So Tender and Sweet

In the deepest depth of my heart,
Lies my most precious possession.
Often, I smile stupidly to myself,
Vibrating with the euphoric sensations that
Every breath of yours brings to me.
Undoubtedly, you are the one--my soulmate.

Onward

"Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start
today and make a new ending."

Metamorphosis

Can you ask an egg to be a bird? Yes.
Can you ask a caterpillar to be a butterfly? Yes.
Can you ask a fire to be ashes? Yes.
Can you ask a rabbit to be a lizard? No. It can try all it wants. But it can't.

Surrender

"If you love them, let them go. If they come back, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were."

I let go not because I no longer want you, but because you need me to. I let go so that you can be free. Be happy. I love you.

The Flower

Once upon a time, there was a farm. And in this farm lived an old man and his granddaughter. This was always an ordinary farm. The old man excelled in raising his crops--he had the best cabbages and melons grown in town. He prided himself in his genius and ability to understand the ways of nature. His granddaughter admired him and aspired to be just as talented as he. She was only 6 years old but could already learn how to best place the plants in pattern to the sun.

However, one night, something strange happened.

As the pair were strolling along the field after supper, the girl suddenly squealed and bolted. The grandfather was startled beyond reasoning and clutched at his chest. Within seconds, the girl screamed for her grandfather to run over. The old man chortled to himself. The girl must have found another pack of fireflies. She always gets so excited when she discovers their hangout. However, this time it was different.

The most beautiful flower was blooming in the far corner of his field. This was astonishing because he had already set his mind to raise corn in that sector of the field the next day It had been abandoned for too long, and it was time to utilize that space. The granddaughter knew this and begged the grandfather to leave the field alone. She was convinced that they could learn the ways of that flower and grow more. They had never seen anything like it before--it was so angelic. The petals were silky white and glowed in the moonlight. Never had they smelled such a sweet aroma from mother nature--it was mesmerizing. The old man set his mind to his granddaughter's plan. He convinced her to go back home with him first and to come back for the flower first thing in the morning. She loved the flower with as much passion as she could at the age of 6. It was a thing of beauty and she vowed to take care of it. It was the most wondrous thing that could have happened to them.

In the morning, the flower was just as it was. Except this time it seemed as if it were absorbing the sunlight and radiating all the beauty of it from its wispy petals. It was exceptional to look upon. The old man then turned to his granddaughter and boasted his skills. He promised her that he'd raise that flower right and that many more will be able to grow in its place. She smiled eagerly and proceeded to take a picture of the flower. Just in case it dies, she told him. But in her heart she trusted her grandfather and knew that it'd all work out.

The old man flexed his muscles and proceeded to uproot the weeds around the flower. He then laid the best fertilizers and fetched the freshest spring water. His granddaughter watched him in awe. He explained to her that flowers must be watered first thing in the morning and the soil must be high in nutrition. She nodded eagerly, absorbing all of his wisdom. That night, the pair revisited the flower, but something was different. The flower wasn't standing as straight up. The girl was alarmed and questioned her grandfather. He reassured her that it was fine. The flower must have been sitting in the hard soil for too long and was dying. Now that he's taking care of it, the flower will get better. She flashed her white, white teeth in a huge grin and went back home with him after blowing the flower a soft kiss.

The next morning, the old man flexed his muscles again and proceeded to pack more of his finest soil into the ground. The flower was starving for nutrients it seemed because it was no longer shining as brilliantly. That night, the same thing happened--the flower was wilting. The granddaughter started crying, but the old man reassured her. She then ventured to suggest to her grandfather that perhaps his techniques were off. The flower didn't seem to be thriving in the rich soil and fresh spring water as he had thought. Perhaps it preferred water from the well and harder soil. But he waved away her worries and told her that the flower just needed to settle into its rich soil first. It must be the flower's deficiencies in absorption. The next morning, he was frustrated to see that the flower was wilting even further. He hastily threw more spring water onto it and patted down the fine soil. That ought to fix it!

That night, the flower died. The old man stood baffled at the event, but the granddaughter understood.

Tree

You know what I love doing? Watching trees. They're so calming to look upon. Maybe because of their green leaves. No one knows. You know what else is fascinating? The way that they can change through the seasons. I like to look at the tree, especially when there is a light breeze whispering through the gentle leaves. Sometimes I'll close my eyes and just breathe in the wonderment of it. Then one by one the leaves will change colors and the breeze will become more rough. Eventually the leaves will start cascading off the lonely branches. I watch, but there's no point in trying to catch the leaves. They will fall where they will. In the end, the tree stands alone. It looks so weak bending underneath the snow. What will happen?

The obvious answer is that the season will change once again, and the tree will regain its leaves and be as mighty as ever. But how do you know? What's to say that the tree won't snap under the pressure from the snow. What's to say that some beaver won't come along and chew the tree out until it breaks. You don't know. And I don't know.

Labels

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)


Simply put, names and labels don't matter. They don't change who you are. Others can call you what they will, but that doesn't change who you actually are. You can be called "masculine" for being chivalrous and liking to open the doors for your girlfriend. For being the one who carries the heavier things because you're stronger. But that is all just a title. You don't need to conform to it. You define what the title is--don't let it define you. Being defined as "masculine" does not automatically mean you have become one of those short-haired, biker lesbians who wear boxers and grunt like men (nothing wrong with that). You're still the same girl who likes to wear skirts and receive flowers. Don't let other people tell you who you are. You show them. Those who are worth it will understand.

The trail

You walk straight and think you see it
But do you?
It could be a mirage
It could be a farce
It could be your dream
You're too scared to unravel the path before you,
And see that you've taken the wrong turn
Have you?

On this path of yours you trip over jagged rocks
You skin your fragile knees
You get stung by nature's cruel hornets
Cruel hornets with a poison so strong
That you're left crippled, alone, and abandoned on the curb for days
With tears and aches as your only companions
Is it worth it?
The pain

You keep walking and you get robbed of everything
Maybe even you're dignity--you're not sure
You lose your glasses
You lose your strings
You lose your shield
You're left stark naked
Vulnerable.

But you don't feel it

You don't feel it because she douses you with soft flower petals
You don't feel it because she envelopes you with her enchanting aroma
You don't feel it because she whispers everlasting love into your ears
You don't feel it because she sprinkles delicate kisses all over your body

Your body seizes and convulses with the sweetest pleasures from her love
Seizes until you collapse into her arms and scream that you're hers 
You forget the rocks
You close your eyes to the blood
You numb out the stings
You embrace your vulnerability
She's worth it.
The love

You walk straight and think you see it, eternal happiness
But do you?
It could be a mirage
It could be a farce
It could be your dream
You're too scared to turn around,
And see trails of regret behind you
You slave ahead

But is it agony before you or is it bliss?