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I didn’t know I loved the
grassy smell
Of Marlboros lingering in the
Empty crispness of a
Cold October morning
Suspended in the weightless
air
Appearing for but a second
And promptly lost for good,
Unlike the opaque smoke that
cloys the burdened summer swelter
Escaping mercilessly from
your parted lips
And slowly settling in the
three inch gap
Between us.
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I am and always have been in a constant state of missing New
York City. But it’s nights like these that I miss the
most and long to be experiencing. I miss almost nothing more than those warm
nights. Those warm pre-summer nights; embers of a first hot day. The air thick with
humidity, but just cool enough to be a warm envelope that gently surrounds
rather than smothers. The sky, dark and silent. The electric static of the
orange streetlights, lingering. Buildings, breathing. The streets, oddly welcoming.
A month and a half.
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It’s during moments like this, when everything feels wrong
and right at the same time, that I feel alive. At moments like this, cause and
effect, let alone questions such as the meaning of life no longer concern me;
it only matters that I am able to not only learn, but also feel, for only when
the two interact can a person be considered to be living.
Every bitter emotion needs to be experienced, not repressed.
It comes in a surge of pain and frustration at encountering such a mood.. then
acceptance.. and then something close to enjoyment. I’m glad that I feel like
going for a long, silent ride along a dark stretch of winding highway, the
windows rolled down. I’m glad that I also want to be curled up in someone’s
arms, sharing togetherness and solitude at the same time. And above all, I’m
glad that I’m putting ego aside for a minute, not caring how naïve and
idealistic I may sound. I probably won’t feel this way in an hour, and will
morph back into a critical, analytical, level-headed person that governs my
actions every minute. But even that stable persona will confirm that it’s at
moments like these that I learn more about myself. Pure analysis is futile in
self-discovery without firsthand experience.
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| Naturally, my annual surge of introspection comes a) after final exams,
and b) before the New Year. Earlier this week, I have come to a
conclusion about one of my greatest internal personal achievements this
year. I have really learned how to not only advise, but also follow the
phrase "let it go" myself. By "let it go", I don't mean, "get over it"
or "forget the past" - I mean let go of other's reactions. Just the
other day, I made a light-hearted comment typical of me that was
interpreted more deeply than I meant for it to be, and thus I got a
defensive reaction. A year ago, this would have upset me greatly,
triggering a rant and a long elaborate explanation. However, now I was
able to almost immediately step back and really understand the
circumstances of that person's life, which were told to me by the
person just that very morning. Though I did not apologize directly, I
withheld my self-defensive argument, and did not let his frustration
get to me; moreover, I realized my fault in saying what I said, even if
it was not meant to be taken literally. In words, this situation sounds
so insignificant, but the fact is, my behavior in response truly
surprised me, and there's no need to be modest about it - I'm proud of
myself.
I recently recieved a phone call, the nature of which surprised me
greatly. A person I had come to believe as permanently stuck in a state
of aimless depression has, over the last six months, actually come to
peace with himself. And the moment he told me, it hit me - so had I.
Coming to peace with oneself doesn't mean giving up on trying to change
flaws, improve character, et cetera, but coming to peace with oneself
involves knowing and accepting oneself, along with how others see you.
There's still a huge gap between my mental and biological age, but I've
come to accept it; I no longer feel the pressure of having to "prove"
myself in a matter of seconds to be treated as a self-aware human
rather than as an impressionable adolescent - I've realized that I
really do have the power to show, not tell, and if a person I'm
interacting with is even mildly perceptive, I don't need to make any
extra efforts to prove it.
I still have not decided what my annual resolution is for this upcoming
year is, but within the next ten days, it'll most likely come to me.
I know how ridiculously pretentious and overdone ending something with
a quote is, but when I read this, it really impacted me, and hopefully
it's obvious why:
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things
I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom always to tell
the difference.” - Kurt Vonnegut
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| The strangest kind of nostalgia is that which comes not in pangs, but
as a consistent state, sometimes mounting up to become the only thing
on your mind, and then tapering off temporarily. It's not nostalgia for
a single experience, but for a general state, a general kind of
interaction or conversation. For a split second you wonder why you feel
the way you do about a feeling that probably isn't even mutual, but
quickly accept this and drop your questioning; ego can wait. It's the
kind of nostalgia that pertains to something so meaningful, so close to
you that it makes you want to cry, and yet you can't. You wish you
could cry, and yet you're sitting there with a serene smile on your
face. You're surprised you're not shedding bitter tears of longing,
because that's how you feel inside; and yet it isn't. You don't feel
stuck, and it's not as though you have no idea what to do or think or
feel next, for your life continues and the world keeps turning as
though you're not even feeling anything of the sort. You almost feel
motivated to not go into the inaccessible past, but to incorporate some
of this past into your future. And then when you realize your efforts
are futile at the moment, you nod with a sad smile and accept it as a
natural course of differing life circumstances and availability; you
realize your nostalgia has not blinded you of reason and logic, but has
injected a certain serenity of acceptance. And what's better is the
hope that the acceptance is accompanied with. Hope to bring back
elements of the past, hope to revive a certain interaction that
circumstances have hindered. And perhaps that's the best nostalgia of
all.
Here's to you, Marina.
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