LI.NAOTH

Fragment 02: A home for unspoken paragraphs [email protected]

[li-naoth]

To Live and To Love

It’s been awhile since I penned down the thoughts that weigh me down, the worries that linger in my mind and the feelings that sit in my heart. Today I will, not out of sadness but out of contentment. Funny how words flow out of a sad person like water by the river but it is a steep hill for when you’re at a neutral state of mind – leaning slightly towards the positive side.

Maybe, just maybe, contentment is a tricky subject to express. I could only gaze at the man I love in awe and admiration, leaving the eyes to speak and the heart to feel. In that moment of silence when our eyes meet, I feel completely safe and sound. It is as if I turned into my 5-year old self, completely free from all the worries that come with growing.

My heart is at peace to be able to trust someone completely. Though at the same time, I know, the human heart is bound to change. To trust completely is a risk I took. But I have realised, to live and to love, that is the least I could do. I will continue to pray that our hearts remain the same, at least until one has to leave for the Hereafter. Even then, I would want to be loved by the same man for eternity.

[li-naoth]

Why Is Vulnerability A Gift

I sat and wondered why do our words flow so eloquently as we write in times of distress. When the cup of contentment is at its brim, words flow like the last few drops of a soda can. These words travel like a rock in space, roaming freely with a weightless anchor. Lacking of depth and directionally challenged.

I didn’t remember when was the last time I shed tears, using joy as the reason. I’ve seen my mum doing it every time she thinks I’ve reached a new height. I’ve never seen my dad doing it but he probably does it in the depths of solitude. I’ve seen couples doing it when they held their child for the first time. Will I only be able to obtain joy in the years to come? When I’ve reached the age of wisdom and maturity? Then again, how do you count something that is beyond the scales of measurement? 

So I thought, maybe, I was obsessed with guarding my heart and playing the role of a stoic maniac. I have trained it to be strong like a stone, totally unbreakable but forgetting the cold. I was afraid of getting fragile to the point it would develop cracks — in a different way as compared to sadness — just by the thought of pure happiness. Maybe, just maybe, I have developed a fear of vulnerability.

I don’t write this to tell you a story. I write in hopes that random strangers will stumble upon this and feel like this letter is meant for them. I write in hopes that my words will reach the right soul and heal them, be it partly or completely. I write to tell you that vulnerability is a gift.

My health and my initial hopes, they were all taken away from me. I’m eternally grateful I stumbled upon vulnerability this way. I hope when it reaches your door, you will let down the walls around your heart. I hope you will let it peel off the robust outer layer of your soul and feel whole again. I hope that you will realise it only takes true strength, nothing less. I hope it makes you look at life differently, like it did for mine. I hope that you will stop searching for peace and only feel it from within. I have been counting my blessings since. 

I promise you, it’s a gift, not a sickness of the heart. 

[li-naoth]

Denting Steel

1. “Did you ever think it is possible to feel constricted in a reasonably spacious room with ceilings twice your height and a view that reaches the skies, picks up the sun & kisses the moon?”

2. “Did you ever think of the possibility of your daily actions making a home at the very core of my bones, expanding into new territories every second for decades and eventually, losing every single molecule of myself?”

3. “Did you ever think it is awful for a 4 year old child to lose all the sparkles in her eyes, turning into the void of expression middle-aged men would carry?”

4. “Did you ever think of your words being stored in my deepest, darkest locked box of memories, occasionally gushing out when they are uncalled for?”

For the longest time, I could not recall how it feels like to cry with one hand clenching a projection of my heart and the other keeping my mouth completely shut. I spent my whole life trying to grow out of it. I faked it, I ignored it, I laughed about it for decades until I built a heart of steel.

However, I could recall being the little girl with a fragile heart, using your jerseys as a blanket when you were away for work at night. Funny how it felt like a bespoke blanket with the perfect fit, ending just a few inches below my tiny pair of feet.

After decades, I decided to trust you once again. You turned out to be the same man who broke me even before I even knew another. It’s late at night. I'm starting from square one.

[li-naoth]

Behind The Scene Series. October, 2016.

[li-naoth]

I was sitting in a cafe, sipping passionfruit tea because coffee will never be an option for me. I made a theory that was neither supported by logic nor philosophy; I’m not yet a full-grown adult until I’m able to nod like a coffee connoisseur after a sip of that drink.

Symbolically, I was an antonym to the chaotic environment during peak hour. People must have wondered, “How can a girl at the age of twenty sit without a single care, listening to Mazzy Star, while people are having a serious conversation?” Then again, I lost all the reasons to call it a conversation when in actuality, it was just a group of people in tailored suits talking about the things they dread so badly. Wrinkled faces, heavy sighs, shallow topics and forceful grins — seem like a list of written consequences of what follows through. 

So I wondered, are we all living embodiments without a soul? What happened to passion and love?

You walk and walk, with eyes emptier than a city of drought, drier than the porous nature of unfinished wood. You run and run, towards a temporary dream in an adjusted reality. You work and work, for the things you perceive as success and for the money that will never be enough. Has life been all about work and death? 

Do you ever breathe?

