My Journal

My very first blog post will be about Regret & Love (I wrote this last year, when I was tweaking so if it sounds cringy you know why, and please don't be to harsh, but I do appreciate good critic)

People fear many things: death, love, and so on and so forth. However, fear of regrets is mine. Imagine being at the doorway of death and having nothing to think about except all the things I have done wrong yet never amended, all the words left unspoken. Regrets make me more of a morally grey person. I live, breathe, and eat, and I ask myself this at random times of the day: whether the life I live is truly the one I want to live, or do I live it day by day, hoping I have chosen the right answer today, or am I making a mistake by following my heart instead of using my brain, using logic and explanations that have reasonable solutions to the problems I face? Perhaps none of them are the right answers, and unknowingly, I have chosen a pathway that is full of nothing but thorns and eerie silence. As I walk through it without knowing what truly lies ahead, I am unable to see anything. All I have is to trust my gut. It has led me this far. Having regrets might just mean that I clearly lived life, whether good or bad; I lived it and have learned lessons, made mistakes—some of which I have corrected, others I didn't—laughed, built relationships, loved, lost, and overall experienced suffering that taught me what to be grateful for: a reward for having lived, an achievement, a certificate. Or regrets, are simply the accumulation of all the wrong mistakes I have gathered over the years, proof of how meaningless my life has been, all the wrong that I have done. All I have known is how to do wrong; it is the core of my being. I was born to die with regrets. It is the purpose that I have searched all my life for.

Death and Life go hand in hand and love is in between the both of them, some live to love, and others love to live, these are both wrong answers in my opinion, I would much rather daydream of a made-up person, that will love me with all their being, choosing me every day, put up with my bad habits, watch me cry and hug me with all their might, kiss me all over, filled with love, not lust, being the epitome of their life, being able to see and feel their love instead of only hearing it, and promising swearing to me that you will never ever hurt me as long as you live, as long as we breathe the same air, whether conscious or not, swear to never hurt me, because if are unable to swear this with all your heart, with all you might, I just couldn’t bring myself to truly love you. I need to know you would never hurt me, because if you did, I don’t think I could survive (as dramatic as that sounds, it is true), and I think I would die. The moment I choose to love you means that at that moment, I give you my heart, which is still pumping and beautifully hand-carved out, with all the veins and arteries still intact. When I love, I love, meaning you must do the same; it may not be the same process, but it must have the same result. Just love me like you need me to; just love me like your life depends on it. But that type of love does not exist. I am in love with the idea of love, with the thought of being loved, and with the thought of being sincerely needed in someone else’s life. Love, oh, how I yearn for you in every person I have ever met.