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fevbble · 10 months ago

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𝐀 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲; 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬

|ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱˣᵗʰ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ ᴳᵃᵇʳⁱᵉˡ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᴳᵒᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᶜⁱᵗʸ ᵒᶠ ᴳᵃˡⁱˡᵉᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉᵈ ᴺᵃᶻᵃʳᵉᵗʰ, ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵛⁱʳᵍⁱⁿ ᵇᵉᵗʳᵒᵗʰᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵐᵃⁿ ʷʰᵒˢᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᴶᵒˢᵉᵖʰ, ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴰᵃᵛⁱᵈ. ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛⁱʳᵍⁱⁿ'ˢ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᴹᵃʳʸ. ᴬⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ, "ᴳʳᵉᵉᵗⁱⁿᵍˢ, ᴼ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ, ᵗʰᵉ ᴸᵒʳᵈ ⁱˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ!" ᴮᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗˡʸ ᵗʳᵒᵘᵇˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈⁱˢᶜᵉʳⁿ ʷʰᵃᵗ ˢᵒʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ. ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ, "ᴰᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵃᶠʳᵃⁱᵈ, ᴹᵃʳʸ, ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴳᵒᵈ. ᴬⁿᵈ ᵇᵉʰᵒˡᵈ, ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᶜᵒⁿᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉ ⁱⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʷᵒᵐᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉᵃʳ ᵃ ˢᵒⁿ, ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ˢʰᵃˡˡ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᴴⁱˢ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ ᴶᵉˢᵘˢ. ᴴᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᴹᵒˢᵗ ᴴⁱᵍʰ. ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᴸᵒʳᵈ ᴳᵒᵈ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᴴⁱᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʰʳᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴴⁱˢ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ᴰᵃᵛⁱᵈ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᴴᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ ʳᵉⁱᵍⁿ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴶᵃᶜᵒᵇ ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᴴⁱˢ ᵏⁱⁿᵍᵈᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ⁿᵒ ᵉⁿᵈ."ᴬⁿᵈ ᴹᵃʳʸ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ, "ᴴᵒʷ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉ, ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ᵛⁱʳᵍⁱⁿ?" ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ, "ᵀʰᵉ ᴴᵒˡʸ ˢᵖⁱʳⁱᵗ ʷⁱˡˡ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵘᵖᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᴹᵒˢᵗ ᴴⁱᵍʰ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵒᵛᵉʳˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ; ᵗʰᵉʳᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵇᵒʳⁿ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ʰᵒˡʸ — ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᴳᵒᵈ."

|December's immaculate coldness feels warm. December feels like blood.

I always thought December was a month for happiness. Celebrations happened all around the globe. Rejoice! They said. Our Saviour was born. I felt like a sinner that was stripped bare. Why? Because I questioned it. Christmas was celebrated long before Christ was born. It was a pagan holiday. That made me question things. I'm also not really keen on Thanksgiving either. It's a disgrace to the culture and life of every native Americans. How many holidays and traditions were trampled just because of a belief?

|I love reaching out to a god that won't answer.

December is a month full of nostalgia, melancholy, and an inexplicably sad, drowning feeling. It's a month of hopelessness. A landscape of barren lands in a grayscale lens. Perhaps it's this longing inside of me that shaped my perspective. Perhaps I am the flesh the maggots and parasites adore. I am not yet dead, but I rot in an existence full of suffering. In a universe that expands into a void. I am buried by the weight of being a carbon‐entity mindlessly drifting through space. I should not have been born.

|But I always knew that in the end, no one was coming to save me. So I just prayed, and I keep praying and praying and praying.

The feeling of guilt and hopelessness will drown a person. To wish the world would end and then hold yourself back for the horrible things you've said is a misery I wouldn't wish upon my greatest enemy. It was in December when I read about John Green. He wrote; "I never excelled academically and took some pride in 'not fulfilling my potential.' In part because I was terrified that if I tried my hardest, the world would learn that I didn't have that much potential." It was in December when I finally felt the hug of the void for the first time.

|My eyes hold the funerals of the people that I once was.

But then again, it was in December when I witnessed humanity in every living being. Loved ones reunited, and students have just a little bit of a break, I realized that nihilism isn't all that powerful. Maybe living and maybe being present here on Earth is a wonderful thing to do. This feeling is fleeting, but it's powerful enough that it made Christmas somehow a little bit better. I remember The Christmas Truce. A miracle. When enemies became friends, when foes, fiends, and different cultural, social, historical and different viewpoints had a ceasefire. It was in Christmas when the miracle happened. It was when the spirit of Christmas was truly felt at the peak of the Great War. Maybe Christmas is not that bad.

