So here we are

There's a post I wrote in one of my numerous extant, all of whom are now defunct blogs titled ' Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving', and that phrase has been hanging heavy on my mind this past year. Sometimes it just pops up in my head out of nowhere, other times I'll be looking at the stats of that blog where I originally posted it and wonder why it's been getting so many hits. Funny thing is, I often don't remember where I know the phrase from. For some weird reason, I always tend to associate it with stuff like Porcupine Tree, but that's only because their song 'Arriving somewhere but not here' evokes the same feeling in me. 

The phrase, of course, is from Terry Pratchett's wonderful 'A Hat Full Of Sky' - and maybe 2026 is the year where I do a full re-read of the entire Discworld series, including even the final book, 'The Shepherd's Crown', a book I never finished because I wasn't ready to come to terms with the fact that there would never be a new Pratchett book. And now, as soon as the new year's bells were ringing in, I found myself thinking about that phrase again.

And so here we are, it's 2026, the last time I posted here was twelve and half years ago. I'm back to where I started - in a way. To cut a long story short, this is the second iteration of this blog, the other having been deleted about twenty years ago or so. If I looked back on it today, I would understand completely why I chose its deletion as a course of action; in fact, I understood it then, and rather choosing to distance myself from it, I chose to spare the world at large the ramblings of someone in his late twenties, saying what he thought were incredibly clever things, and the truth is, they weren't that at all. No, they weren't even vulgar, or offensive, or constructive, or whatever. No, they were just... dull. I soon moved on to a new blog where I wrote some of my worst writing, which in turn helped understand and learn how to write (a bit) better. I then created this version of the blog sixteen years ago, on my way out of a long and very painful breakup, and I hoped I would be updating it more regularly than I wound up doing. In truth, in all my writings and experimenting with the blog format, only two out of god knows how many, were actually successful, and by this I mean to say that they both had very specific things I had set out to do, and having accomplished them, I ceased my writings there. They'd served their purposes.

One of those blogs - created with the single purpose of providing me with a vessel where I would write daily in it - proved to be much more than I could take, almost. I had seriously underestimated the idea of writing a new post every single day, all the while adhering to a self-imposed minimum 500 words a day. Though I thought I had material enough to cover the whole year, I soon found out that I'd barely have enough for me to cover about half that length, and so I found myself writing filler after filler - though if I do say so myself, I'm pretty chuffed about some of the stuff I wrote. All this begs a question : why then, would I want to ever do it again?

You see, I don't, but I think I'll try anyway. No word limit, no agenda, just let my thoughts flow from my mind to the blank canvas that will face me every day. I think I have material to last me a while, maybe I have some stories in me that I still haven't told, maybe I can revisit some themes from previous writings and riff on them. That said, if the day comes - and I'm sure it will - where I'll find myself unable to write down a single line, instead of chastising myself for my own inability to create, I'll just turn off the computer and go to bed. And maybe that spurs me to write more the next day, maybe it doesn't, but we'll see.

That's it for now. Things are changing at a rapid pace, and the next few days will go by at breakneck speed. More here soon, indubitably, bur first : tomorrow comes.

We are islands, but never too far.

That dream again. You know the one, when we aren't together anymore for some reason, and in all my dark despair, I call you in the middle of the falling, pounding rain, just to beg you to take me back, and again, yet again, and time and time again it's 'no' you say. And I give in to that bleak and cold despair, and put myself in front of a rushing car. And that's that for me. Then I wake up, and it was only a dream. I am filled with longing, and with emptiness. I miss you. I love you. I need you. I want you. But you're not here. Not anymore.
How much longer until that dream becomes reality? I know not.

The Road to Me : Getting there.

Part one : Becoming João Caferra.

Some brief notions, and a confession : Firstly, I had the basic idea for this post gestating inside me for quite a while now; however, it had a wholly different intent and a slightly different title. You see, (whoever 'you' may be...) up until a few days ago I still harboured hopes of one day re-uniting with my one time paramour, but alas, it is not meant to be. And this post... months ago, when I started thinking about it - the idea was that I'd lay out a plan, a course of action that would put me on the path to her arms once more, and that would have been called, 'The Road to You.'
But that particular road is one that leads me to nowhere; indeed, how can any road lead me anywhere, unless I find first the road to me?

