Story Untold

Some days are harder.

It’s the realization of the uncertainty in what your future holds for you, it seems like it is the only thing that there is. You find yourself curled up in a ball, holding whatever slight comfort you might have or get, like it is the last lifeline to those clearer waters.

I have not felt this much discomfort in a long time. Today marked the first time I’ve cried since the day I lowered my mothers ashes to the ground two years ago. Cried because of longing. Longing for that voice to reassure me that things will turn out okay. She was the strongest person I’ve ever known. Which adequately shows this life’s notion of irony, because the weakest I’ve ever seen someone was her. Strapped into a machine to keep her breathing, just so that we had the time to say our goodbyes, as the doctors said there was still the slight possibility of her being able to hear our voices… Did she hear us, then? Did she find comfort in our voices…

No. Because I know, I know that the last thing that she would have ever wanted was to leave her children behind. Not like that.

In these past couple of days some thoughts that I’d had two years ago have resurfaced. One of them is that I’ve been contemplating about the possibility of one day having children of my own. Taking them where her ashes are buried, and eventually, one day having to answer those questions, having to describe their grandmother to them. A grandmother who would have been the best role model that I could have provided for them, whose example I would gladly let them follow. But who they now will never know. Hell, who I barely got the time to truly know, when only just a couple years before she had told me about her childhood, the troubles she faced and overcame with such determination that carried to her adulthood. All the people she tirelessly helped throughout all the years. That was the day when my perception of what constitutes a ‘Hero’ changed. It’s things like that, that weigh the most; The stories untold. The futures that will never unfold.

All my recent decisions I’ve made was to give myself the chance to feel happy. Just once. To feel like I belong and find that place that feels like home. And now to find out that the things I’ve aspired to, that were within my reach, have been snatched back again.

I still believe though. I believe I can find that place, and even to have the chance to share it. I’m not stopping, I will find myself out of the mess I created by my own naïveté. I just could use some words of encouragement, you know. I spoke with my sister on the phone about it all, both crying, she said to me that I know what mom would have told me in this situation, and I do know what she would have told me. Everything will turn out okay.

But I don’t think that I remember her voice anymore.

And that really tears me apart.

Patterns, Unconnected.

Currently I’m sitting on the floor of my new bare apartment. Well, to be exact I just moved to standing position, now leaning next to my window, searching for a better connection for my phone. Never have I felt detachment of this magnitude from some place or situation I am in. A mental disconnection. Am I standind here, behind a window to find a better connection to my wandering thoughts?

Odds are that we…

All you see is flaws. In the apartment; its walls, the floor, the ceiling. I don’t fucking like the door! ‘I could have gotten a better one’. I always get that thought in almost anything. But what are the odds for that? To be back competing with 20 odd people for something so transitory, so superficial and - at the end of the day - not really yours.
But the apparent or still obscure flaws of your plan weigh in the most. The timing. The uncertainty. The absence of familiarity. I rarely play against the odds, but now I don’t even know what the odds are. And I don’t like it.

… Will probably be…

This is the natural progression for the Reconstruction. This was always a part of the plan; to find a better place, to find a better space for thought. I have found the space and I feel like I’m closer to the place, but I’m not there yet. While the search for that continues, I will have more to experience. More to look forward to. Something better to build upon.

… Alright.

For a long time now I have wanted to feel like I don’t have a pattern, to not be able to absently walk somewhere just to find out that you got there by - what feels like - mere muscle memory. To put my nigh unused synapses back to work. To have some wonder, to justify stopping for a moment to reflect where you are at that given moment.

Things will work out in the end.

At least there is a 50% chance for that.

I’ll take those odds.

Fever part #2 (Reprise/Revise): SEX

Hello strangers of the interwebz. I am not dead, let’s get that out of the way first so that you won’t mistake me for a vengeful spirit that has come back and haunt the unsuspecting.

… Or am I!?

I am not.

Last time I tried to dabble on relationships in a meaningful, yet in a very arbitrary way, I was sick. So I am sorry to inform you that I am sick once more, so it is only reasonable of me to continue this tradition. On Valentines day.

Not much has changed in my life since the last time I wrote about relationships and how people willingly make it difficult for themselves and their significant others by requiring the other people to know something that they can not, by not stating their intentions or desires clearly, in an honest and open way. But rather succumb to silence and making the other person feel like the culprit to their own apparent, or unapparent misery or feeling of self-doubt. I also defended the naturalness of one night stands between two consenting adults who know the meaning of that occurrence to either party. If you didn’t decipher the reason for it yet, it was because I had recently had a one night thing with someone and it was quite refreshing to know exactly what that meant for both parties. It was just that.

Now, before you think that it is a frequent incident for me, do not. Because it is not. That was the first time it had happened, and if it is in my power, I’d like to keep it as the last one too. If you think that I am some player, do not. Because I am not. It was the last time I got to experience fornication (probably because I insist on using these kinds of words), albeit I do like to count on the odds that it is not the last time.

