People help the people

I want to know what these songs feel like again. It feels as though an adventure will bring to life the dull and foretold predictive memories. Memories that have yet to happen, just brisk flocks of light, flashing a moment of sepia brilliance. To live by such untold loneliness is something I expect to be shared between most souls on this Earth. I feel the tragedy of my mother’s life, small but significantly debilitating occurrences blight her slowed pace. Tiny movements of age are making her succumb and I notice her soul grow tired; it shows in her eyes. I’m humbled and ashamed in the presence of my current self who seeks a way to fill her life with some form of joy, some fresh and happy memories, but still she struggles on. I battle with my lack of ambition, or moreso the ability in implementing such ambition. This weekend, I attended a baby shower. My cousin will give birth in a few weeks and to witness the perfection of her and her family’s ascension was awe-inspiring. I observed like a stranger through a window what life if typically like, that of family and security and a natural (by society’s means) ticking off of life steps. It was a beautiful and wondrous thing to observe though for me, and for me personally, it was dulled by a sad ache. Perhaps it stems back to my mother, as most things I do in life do. I want her to have something to make life exciting again, and that would be an extension to our family. Last month, an incident occurred. There fell some tears from her wise eyes. There’s a part of her that’s broken, be it from her father’s utter disregard for the things she wanted to achieve or my father’s unsuccessful attempt to nurture such innate intelligence. She is the emblem of things that can go wrong and that tears me up.

Perhaps my attempts in planning an escape aren’t actually helping towards a common goal. A goal of which I’m sure I continue to sparsely remind myself of, to help my mother. I don’t know how, but I just feel it in my gut. For me, this is how emotion works. Sometimes I can walk in to a room and be smothered by spilled and lingering emotion in the air as it crashes over and through me, permeable the semi-naked mask I prolong to the public. Sometimes the weight of others’ emotion makes my feet heavier, my shoulders want to partner up with my ankles, and I sup it in like second hand smoke.

Things are changing and the couple of weekend’s of celebration have definitely took their toll on my emotions. This year is shaping up to be a good one. I just want more to be proud of myself for and in turn to see pride on my mother’s face would be something I haven’t helped her achieve for a very long time.

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