Now, the confession : as the title above indicates, I find myself in a postition not unlike one João Caferra once did, years ago. But wait, who? Who is this person you mention? Well, truth be told I know next to nothing about him, what with having met him all of what?, two-three times?, except that I know that he was my former paramour's old flame.
Now, don't get me wrong - I have nothing against the guy, by all accounts he seemed to be a nice enough guy, and when we did talk, it was always sufficiently pleasant. Nor do I claim that I have become him in regards to life choices (whichever he may have made), or the like.
No. The way I am becoming him has something to do with a look he had in his eyes that first time I met him. It was... I dunno, in 2007, I guess, and the beloved's birthday would include a dinner for some close friends. There is a bit that I don't completely recall surrounding the date, but I know that me and her were somehow a bit... estranged? distant? I don't know, at least I guess I was. Maybe that had something to do with her moving to the Netherlands, but I felt absolutely miserable that day. Somehow it feels as if a part of me wasn't even there. But anyways, there were we; she introduced us, and he sat across the table from me, as I sat by her side, and likely, sometimes there would be a caress between me and her, maybe even a few kisses. And sometimes, sometimes he'd look at me with that look in his eyes, a look that I could not then decipher. It contained equals parts of suspicion, disbelief and... sadness? regret? I don't know.
All I know is that sometimes, when he looked at me, I almost found in his eyes a yearning to be the one who sat beside her, a deep sadness for the distance between them.
As he eyed me thus, I often found myself wondering, then, if he had an issue with me, or something. I never confronted him, nor I had any reason to, but that look in his eyes lingered up until now.
Years have passed, life happened, and my paramour and I went our separate ways. Often I would find myself in the darkest of places, thinking only about what once was, and dreading the terrible certainty of something that would eventually, unavoidably come to pass : the day that I would find that she'd found her happiness in the arms of another, and that the event where I would have to be present to witness that happiness would one day come to pass. Knowing this, instantly I understood just how the guy had felt, all those years ago, and I found myself relating so much to him, these years removed, I almost felt speechless.

And right now, at this very moment, not much of the above has happened... yet. Yes, I know that she is happy now, maybe even happier than ever when we were together, but I have yet to face that terrible crucible the other poor sod years ago. And, hard as it may be for me, when the moment comes, I'll have to be able to deal with it in a grown-up manner. In fact, I must use whatever comes of it in a positive and straightforward way - for it I can achieve that, I will know that inside me things have changed, and that will be yet another step to and  for me.

I know that the road to me is a lengthy and hard path to be trodden; I know that even though for most of it, I have to tread all by my lonesome, here and there I'll have another soul beside me. But I know it cannot be done all at a time; it has to be slow and steady, not to win the race, but to win myself back, to find that tranquil spot wherem though some pain may still linger, it has subsided to the point of me not feeling it. It will not happen overnight, nor do I expect it to be an easy journey. All I know, right now, is that it will have to be step by step, the road to me will be taken one step at a time. And this, this is the first step.

My god, look at what we are now - without regret for all the things that we have done.

It is not love, if love is cold to touch.
It is not belief, when there's nothing there to trust.
Could not submit, would never bring myself to heel.
Determination grows, as each truth is revealed.

Torn and repaired, just to endure it all again.
Without a reason, for my place in all this pain.
Though well concealed, the scars they just compound.
Until there's nothing left of what was my former self.

My god, look at what we are now -
without regret for all the things that we have done.

Thank you for all the doubts, and for all the questioning,
for all the loneliness and for all the suffering.
For all the emptiness, and the scars it left inside.
it inspired in me, an impetus to fight.

For the conviction, for the purpose found along.
For the strength and courage, that in me I've never known.
And if it seems to you, that my words are undeserved,
I write this in gratitude for whatever good it serves.

Sometimes I wish, that you could see me now.
In the rightful place, where I knew that I belong.
Sometimes I wish, that you might someday understand.
to close the chapter, and lay to rest the past.
But nothing would change, we make the best of what we have.
for we are measured by the actions of our lives.
We bide our time, let the future unfold.
Like immortals, in great legends to be told.

My god, look at what we are now -
without regret for all the things that we have done.

Thank you for all the doubts, and for all the questioning,
for all the loneliness and for all the suffering.
For all the emptiness, and the scars it left inside.
it inspired in me, an impetus to fight.

To all who stood with me, when we stood as one.
Thank you for guiding me, for bringing me home.
And if it seems that I'm obliged to say these words,
I write this in gratitude, the least that you deserve.

[And this, this might just be the standout song of the year - at least for me. Once again, the words of Ronan Harris echo exactly what is inside me. My God, indeed. Look at where we are now...]

Six long, long years of waiting...

Fuck yeah! It's here, it's mine, and I'm raring to go! Oh, yeah... I kinda promised to myself that I'd read the first four books before starting this one... Well, then. Time to get a-readin'!

You are my desire, I set you free.

The thing about birthdays, right, is that even though I neither want or expect anything, I always end up wanting one thing specifically, and I never, ever get it. I know that last year I desperately wanted something - so simple, and yet... and yet so elusive - something not material, something that only words could express, especially because there was a distance that proved to be too great.
And this year, I find myself wanting something similar, and again, I shall not have what I desire.

Impossible, impossible... Your love is something I cannot remember.

29/07/2006. Five years ago today.
I know it's impossible, impossible.