English, Filsafat, Racauan

No Human in Humanity

There is not much of a human in humanity. It’s just a word. A term we invented to tell ourselves that we have meaning in the world. Its the modern word for God or Soul or whatever term we use in describing goodness out of our petty existence. Should we believe that word as people before us believe in God or Good?

It’s up to us, but our belief won’t matter much. You see, many anthropologists stated that human worldview and belief will determined his/her actions and decisions. If we believe in God and Religion, we will act according to that belief, they say. But that’s just bullshit. All men eventually will ruin their belief and faith. Some of us seldom do it, most of us often. It doesn’t mean that we don’t believe in it anymore, we do. But circumstances and practicalities forced us to yield it. Fuck it around. Screw it up and down. And we will ask for forgiveness, just like King Claudius from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. And after that, we will fuck it again and again and again. And in our deathbed, we will ask forgiveness for the last time for having fucked our faith too much.

There is no way to be consistent. Life just does not work that way.

There is this book by Jim Holt, “Why Does The World Exist?”. Holt tried to give reasons of existence from various point of views. Like all philosophy books, Holts’s book problematized our existence deeper, suspending every explanation available. For me, the book was saying that the answer of Why Does The World Exist is nothing and everything. A paradox just like human being. Just like human’s faith. It is problematic, and problem is a big part of existence. If the book were to be compare to a film, I would say it’s Monty Phyton’s The Meaning of Life.

Existence has to be filled with creativity and discovery, we made it from the God-given (or evolution based) instrument called mind. Considering all things are made up based on our mind, so yeah.

For me everything is bullshit. Some of them have to be considered as real shits, others we have to take seriously–especially if it concerns other people that we care about. That’s when we say, “This is serious shit! ” I have a problem in creating a priority scale for myself, but if I stopped thinking about it, it’s gonna be real simple. Do anything necessary to survive and to make people you love, and yourself happy.

Because you know, the real reality that we cannot escape is just death. Everything else are just imaginations made from the dialectic of action and reaction. Death is inevitable, and we spent quite amount of time to pursue it. In every unhealthy and excess actions, we get closer by the seconds. So while we’re at it, might as well enjoy ‘humanity’ for whatever that means. Beside, after we are all gone, the universe remains. Humanity is nothing but everything in our language and short life span.

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English, Filsafat, Racauan

Fuckperson

You looked at yourself and you’re thinking how ugly you are and how lonely you are and how no one wants to be with you.

And you start to check people on your phone book or checking their social media accounts to see how their lives are better than yours. You don’t want to use dating apps because the last two persons you meet there are too goddamn condescending or simply broken. While browsing in instagram you see your ex crush–not even your ex, and you remember that this person fucked everyone but you and you started to gain all your courage to ask this fuckperson to fuck you just because you’re so lonely and ugly and you think a fuck will help you up, and you don’t care if you got rejected and you won’t be their friends any more because you feel alone anyway, better take your chances.

Life was unexpected because the fuckperson wanted to fuck you maybe because they’re as ugly as you are now, but no way you’re getting pretty. And in no time you were naked in a hotel room with this fuckperson and heck that body still hot as hell and that face is so yummy but you just can’t get arouse you don’t know why maybe you just need a cuddle, or you just need love and now it’s just too much.

A fuck would be enough but how come you want more than a fuck from a fuckperson, you should’ve called the love person… O yeah…

They are non existent.

At least not for you.

Now the fuckperson left you alone in the hotel, and you’re there staring at the ceiling thinking how the hell can you be happy without anybody. Once a shrink told you that you should love yourself first before you love others but what to love from this wrecked body? This ugly face? This low self esteem? You remember working out and dieting out like hell and still the weight just goes up and up. And you went to a gastronomy doctor, paid almost half your salary just to eat crappy healthy food and work out and your mood got really bad because you’re hungry. You got stomachache then you just fuck it up by eating too many ramens.

So there you are staring at the ceiling thinking how the hell did you not fuck the fuckperson? And then you went to the bathroom just to puke because you feel sick of yourself. Then you looked at the mirror and realize why you did not fuck the very attractive fuck person.

It’s because for the last ten years or so, you’ve been fucking yourself so hard. It’s like you got married to yourself and you are sick of being with you because you got nowhere, it’s boring, and the love is gone and consumed like some sour ice cream fell to the asphalt and melt like your face right now. You remember being pretty, you remember your lovers and all the bitches and the bastards who fucked you hard, and you fight harder, but now there’s only fear and you flight. When did you lost it? When did you lost the love for yourself? Was it during the time you fucked yourself so hard with work and broken hearts and junk food? When was it the last time you embrace whatever left in you?

This food is poison.

