The Websolace

In his sanctuary of solitude, he smiled
Took a peek back in memory
Laughed at his tears,
and sobbed at his jokes

Can never be too certain,
couldn’t been so wrong
Held hands together today,
but tomorrow played a new song

The best indication I have of my maturity has to be the not-so-subtle changes and needs in life.

Beer as an example.

Once new to alcohol itself, I preferred the ultimate beer a man could ask for–draft. Served straight from the keg or from the very machine used to filter it. Raw, pure…beer. Tastes great, a man’s man drinks this stuff. Over the course of my own aging, issues like calorie counting and alcohol content arised. Draft didn’t have the refinements I wanted; it was good, then there came better. Lights had lower calories, tasted sorta like draft but.. was unique to itself. I grew a few years, my criteria changed again according to the flow of my needs.

Even as shallow as to beer, there was passion in it. You spend time with something and you eventually get hooked, building a foundation around it. You get older and even your poison in drinking becomes unsettlling. The first and second weren’t willing to go the same pace I was– even if we’re just talking about static editions of beer. A gist; I made no mistake in draft nor lights, they were great but direction in drinking led to a change of preference.

Like nomads of before, we don’t really stay the same place when there’s a lack of sufficiency in the need that got us to where we were. We move on because life depends on it the same way it would have killed them once the supply of food ran out.

Not thinking selfishly, leave with grace. The beer was great, the shelter and habitat were too. Someday after we’ve left there’ll someone else to appreciate what we’ve passed through. The beer will always be drank and loved as the latter will flourish with sustenance again to accomodate others. Sometimes a sad story but somehow it’s part of the cycle of life. Change is constant, certain and is necessary for progress.

The desire for something better drives the will to move on. Knowing there will be –provides the motivation. In my own journey, I had to sum up the courage and bravery myself which led me to walk on the same same same road as I always have. The changes I’ve incurred throughout the path strengthened the way.

One day I know I’ll be finally happy with a certain distro of beer. I’ll be happy because I’ve peaked; I’m content. I’ll reminisce all that I’ve drank as if they weren’t there to be, I wouldn’t have built such a wall of quality to understand what I really wanted.

There’s a reason they came into my life and for the most part, I’m just thankful they did.

To alcohol, to the memories we might never recall, yet to the beers we’ll never forget.

by Christina Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
   Gone far away into the silent land;
   When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
   You tell me of our future that you planned:
   Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
   And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
   For if the darkness and corruption leave
   A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
   Than that you should remember and be sad.

Stolen!

NANCY. My turn. How many times have you been in love?

HENRY. Real times?

NANCY. You’ve faked being in love?

HENRY. No, but “real” can be a very murky thing for people when it comes to love. There’s high school love, which, when people are going through it, they think it’s real, but then you look back and all it is, is just … puberty juice. Then you got your basic college-love illusion, where feelings are blown way out of proportion by the fact that you can have sex somewhere other than a car.

NANCY. Some people experience real love at that age.

HENRY. At that age people are in love with the idea that they’re in love. They like how it makes them feel grown up. Then they’re crumbled when it ends because they realize it wasn’t a real adult love. (Beat) I’m gonna say that real adult love happens when two people who have been completely devastated by either of these delusions try to make a go of something new. When two formerly heartbroken folks make a choice to pursue new feelings for new people armed with the knowledge of how much it could waste them. That’s love. Knowing the risk. Knowing it could blow up and wreck you. But still diving in.

NANCY. Henry, you’re avoiding the answer.

HENRY. What?

NANCY. How many real adult times have you been in love?

HENRY. Oh. Zero.

NANCY. That’s depressing. Drink.

..with a smile.

Tonight I did something different and went back in time to actually read a poem I wrote. I never do this. Whenever I write a letter or poem, I wish it away to whoever I wrote it for; there’s always someone behind the writeup, whether it’s a friend, a love interest or to myself. You can check it out at: http://netcriminal.livejournal.com/57010.html.

I’m shocked. Maybe you’ll never understand the feeling of being born tomorrow when you lived yesterday too much; I’m awoken.

Reading back in time got me contemplating that I used to be a genius where now I only possess the blunt honesty having stripped off all the poetic sugarcoating. It makes me happy that I documented every experience and how it felt in a public web log. I can literally read myself growing up; all the stumbles and peaks and crashes. In a grand conclusion about myself I could honestly say I’ve lost a lot of the compassion I had for things, nevertheless, there was no major change but dozens of tweaks for the better and to balance out things.. for the worse too.

It had me reminisce how much I was in love with someone. It reminded me of certain scars of the past that shaped how I now cope with the present. At some point, I actually felt as if I was reading through another person’s writings, partly because I never read my writes, but it showed me my own evolution. It made me happy; it made me smile that I’m living the future I wrote about myself in the past. I remained strong, firm to ideals and I never lost sight of the direction a prepubescent boy carved the path for.

I didn’t turn out so bad after all, I’m living committed to the best things in life I knew all along.

Stay in love and never ever stop writing.