If you do, how can a man whose blood runs warm turns out to be living like a block of ice?

[li-naoth]

Impulse  

The idea of writing a letter filled with monologues kept within the vicinity of your own mind will always seem like a vulnerable act. Is the feeling comparable to lying down almost naked, wearing nothing but a hospital gown, in the middle of a room filled with strangers you are forced to trust? I don’t know. I have always loved taking risks, giving a part of me to someone I barely know. Maybe, the consequences just pass by me like a train missing its stop.  

Once, I thought of dropping love letters into random mailboxes in the neighbourhood which I happen to be in. It might be viewed under so much scrutiny by the people who cringe at the things they are unfamiliar with. I imagined a few others who would see this as a mistake sent by a psychopathic ex-lover. Despite all that, I believe in the possibility of leaving a countable few feeling elated as they appreciate the hint of surprise in their seemingly mundane life. 

Imagine a person taking out a piece of paper. She starts to write, she pause to think, she writes again, she makes a mistake, she strikes it off. She gives it to the next person in hopes that the he will embrace something so enigmatically raw. It is almost like a film director starting a scene, then letting his actors act without a script; a process filled with so much uncertainty, leaving rooms for imagination. 

 How strange. How comforting.   

 There is beauty to an act this intimate. 

[li-naoth]

Almost 6

You sat right next to me. Almost 6, a timing too early to be our 8 o'clock dinner, too late to be our 3 o'clock lunch. A hearty meal prepared just for two.

We occupied only two seats, leaving our laughters to occupy the others just like every other day. Almost 6, absence seemed apparent; there were four empty seats.

I stared into your deeply sunken eyes. A glimpse of your soul was nothing but a mere void. You kept your box of thoughts locked, away from me.

“Lean on me. Cry on me.”

No, those words were left unsaid.

Some walls just collapse without force, almost voluntarily. Instead, I licked my upper lips. I swallowed my tears & let out a prayer.

“Let her heart be like steel.”

Almost 6, an unfinished meal for two. Four empty seats. Two emptier hearts.

[li-naoth]

Hunger

The human body, beyond its physical state, is a temple. I remember growing up, feeding the space with all kinds of ingenious allegories, in hopes that when the time comes, I will be a person with values. I was obsessed with collecting experiences, one after another, only to install the new & repeated emotions that come with every of it. I have always embraced the pain due to its compelling intensity. I was careful enough to prevent it from making a home out of me, worrying that it will then translate into fear, constantly gnawing me until I cease to exist.

Everything has been recorded, just like a book with an epigraph that says, “This is for you & only you.” True enough, I have been the only reader, like exclusivity without a choice.

At this very moment, I feel like a temple devoid of emotion. A situation similar to a director at the bottom of the totem pole. I might be at the centre of happiness and sadness. I might also be falling into a bottomless pit. Either one, or both at the same time, it is a state coded with indecipherable messages.

For all I know, a part of me wants to find out answers for an unknown question. Hunger goes away when you stop thinking about it. This is just a phase, I don’t know, do you?

[vintagepales2-blog]

[li-naoth]

Genuine conversations have always been a lovely thing, regardless of how trivial or significant the topics are. To be able to connect with a beautiful soul effortlessly and catch a glimpse of their mind, it’ll leave you carrying the weight of undecipherable emotions. And you bid goodbye, craving for a next time. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Each series inspired by daily conversations. It is a process where poetry meets utility. Put aside french kisses and late night skin to skin contacts, a deep conversation goes beyond physical touch; it is a new way of making love. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ We have officially launched our first story, do take a look www.conversationsandsuch.com ✨

[li-naoth]

Your posts and writings are simply wonderful x

Aw thank you so much kind soul. This means a lot to me, I hope you're having a good day x

[li-naoth]

[li-naoth]

A man in orange knitwear & tailored pants stares blankly at Yayoi Kusama’s prints when I told him to stay still for a photo. I have the deepest affection for this man right here.

I’ve always adored looking at visual art, regardless of it’s movement; surrealism, realism, cubism, impressionism or fauvism. I like it when great art have a concrete meaning behind it, but I love it even more when the meaning is obscure. Just like how Pablo Picasso paints art as he thinks & not as he sees them, there is always some emotional quotient involved in perceiving art.

However, this man right here doesn’t see the possibility of art being so cryptic in meaning. He sits at the bench after catching a glimpse of the art works. He visits art museums not to appreciate the exceptional works but to observe the people around him. Other times, he will notice how high the ceiling of the gallery is.

At the end of the day, before we part ways, he always looks at me like I look at art. And maybe, that is art in its purest form.

[caitstadler]

[schankyou]

[li-naoth]

Solar Eclipse

You wanted something less while nothing was ever enough for me.

You adored silence while I craved for attention.

You were like the sun, you’re too used to seeing things with your own beam of light. I have always been the moon, I’ve been appreciating every moment of darkness. However, the nights have been endless. I’ve grown tired of missing you but I’ll be gone when morning comes.

Once in awhile, the moon will pass by the sun. And you’ll know that I have been loving you from afar.

[ovvo-id-deactivated20160210]