A 'What' in December

December. Like many others who thinks, this is the month where you collect the pieces of the months before, and reflect.

What have I done?
Why did I do it?
Have I done well?
Have I done enough?
What can I do now?

Since May however, the only question I asked myself was "What am I doing?". That's still the question now.


          I can reflect. What good does it do though, if even my consciousness tell me that I did not do better and will not, given in the state that I am.
It's been known that I am sickly. That's not what weakens me. The say the most ill of all illness is the heart. Most commonly, one have it when in love or betrayed. Or any scarred done upon it.
What am I to say on that? I am in no way, have been scarred in that way. I knew I could, thus I wouldn't let myself.

          I am ill. I am ill at heart. I can go on telling myself, lying to myself with all the positivity in the world and convince, for a second, that I am not. That I can go on. That there is a way. Logic wise, rational wise and all of the knowledge that I have in me convince me so. I know so. How hard can it be, to get up and strive? All you need is the will.

That's where I'm lost. I have no will.

          I guess I should consider myself a fool. I am no idiot, I know the consequences but I'm a fool for despite knowing it, I didn't act upon it. Why should I? If I have any love for myself, I should. I couldn't decide though. Which part of myself should I come to love? The part of me who repels the intimacy of others? I set boundaries. Should one crosses it, I'll see to it that he or she will be repelled (most often harshly) away from it. Or should I love the part of me that is deemed virtuous? I doubt I could. I couldn't decide if my deeds are genuine or fake. I've been faking a lot of things, that some might have been part of me. I wouldn't destroy the history though. I may just do things on impulse, or because it's part of my routine, without any thoughts to it. Still, if people consider that as kind, my consciousness will pull me back to the reason why I'm like that in the first place. I cannot live a life constantly in debate as to why I did what I did. Maybe to most, it didn't matter. I tried to live thinking that it didn't matter but it does. I can be a fool but I can't fool myself. I can't lie for all the years saying that it didn't matter. It happened before and it comes back to me for revenge. What didn't matter comes crawling inside to the veins of my brains, whispering every memory of it each night. How can I love that? I can, just kill my brain right now, and stopped all the nightmares. What good will that do?

          How do I collect the pieces of myself that I threw? Why should I? Even if I get myself together, there is nothing I wish to achieve. Someone told me that I should seek a way to be happy. I am happy when I get to sit and read. Or ride the bicycle when I want. These are the things that irritate other though. I guess when people decided that you can amount to more, they didn't take into account that maybe you don't want more. Not everybody wish to lead. Not everybody wish to be somebody. Not everyone dies bit by bit wishing for an illusion they created to come back, knowing well that they drove that illusion away for a harsh reality that they can't cope without that illusion.

What happened to me?
What am I doing?

I remember Elle came one time when I was so depressed. He had the smell of mint tea. I hated it. I hated that depression and he had to come with the one flavour that I dislike. I can hear even with my head under the pillow the sound of water and Elle's cough. I thought for a while how I love that mint tea scent, and just by thinking of that Elle hinted that the small teapot wasn't in use. I hated his remarks. Always. I got up, went down, checked on my grandfather, then made mint tea. My grandfather loved how I carefully placed the leaves in a way he called art. I didn't like the scent, but I love it when Elle bent down when the wind blew and he smiled at my grandfather's remark and the evening was the most beautiful.

          Elle was the past that I threw away. I don't want him back. I miss him terribly. I'm mad. I'm foolish. And I am hardly happy without him.

What am I doing?