When you start to doubt your own existence, and your version of reality~*

As I await the drowsiness to kick in and blackness to take over (thank you, Phenexpect), I ponder about the notion of existence and reality [like philosophical drunks, I'm a philosophical (trying to be) sick.] 

Existence
Suppose you're the only person in the world who can validate your own existence - nobody else can / want to - then do you still exist?

If the whole world denies your existence (for whatever reasons), what does it take to prove your existence?

What is the basis of one's existence?

Similarly, what about the existence of a relationship unknown to others? Or an occurrence that's witnessed only by you?

If all evidence of its existence were destroyed, then... did it really exist?

Can we base it solely on one's account? On one's error-prone memories?

Maybe not.

And maybe it doesn't matter what others think - as long as you think it truly existed / exists, then it did / does [now I sound like a schizophrenic who doesn't believe he/she has schizophrenia] 


Reality
Maybe the concept of an objective reality is meaningless.

Reality or not, maybe it doesn't matter.


Maybe nothing truly matters.

~*~*~*

I don't think I'm coherent, and I don't think I'll remember ever penning this entry.

Anyhow, in the current state that I'm in, I wonder how I'm going to write up my annual entry to conclude the year.

Oh well.

"Mata Ashita"~*

What lies in between presence and absence?

What lies in between the spoken and the unspoken?

Listen to the things that will never be said.

~*~*~*

I learnt that
weed isn't the only thing that can amplify the dynamism of sounds, and slow time down.
So can words. And the lack thereof.

I learnt that
there are various manifestations of emotions - the especially intense ones.
You could laugh / cry at the most inappropriate moment - when you least feel like laughing / crying.
But you laugh / cry still.

I learnt that
while some people are made of light, others are made of the night.
These are people swallowed by the darkness.

I learnt that
remembering is, oftentimes, as sad as forgetting.

I learnt that
there is a place where secret emotions are kept.
And it's not an infinite space.

I learnt that
gazes can break hearts and leave scars.
You don't have to be Cyclops.

I learnt that
words often come too late.
Then, you'd wish that they never came at all.

~*~*~*~

Put on the Bossa Nova, Jazz and Chill-out, lounge music.

[it's Stan Getz & Astrud Gilberto now] 

Simply because.

It's me, and only me~*

I'm still breathing I'm still breathing I'm still breathing I'm still breathing I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive

- Alive, Sia 

Decided to copy the lyrics of the chorus out in one line.
I like how the lack of paragraphing brings out the desperation (it'll be even better if there weren't any spacing. But that's too difficult to read.)

No time to inhale, nor exhale.
Hold your breath till the very last word. 

Seemingly a desperate attempt to convince yourself that you are indeed breathing, and are very alive.

Because you don't know.


~static~

Why is it me?

Because of me.

Because it's me.

Therefore, it's me.

...

~static ends~


But I don't wanna die, no I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die

- Birds set free, Sia

Similar idea.

Or, it could also be a desperate call to someone (yourself, perhaps?) that, among all the confusion and fuzziness, at least, something seems clear.

And you want to make sure that the message is clearly delivered.

Listen. 

I am still breathing.

I am alive.

I don't wanna die.


Probably (tabun)

Anyway, they tripled my heartbeat.