Now, before you feel sorry for me, do not. Because - well - why would you, really? If you think it’s pathetic, I won’t argue against it, but would rather question your priorities. The true reason for that is I don’t really care about it - Sex. It has never been, and if I may already predict (as my years as a young adult slowly but surely wane away), never will be important to me. It has never been any kind of ‘destination’ or desire of mine, when forming a new relationship with someone I have fond feelings for. For me the biggest driving force in wanting to get to know someone is intellectual connection. I have lost myself a few times to having strong feelings toward someone unattainable (relationship-wise) just because of the possibility of having that intellectual bond with another person. But more often the connection just is not there, and I lose interest in dedicating my time (and thus requiring their time in return) to something which won’t eventually stand a chance, because of me. So for me to allow anything sexual - in the aspiring relationship before that intellectual covenant, or it’s significant potential, is there - to happen, it won’t, and it has not happened.

And although I’ve made, or at least have tried to make, as clear as possible to the other person in those situations, when I’ve had to abandon the possibility that might have seemed more potential to the other person, it has never gone down well. I know why it is that way, but when I reason it to myself, I don’t understand who would object to that kind of honesty, and hold it against me after. Maybe the feel of deserving more from the time they invested, looking forward to physically advancing in a more serious connection, just to be told that it is better not to. It would just make it more complicated afterwards, even though this way it might leave unanswered questions for them, despite of my best efforts to justify, or to convey my inaction to words. 

It is hard for me to explain the “connection” that I feel - and it is “I” who feel - or don’t feel toward someone, it doesn’t happen often. But when it does…

That’s why the feel of disappointment for me is so hard to overcome. That’s the reason why I spend my days dreaming. Why I find it so hard to show how I truly feel. How much I am willing to give, because that is the only thing I wish for.

For to have someone to fall next to at night, and feel good about it, while laying there. And to wake up in the morning next to that same person, and still feel good about it, because you know you can repeat it again when the day draws to a close.

This is me. Maybe when this fever goes away I can wonder what madness drove me into writing this.

But is it really honesty to fall into silence?

One Take Song: Bon Iver - Perth

Another through my phone, still lacking my recording gear. Hope you like it.

One Take Song: Beautiful Girl

A new One Take Song in which I cover William Fitzsimmon’s song “Beautiful Girl.” A bit pitchy, but it does the job.

Cover: Iron & Wine - Fever Dream

Cover: Naked As We Came - Iron & Wine

One Take Song: Bon Iver - The Wolves (Act I & II)

Not much left to say about this song. If you want to know more about the significance that it has to me, you can read it from here:

Be safe and happy,


The Wolves (Act II)

I asked my family if it was okay. They looked at me dumbfounded and all said that of course it was fine if I went. “Mom would have wanted that,” my sister replied. I knew that without saying, but maybe I was just trying to justify it to myself. To ease the guilt I felt. Leaving for a concert at this time would seem odd, to say the least, to an outsider, but I knew what those songs meant for me. Those melodies, lyrics, the story behind that music. I knew what those songs can represent to someone who is lost. I’m lucky how understanding my family was, they knew how much music meant for me.

My friend tried to talk me out of it last night, that we shouldn’t go, if I didn’t want to. They would understand it. But I really wanted to, so we went. When we were in the car I shared the news to my other friend too. He really didn’t have anything to say, and I couldn’t blame him for it. I was thankful to be honest. There was nothing to be said about the subject that could have helped me to feel better about it. They were there, and that was all that mattered.

It was a nice drive. My friends made me laugh, they always did, but this time it was different. They managed to take my mind off that darkness, even if just for a moment, and I knew I was where I should be. The properties of laughter, or just having the ability to smile amidst of it all, it was lifesaving.

Upon arriving to the city we had a tough time finding a place to park our car. My friend who was driving playfully cursed as my other friend and I were giving him hard time about it. That’s our humor, our way to make fun of things, ourselves. This constant battle of who gets the last laugh. We found parking space and there were some problems with the parking disc, and it had it’s own share of complaints. I remember my friend who drove us there, fighting with the thing, come to some sudden realization and say out loud “And here, I’m complaining about this thing while there’s something more serious going on…” his eyes quickly glancing at my reaction, while tossing the thing up on the dashboard. I just had to laugh out loud. We all did.

We found our way to the massive tent where Bon Iver was about to play that evening (after, being already half way there, finding out that we left the tickets inside the car. Cue the name calling and the following laughter). I felt the anxiety building up inside me, my friends still jesting to each other, my mind was already drifting away, just waiting for the music to take me to a different place.

They came on stage, accompanied by the cheers of the crowd. Perth kicked in, and I felt at peace. The guilt I had felt throughout the whole day was gone. All my senses became enhanced. I found myself almost holding my breath, as I felt my throat tighten. It still does as I’m remembering back, writing this. There and then, I let myself go. I felt tears running down my cheeks, but they were of a different kind than the ones I had shed the last couple of days. They felt somehow warmer.