♡December. This heart full of tears and of night.

Perhaps in the near future, I'll be able to answer these mind‐boggling questions that have kept me awake for years. Maybe this void and this abyss of emptiness will vanish alongside my misery and the tragedy of not knowing anything. Perhaps I'll get over it, that I'll be fine knowing there's a God. That there is life in every crevices of the universe. One day, I hope that I'll be able to answer all of this, but not right now. Wallowing in every form of misery is sort of my thing. Makes me feel alive and dead at the same time.

♡Haunted by the ghosts of who I could've been, the weight of my dreams leaning on my bones. The guilt does not make me pure. I still look up to the skies to ask for guidance from someone—something. An older mentor, but... nothing. It's an empty space, and I wallow in pitiness and self‐loathing.

Thank you so much for reading, may you sleep well. I hope you are not kept up with questions about humanity and why we exists. I hope an almighty being never terrifies you.

PS. I don't know what to write in my blog since I've never really celebrated Christmas or holidays and if I did, I have probably spent my time looking at the sky or being alone in a room (don't have a room). So it's just kind of winging out on my thoughts. Is this oversharing? I hope not. I'm really kind of dramatic at times. Though I wish I wasn't, but then again, life is short, so why not be miserable? But it also applies to the other side, why not be happy? My life looks like the poem Sylvia Plath wrote (Fig Tree).

PSS. I never really did find the answer to the questions I have eluded since I was young. I'll probably spent my whole life seeking for the truth. We are a species that is conscious about our own demise and the demise of the world . Why, then, do we live? With the universes' indifference and god not answering, why do we live? We have no significance and therefore we are an err to an existence marred with pointless choices. We are humans, we are birthed, we live, we eat, we sleep and we die. It's a never-ending cycle full of mediocrity. We are a dot on a widescale universe, we are dust. Why live? Sometimes I think so much my heart hurts because I can' t find the answers to many of my questions. As I am writing this blog, I found myself spacing out and looking into the sky, Sol be damned. I love the silence at night but I hate it at the same time. Too quiet, I can't breathe as I am drowned with inexplicably difficult questions. An anathema.

PSSS. If I have the choice to spend Christmas, it'll be in Europe. Why am I mentioning this? Self-awareness of your existence is quite fatal. I have read so many stories about people killing themselves because they cannot find the reason for their existence. I am holding on to a little bit of hope. I want to experience holidays in places far from my own home. So maybe, just maybe, I do intend to live. Hope is arbitrary. Our reason for living is often horrific as it is beautiful. I find it comforting that I'm gonna die someday. Maybe later, maybe tomorrow. I cannot wait. I have no creativity anymore. Why? There's no point in being creative when I'm gonna die anyway. What's the point? I cannot witness my work be graded when I'm gonna die nor will I see colors in their full form ever again. So why do it? HOWEVER, I need to see the Alps. I want to see the snow. If climate change happens and the Philippines somehow got snow, my one true wish is achieved and I'll die. But perhaps my perspective will change. I am seeing the world in a monotone lens. I am a nihilist but sometimes existentialist. Sometimes absurdist. Maybe one day, I'll be able to live freely. Freedom is a bittersweet taste.

|ᶠᵒʳ ᵍᵒᵈˡʸ ˢᵒʳʳᵒʷ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉˢ ʳᵉᵖᵉⁿᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ˡᵉᵃᵈᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃˡᵛᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ, ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ʳᵉᵍʳᵉᵗᵗᵉᵈ; ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵒʳʳᵒʷ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉˢ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ. ᶠᵒʳ ᵒᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵉ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵛᵉʳʸ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ, ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒʳʳᵒʷᵉᵈ ᶦⁿ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵈˡʸ ᵐᵃⁿⁿᵉʳ: ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵈᶦˡᶦᵍᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᶦᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉᵈ ᶦⁿ ʸᵒᵘ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳᶦⁿᵍ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᵛᵉˢ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶦⁿᵈᶦᵍⁿᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵉᵃʳ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵛᵉʰᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵈᵉˢᶦʳᵉ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶻᵉᵃˡ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵛᶦⁿᵈᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿᵎ ᴵⁿ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖʳᵒᵛᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᵛᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ.

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