diaryofrey

i like to write and cry in public transport sometimes

[catchymemes]

[diaryofrey]

I watched this interview with Alex Honnold and he said something along the lines of how climbing has changed his perspective on failure because as climbers we fail on a daily basis and we are constantly trying things that are ever so slightly more difficult for us everytime and failing somehow makes us better and it changes something in me. As someone who entered the community a little while ago, a place that gave me not only comfort but also the space to fail with all my heart, to come crashing down, to fall, to get stuck, to get confused, hell, it was even recommended. "Fall a few time and you'll lose the fear of falling", was what was told to me on my first day and yesterday I found myself handing out the same advice, so I guess climbing changed my perspective on failing and falling too. It sometimes feels so too good to be true, a community that claps when you fail, not because you failed but because you tried and thats all that matters - the fact that you gave it a shot. How are we as humans made to constantly believe that failing is horrible and never made to understand that failing is just as important ? It took me 2 months to be okay with falling and I think I'll do it again because - as climbers we fail on a daily basis and we are constantly trying things that are ever so slightly more difficult for us everytime and somehow that makes us better and maybe, just maybe, failing and falling might just make me cable enough to work out the route for life as well.

[diaryofrey]

they say when god created eve, he created her from adam's rib. its not about romanticism here but about how important those ribs are in life and maybe in modern day, we don't physically miss ribs but on a more metaphorical level, we are empty someway or the other and are constantly in search for the right fit, the right rib to fill your chest complete, the one that keeps your heart safe and it doesn't have to necessarily be romantic. we forget how difficult growing up is, how it isn't always about romantic love and the right rib, the right fit comes in so many shapes and forms, we forget that platonic love is equally important. so, when god created me, he left some space, some missing ribs - for love, for comfort and care in terms of friendships, i searched highs and lows, broke my bones trying to fit some, and some just fell right through, i think my ribs finally fit well together now and they don't make my chest bleed, my heart feels warm and beats not too fast, growing up is scary but a few laughs, a long walk or a text with some people makes it a lot less scary.

[diaryofrey]

I have a tendency to cry on public transport

I cry at small things, at the thought of thoughts and memories, I remember too much and am remembered too little. I cry on public transport, and poetry often bleeds from my cries. I cried today at being remembered, remembered enough to peel an orange for not having to peel it, enough to remember my favorite part from a song, enough to display not hide, to have been the poem for once and that kind of appreciation isn't forced, it's like muscle memory - it's like being 4 and having your mom cook your favorite meal without you asking for it and going "for me?".

I sat on my seat holding back sobs because for the first time ever, affection wasn't carved out of the woods of my soul but etched with care from theirs, from memory and moments, glimpses of conversations. So much for being nonchalant.

"For me ?"

"For you, always"

So, I cried in public transport again, and I think I might do it again.

[diaryofrey]

the problem is ive never had the courage to leave people but never the luck of having them stay, death feels like a familiar territory where my hopes and expectations pray. i love so dearly and get left so loudly, the breaking of dishes doesn't even hurt so badly, the temples and churches pray me away now, the gods have become a tough crowd. there's only silent sobs and tears, poetry and all the unspoken fears. the problem is ive never had the strength to leave and always the fear that no one would stay. is sheer desperation enough or do I need to pray ? will the sobs suffice or will i have to call it a day ? oh, my silent silver screens, the cinema of my life has no more booked seats, i guess thats the thing about a temporary fate, will they sit or just walk away.

[diaryofrey]

birthday cakes should be given, not bought

birthday cakes should be GIVEN not bought ?

birthday cakes should be given, NOT BOUGHT ?

each year ive spent on this planet has taught me otherwise, I think ive received cakes out of love only twice. birthday cakes are given not bought but the supermarket ones have the tiny flowers i like and the smiley face I get the staff to draw makes my day bright. because what's sadness when the expectation doesn't exist in the first place. store bought cakes are better than tear stains. birthday cakes are bought by others, not for you to look at the ones getting sold, but what glitters isnt always gold. because who will buy me a cake when time moves on and the ones who did stay call it fake and all im left with is store bought cake.