Some of the songs already bore a special meaning to me. I already felt attached to them. But after everything that had happened, was bound to happen, those songs became mine. Hearing The Wolves at the closing stages of the gig had me trembling, singing, shouting, along as the song built up toward the end. The pain was lifted and all the emotions I had bottled up came at once.

What might have been lost…

What might have been lost.

After the gig, while we were driving home in the darkness of the late summer eve, I found out that my mom had passed away, probably during the concert. I read the message silently and said to my friends “She’s gone.” My friend put his hand on my shoulder from the back seat. Rest of the journey we drove in silence.

It is a strange thing, music. How it is constantly transforming itself as things in your life change. While some songs can fade away, as the meaning they once held diminish, some become something more, where they represent everything that you hold dear. When they can take you back in to those times when you felt completely lost, and help you see the memories in a different light. Or those times when you felt overjoyed by something, it is there to remind you of that beautiful time once experienced.

Everything you are at that moment, defines the way you experience the song, the melodies, the lyrics that you hear. Your life alters the story that the artist had once written. I will never hear The Wolves the same way again, the way I heard it before my mom passed away, but I am glad I have it with me until my last day. While it will always take me back to that day, to this memory, it gives me hope. Hope that maybe I won’t some day have this emptiness inside me. I don’t want to forget that day. Because that day changed me.

It wasn’t easy writing all this down, but this is the first time I am writing about that day. I guess it is part of that process, a step in to the right direction, when the perception turns into something healthier.

It was strange walking back home that night, entering in to my empty apartment. I was greeted by that unmade bed. I had little desire to crash in to it alone, like I had so many nights before. For the past two days I had surrounded myself with people I loved, sharing all those emotions and unanswered questions, wondering if any of it was real. I really hadn’t had time to be with just by myself. I sat down, and before long found myself listening to music.

The Wolves (Act I)

It’s been exactly a year today, but I still remember the day vividly, like it was just yesterday when everything changed for me. I’m still waiting for that change for better, but knowing that time rarely flows backwards, there’s ill chance for that to happen. It is more of a project to adapt to everything that was and all those things that will never be.

I stood there beside the bed, while she lay under the plain blanket, her ragged breathing accompanied by the sounds of machines, echoing from the white walls of the room. I realized how much I hated that sound, yet that was still the difference between her being here and her being lost in time. There was no hope left then, if in reality there ever was. I had hope, just a day before. Back then I had lowered myself, whispering in her ear, next the very same bed she still lied on, “just fight, don’t go.” It was a different time then. There was no intention for me saying goodbye. It was out of the question. But as everything in life, things change. This time they changed quickly. It was my sister, not a day later, telling her, almost demanding her to let go, to give up the fight. The suffering. This was the one battle she could not win. No matter how strong and willful she was. It was okay to go now.

I knew it too. I held no high hopes for her to hear me, we all knew, or thought we knew, the damage in the brain. But I could not have forgiven myself if I’d stayed silent then. “You are my hero,” I said the very same way just like the day before. She truly had been, especially ever since she’d told me about her life, what she’d gone through when she was young. She still is my hero, an inspiration. How many times she’d risen above the difficulties in her life. How defiant she’d always been when faced with troubles of her own, or troubles of those who couldn’t fight on their own. We found out that she was an organ donor… helping others right to the end. I felt proud, like I so often did. I just wish I’d said that more often.

Is it wrong for me to think that she fought for that long, just to give us time to say goodbye? It’s a nice sentiment, when I think of it. And I’m forever grateful for it either way. Later, thinking back, it helped me to accept it. If I had not had the chance to say anything. If she’d gone sooner…

I kissed her cheek. I remember my knees trembling.

I was saying goodbye then. Without saying the words. Maybe it was… easier… that way.

We talked to a priest who worked there to help people in our position, people who were going through the same things. For all the good it did. I’m not a person of faith, but I think it helped my family to face the finality of it. Last prayer. Last blessing. Last goodbyes. I could sense the comfort they found, how the tension eased.

Turning away was the hardest part. The guilt rising with every single step taking me farther from the room. “I should be there, when…” playing inside my mind, over and over again. I felt the guilt in everything I did. Eating, sleeping, breathing. “Why am I doing this when she can not?” I felt like I didn’t deserve it.

Thinking back, she would have hated it. To see us just standing and crying there. Now it was our turn to rise above the difficulties. To be strong. That was what she had taught us.

It was the longest drive home that day. Little words were shared. I felt empty and tired, the change of scenery going past my eyes, none of it leaving any impression. I gazed right through it. All I was thinking was all the things I had, how I would give everything away. Bargaining with someone, who or what, I didn’t know. Maybe with myself, but I knew I didn’t need any of it. “Just take it all, but leave just this one,” I thought.

I knew it was stupid, but it’s funny how much you are willing to do when there is nothing that you can do.