Wednesday, August 10, 2011
OPEN YOUR EYES
august 10, 2011.
i am in a gutter, but i can see myself. there is a light that gets filtered through the glass ceiling above me, the gutter almost an open space. this is my gutter, and i look up. but all i see are people. i do not see stars. they say if i look up from the gutter i should see stars. but the stars are nowhere to be found. the skies are cobalt, and perhaps, being rich in color, they get arrogant and stop studding themselves with some stars. the people, on the other hand, are red; they are looking down at me. they step on the glass ceiling above me, squatting, trying to read me, trying to figure me out. my eyeballs are filthy white, too white they become unreal when i look at the foggy reflection on the ceiling. where are the stars, i whisper. one day people will have to pray like me. they will wish for some stars, they will forget they use to wish for something else whenever they see the shooting stars. next time, they will wish for the stars, not something that is being prayed upon them. because only then will they realize that the very presence of the stars themselves is more than enough. these people, they cannot see what is outside of themselves, not even what is in their palms. these people, i do not wish to see these people.
these people, they all have what they have been looking for. they live their lives comfortably, either modestly, or extravagantly. either way, they are satisfied. they are those people who always look up, they can find stars because the glass ceiling is below them, the glass ceiling never tries to get on their way. i always think one day, i will get up, go through this glass ceiling when i really have to. i will throw my body, the glass will pierce through me, some other pieces will tremble in the air, shattered and scattered. and i will have to die, but i will not be afraid, because thinking about my death is such a comfort, a pleasant thought, because i do not have to think about others, about myself, about people who look down at people who have this kind of thoughts. because these thoughts, i am only keeping to myself, and no matter who is trying to persecute me, trying to break through this ceiling to get me, they will not have me, because i will be dead in my own thoughts. and you, you have no right to judge me, because you are living a perfect life, and such people who never wish to understand things that are different from themselves have no authority to call themselves 'perfectly normal'.
open your eyes and you will understand. we are living in the same world. why can i always see you, but you can never see me, it is not because of this glass ceiling, it is because you never try to open your eyes to something other than yourself. i have always tried to tell you, "just lift the lids. and your eyes will be opened." but you cannot hear me. because you are deaf to people who are different than yourself too.
i am in a gutter, but i can see myself. there is a light that gets filtered through the glass ceiling above me, the gutter almost an open space. this is my gutter, and i look up. but all i see are people. i do not see stars. they say if i look up from the gutter i should see stars. but the stars are nowhere to be found. the skies are cobalt, and perhaps, being rich in color, they get arrogant and stop studding themselves with some stars. the people, on the other hand, are red; they are looking down at me. they step on the glass ceiling above me, squatting, trying to read me, trying to figure me out. my eyeballs are filthy white, too white they become unreal when i look at the foggy reflection on the ceiling. where are the stars, i whisper. one day people will have to pray like me. they will wish for some stars, they will forget they use to wish for something else whenever they see the shooting stars. next time, they will wish for the stars, not something that is being prayed upon them. because only then will they realize that the very presence of the stars themselves is more than enough. these people, they cannot see what is outside of themselves, not even what is in their palms. these people, i do not wish to see these people.
these people, they all have what they have been looking for. they live their lives comfortably, either modestly, or extravagantly. either way, they are satisfied. they are those people who always look up, they can find stars because the glass ceiling is below them, the glass ceiling never tries to get on their way. i always think one day, i will get up, go through this glass ceiling when i really have to. i will throw my body, the glass will pierce through me, some other pieces will tremble in the air, shattered and scattered. and i will have to die, but i will not be afraid, because thinking about my death is such a comfort, a pleasant thought, because i do not have to think about others, about myself, about people who look down at people who have this kind of thoughts. because these thoughts, i am only keeping to myself, and no matter who is trying to persecute me, trying to break through this ceiling to get me, they will not have me, because i will be dead in my own thoughts. and you, you have no right to judge me, because you are living a perfect life, and such people who never wish to understand things that are different from themselves have no authority to call themselves 'perfectly normal'.
open your eyes and you will understand. we are living in the same world. why can i always see you, but you can never see me, it is not because of this glass ceiling, it is because you never try to open your eyes to something other than yourself. i have always tried to tell you, "just lift the lids. and your eyes will be opened." but you cannot hear me. because you are deaf to people who are different than yourself too.
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