[diaryofrey]

the greatest lie ive had to say as a poet is that i write fiction. you fall in love with a poet, and then THINK you'll be unwritten ? always the poet, never the muse, all the fiction ive written is just my life dramatically abused. each word you say, each song i write, it doesn't matter if it has a rhyme. your thoughts haunt my head, and fiction feels like the safest bet. because how else do i explain unrequited love and dainty lies, the slip of tongues and how fates cut our ties. flowers you gave hang dry on walls and ig to lie that it's imagination won't hurt me that much after all.

[diaryofrey]

there's this poem i adore, it's called love after love, and it goes something along the lines of, "give wine, give bread, give your heart back to itself for you will fall back in love with the stranger who was once yourself", and today i truly experienced it. i went for my first real trek and couldn't help but cry when i reached the peak. in that moment, all i could remember was dead poets society and the saying, "the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. what will your verse be ?". what has my verse been ? what have i been - a jack of all trades and mastered none ? have i ever truly loved something for myself ? there's always been a fine line between who ive presented myself to be and who i truly am, the things ive loved, my hobbies have almost always been curated to make people around me proud, that me loving the things people around me wanted me to, or atleast i thought they did, would make me feel loved. that changed today, the verse that i presented always lived others, but this, the feeling of standing IN a cloud, hundreds of feet above ground, with nothing but beauty, poetry, a heart beating loudly in my chest, is mine. mine to love and mine to choose. so, i think im falling back in love with the stranger who is myself, i think i like her, and she likes trekking.

[diaryofrey]

happy father's day to all the daughters and sons who stood up and picked the parental role, to the ones who've had to prove their worth over and over, are scared to vulnerable and always look out for their siblings, to the ones who had absent fathers or distant ones, abusive ones or shitty ones, the ones who didnt have a childhood, were up for scrutiny all the time, the black sheeps and scapegoats, the punching bags. i love you so much, happy father's day because you're twice the man your father ever was, it's not your fault that the same man who stitched the hearts of thousands of others forgot that he had shredded your heart and opened its seams.

[diaryofrey]

I used to write poetry about you all the time, every word that came out of me was yours and never mine. I wrap my words in metaphors, the pain I blanket in poetry, how can I bring myself to not care when I think of those eyes, the same color as coffee.

"Have you ever gotten everything you've wanted ?"

"No but I came very close to it once"

I think you got everything you wanted, and I got left with no warnings and thoughts that were undaunted. Never-ending haunted houses and picket fences, my heart became a table for two, and the seat filled was only one. It's okay. The thoughts won't be that dense.

Right ?

[diaryofrey]

It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

[diaryofrey]

And suddenly, you feel peace, suddenly, you feel like you did a good job at raising yourself, you turned out fine, you're okay, you're doing better and it was hard, it was excruciating but you suddenly feel seen by yourself, your anxiety hasn't completely disappeared but you find yourself understanding and being okay with yourself and if that's not healing then I don't know what is.

[strokeofserenity]

[diaryofrey]

stormy weather is my favorite but when I saw the thunder slap the ocean, I couldn't help but wince a little. Are you okay ? I had a reaction to wanting to touch the waters, I saw them turn blue, the waves roaring and slapping the shore, I know it must have hurt you. I see the ocean as a scenery, a piece of quiet, but it's so strong and carries so many memories. the tunder slipped its waters, and it must have hurt her, I want to touch her waters, offer her a hug, and hope I can help her calm a little down. Can I touch you ?

[diaryofrey]

"Write your fears and sad things on a glass plate and break it", all the grief I carry with me, today, I'm proud of that too. I suffer sometimes, I suffer and struggle with things, I get anxious, I feel mutilated but when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a person who's worked hard and the grief dies strike unexpectedly, on days when I don't think it will but I'm proud of carrying that grief too regardless of how bad it may have been, it was strong then and I'm stronger now. So, if I ever had to write down something on a glass plate and break it, it'd be not ending the cycle and not walking away.

[diaryofrey]

how does it feel to have your wrists bandaged up again ? silly girl really thought he loved her enough to stay. how does it feel to see the crimson red paint your pale skin ? stupid child was terrified to lose him when he was ready to give her up and give up on her every second. how does it feel to wear his clothes, hoping they would have some leftover scent from his perfume ? my crazy, stupid, wild child, go bandage your wrists, reset your clock back to day one, dreams of a family and debating the names of your future children will now turn back to square 1.

what's your favorite color?

[diaryofrey]

i know everything is a lesson but giving me a family that pretends to love you and let's their anger take a hold of them wasn't cool.