Drowning

Drowning

On top of this hill, I watch the city that I have come to love.

Years ago, I was awed by its beauty, its innocence and its radiance. But today, I realized it was just like the other cities I have discovered long before it.  Just like the rest of them, it seems ordinary and overrated. Mediocre at best, I found out the hard way that, indeed, they are all the same.

Now my soul is drowning of images and ideas my mind is trying its very best to exorcise.

From where I stood, watching over my shoulder with utter indifference, is my buddy Rizal. I was surprised but proud to have found a little park in the middle of Seattle named after my very own kind. Still, his gaze made me feel like I have somebody to fraternize with, and that’s a lot to ask for.

Over the horizon I can see the sound as busy ships come and go. Unto its piers they dock and load their precious cargo, and then leave. That’s the way how it was supposed to; straightforward, no strings. Just dock, unload, load and go.  Just come and go. I wish it would be that easy. Coming and going without leaving any traces behind, without touching anybody’s lives.

Over the piers, I can see the edges of the Pacific.

Watching it reminds me of how I always loved the water. It’s the one force that is capable of bringing and sustaining life, and ironically the very same one that could end it.  And even before I discovered science, I knew from my very own subconscious that there is where I came from.

And there is where I am destined to go.

One of my friends told me that the best way to die is by drowning. She said that when and if you are finally done with your way with the world, or should it be the other way around, it would be the most peaceful way to go.

And when you are finally in the water, don’t struggle, just surrender yourself.  Let the calmness of the water fill your heart. Just let it go. The worries, the hesitations, the doubts, the resentments. Just let it go. The sufferrings, the hurt, the pains. Just let it all go.

Let it all go…

Because once you’re in the water and you’re by yourself, in the very last seconds of your pathetic miserable existence, trying to imagine the very last thing that would touch your own consciousness, there would be nothing but sheer silence. You won’t hear any cries nor any whimper, not even the ticking of the clock.

Just the beating of your own dying heart.

Ergo, We Must
Dreams of Ma
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