Even time is cruel, every tick means nothing to my system, but only as a reminder to do normal activities. Loneliness is everything I’ll ever need without constantly expecting some interference from outside world, even though they always manage to do it. I also from time to time had several close calls to death, experimenting the borderline of life and something beyond. Some happened in my dreams, some in my real life. It is not a big deal for me, but others make a fuss over it. Like my parents. They’re afraid losing something not theirs. My soul belongs to me, and me alone should be worrying about it, not them. But it is probably the reason they’re worrying about my soul because they never really acknowledge the freedom of existing in the place I visit the most, the place I love the most, so they never really think exceeding the life they’re living, which I believe on their understanding: nothing exist for us to go beyond this life. Even some religions believe on the idea of heaven and hell, but they could proceed to move on to the spiritual world only when they gave up on their life and souls. Still, we won’t be able to enjoy it or suffer for it nor even to tell the tale of it because, from what I heard, we lost our desires over worldly necessity when we died. Yet, none is able to prove it.

But people will always have to commute with their kind and never really understand about the very souls on their possessions, and to know that they could be free from anything, even from their own body if they wanted to. Only they never had the chance to grasp of it in the cause of preoccupied with their routine life, and misunderstood the idea of this freedom I am talking about. On the other hand, people tend to see me as some kind of weirdo with my solitary life – they would even think I’m weirder if they knew about the experiments I did about life and death. I am always be the one standing alone at the edge of the society. Just like when I was in high school, I had no one to called as a friend. Classmates were just classmates. Worked the same as fellow members in literature club. Nothing but a bunch of people in a same place and time doing the same thing. And to be real honest, there was nothing wrong with them. I understood enough about their kindness and their good intention to even tried coping with me. But I just couldn’t bear myself breathing among them.

Continue reading “The Peculiar World” →