questions for my heart

on a night as this,
there is only the sound of jeff buckley available to accompany my soul.

i've been pondering, wondering
what makes me feel trapped?
whether i am trapped in one way or not theoretically is not the matter - we all are in certain ways - it's how i feel, which then affects my attitude, then behavior, etc., as a snowball rolling downhill that just keeps getting bigger, involving in more aspects of life, expanding in complexity... which would end with my soul dying..

so what should i do as a resolution to crush having to feel helpless and trapped at all?
escape is only temporary, it is only luxury offered only by the lucky combination of timeliness and an abundance of resources, which is a rarity in life - mine at least - and sometimes very much the wrong train to hop onto.

they say that you create your own opportunities...
but mine always seem to go bad, rot out, "crust and sugar over, like syrupy sweet," wrong moves done on heated impulses.


i just wanna go somewhere unnoticed. completely unnoticed. un-foretold to anyone else. to be me. to be unapologetically me. starting my own life.. sounds like a joke, doesn't it? why doesn't anyone believe that i can, and most of all, why do i not believe it myself? i know why. i've already made such attempts a couple times, with each ended up failing. the first time was due to my lack of self-sufficiency, resources, and mobility, and the second time - my most recent year in new york - ended up being an out-of-state educational imprisonment, an escape i meant that became another form of obedience, my permit to let them once again intrude into me and rip me apart. financially i had to depend on people who used allowance as a bait and my dignity, my independence, my need for control, as ransom. not in the ways you'd think, they do it so mercilessly yet tracelessly, leaving no visible scar, do it so subtly, that i have difficulty putting the blame on them, that i end up wearing the guilt myself, thinking that such psychological incapabilities, these wounds, were born out of me.


the meaning, extent, power, and limits of the act of creating, or just the hope of creating, just the possibility of creating.. embrace me. i will embrace you back.


on the 4-hour car ride in pasadena last night, i listened to this very song on repeat for hours.
the dead voice of the dead poet.. did ignite something within me. individual thought, personal objective. i'd like to know how he felt when he drowned in the river. i thought to myself in the car that i'd like to hear this song played at the moment i lose my final breath. i then started to wonder how he had felt in that moment.


sometimes i just want to be a woman. to simply perform the simply instinctual acts, roles, duties, of a legitimate woman, so i could feel more wholesomely deserving of this life.


one thing i do know is that
i am an entirely self made woman.

everything i wanted i had had to fight for. everything you see that i have now as a personal quality i had fought for. someone should have told life as it is straightforward, so i'd know how to play this game with a mindset firmly established ready to fight from the very beginning.
didn't i suspect that everything given to me had been beforehand poisoned, carefully planned out to suit the scheme of the abusers in power.