Aw, shut up, self, you said. Life is no longer interesting, you think you know it all, you’ve got your dreams and lost it and reality sucks. Now you got no dreams left because you’re just too old for those shits. You want to be loved by yourself and by others, but do you really need it? Love?

You get back to bed naked and cold, you took the duvet to cover your body, take a deep breath five times just like a therapy used to teach you. And in your mind you are in a vast radiant sky, with stars and milky Way. And your fat ugly ass just floating there, like a very disgusting rotten corpse. And it’s okay because in the empty space, no stars will judge you and aliens are uglier than thou. If they’re pretty then they’re no longer aliens because it’s familiar. You’re thinking that aliens might’ve been a specks of sperm or something. So small and lived in space because oxygen kill them. Aliens are not necessary humanlike with limbs and hands and feet. They could be like a space stone that are alive inside.

And they’re absolutely better than you because they are alive and you are dying inside.

There’s so many ways to get self loathing and self blaming. Sometimes you were thinking of dying but you just too lazy and scared to commit suicide. It’s just too many effort.

You can’t even cut a dead chicken head, how come you cut your vein? You don’t like herbal drink, so you’ll just puke the poison. You were thinking to hang yourself but you’re just too fucking heavy, anywhere you tie the rope it’s gonna fall before you lose your breath. You were thinking of carbon monoxide poisoning, but you hate walking in the street and inhaling pollution. So what makes you think putting a tube from the car exhaust to your lungs will work ?

Sleeping pills are fucking expensive and you just quit medication because you prefer to spend your money to fuck strangers in a cheap hotels than buying meds for whatever diagnose your doctor prescribed you. Depression, anxiety, bipolar, borderline all those new stuff that your parents never heard of but you know they got it because your family is a dysfunctional one.

Might as well kill yourself with them.

***

You don’t remember what time you slept. Might as well be a few hours after sunrise because your window was shut and you don’ see any light from outside. But hell, the phone rang and the lazy receptionist asked whether you will checked out today or not. You said yes. So you wake up, its already 11am, and you took a bath (again, just out of automation), and got dressed then you order a cab to go home.

Its raining outside, and the feelings subside. In the cab, you had a bad feeling; the usual bad feeling that at home your spouse, children and parent are waiting for you ungratefully. You are stuck with them, and there are no lonelier place on earth, than to share a home with all the wrong people. You wished you could stay alone in that hotel room forever, looking at the ceiling counting make believe stars in a make believe universe. With a make believe loveperson in a make believe safe space. You wish.

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on Pexels.com

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English, Memoir, Racauan

Guilt

You don’t deserve it

But you can try to earn it

The Gary, Final Space

So many bad things I’ve done. Burning bridges, taking for granted the love, the trust. I cheated, I lied, I hide, I told incredible stories that probably didn’t happened–I don’t know I was nuts.

The guilt haunts me in every breath that I took, and it doesn’t make me good. I m guilty as charged and I have admitted it. I have been punished by losing the things I love, people I care about, a home, sanity, and money.

And yet still I get happiness. And this happiness is my ultimate crime because I made people love me. I don’t deserve this love, this life. After all that I’ve done. But I’ve got the words to describe it now. Now that I am blessed with unbearable lightness of being, I’ve got to earn what has been given. That privilege should be a debt that can only be paid forward.

With every evaluated sin, wisdom should come forth. And wisdom is nothing but action to earn what has been given.

Blessed thy soul, you who have passed by and who will come forth. I cannot save you but I will endure you if I can.

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English, Memoir, Racauan

What Would I Do Without You

This is a work of fiction.

A lot, actually. Life goes on.

But for now let me rest a little now that you’re gone. Because you took some of my nerves with you. My synapses break down, and I cannot control my hormones.

I am angry, sad, disappointed, confused and happy. Happy that you finally rest, and free from all the things life entangled. All the suffering and pain and pleasure, all the demands and the grudges and the hates, and the love. Ah, the love is broken now that you’re gone. But in pieces they lingers, in the space that used to be yours.

You believe in God, and Hell, and Heaven. But I think you deny me for being right, that none of those stuff exist. After you’re gone your energy dissipated, breaks and forms a lot of stuff, the living and the dead, the material defecated, the immaterial… They remain in everyone who know you. And you, you will be really gone when we all forget. Trust me, it’s a blink of the universe eyes. To forget.

Now, what would I do without you? I rest in war when you rest in peace. My rest will end, and I’ll be back fighting in no time, while your peace remains in eternal bliss. In my neurons and others, see you in dreams.

What would I do without you? My best. To live my post life, as long as I could. In letters that people can read. And when they cannot read these letters anymore then adieu… Adieu… Adieu….

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