Point of View: Life

Have you ever wondered why out of so many lives scattered painstakingly around the universe, there's only one we can take before our eyes? I mean, this is how I see people. They're often agitated when everything is happening all at once. They are a bunch of angry beings customizing their masks to appear as human as they can be. I see that most of us are cruel because we have seen deadly than those diseases tiptoeing in between our societal boundaries.

I can clearly tell which hands visibly need not bleeding flesh or even the ones that can't help but bruise their bruises. Most of the time, my vision is laced with skepticism and disgust toward my kind. All my senses enable me to express the ugliest things I could ever venture for my mind because this is how I see. I ended up spitting mud at the lowest of this synthetic world I happen to exist.

Maybe there are a lot of made-up words to describe how one could experience hell and breathing. Others can constantly oppose that because we simply don't think alike. I may also have people on the same page as me but oftentimes, they wear the benefits of their doubts like a skin tone. Some, of course, have no idea what this is all about.

They live as free as wild birds. They can sink onto the vast land life and call themselves earthworms for as long as they want. They're too gifted to even dive through the waters like they are one with the sea. Some just exist in everything without being sick in the head for thinking that what they see is an exchange for something worst. Something gravely exquisite to the point of dying in envy. Something immensely blissful that they don't need what it takes to live. And up to this point, I still wonder why my gut tells me it's not a definition of something I should be grateful for.

Why must I not do the same? I think because life sees me as a perfect representation of today's mundane and emptied soul. There are many things I am not and a lot of petty and generic parts I contain. If I look outside the window today and see garbage from the rain, I could hate it. With disgust, I could have mirrored the world from what I see first-hand. Rains. Dirt. Cruel people. If I'm a summit of all mountains I want to climb, I could have said how nature makes half of all life on earth. With glee, I could have seen the world so differently. And myself, as far as what my eyes witness.

But I wonder, endlessly. Why am I thrown to the opposite ends of how books and movies directed something close to life? If I should just lead any genre to my desires and dreams. If there is indeed escaping when my mind travels through time with world-bending words of stories I have read. Or that is just what people so want that they thought something can be their refuge and yet the world is still the same. Soaring. Ruining. With purpose or without. Maddening all at once.

I want to see with my own eyes how others interpret the complexity of being an existential dread without exactly possessing the need to vanish. Because I am sick of owning my oldest fears that no one had any ideas about. I am most terrified of the anonymity of what's constant: change in despite is a dark abyss that swallows me whole, life as what we are is a crazy wild-through jungle that fuels my unanswered wonders, much to my insanity. I only think that if I am not what I see today, perhaps I could find a sensible reason from a life that is not mine.

I hope the curses within my veins tell an innocent soul while I'm away. So they could see life through my limbs and eyes, too. If their mind is run-down with paranoia and unknown faith, let them see the world in its flame and shame. I think my tattered intestines could have the same hunger just for a new perspective. They were unwell enough from the dust that tasted like claws and foams I have swallowed for years. If I could just see life in another mind, in a fantasy-built fate, in a peculiar scene that was never written, inside a body of a programmed existence—maybe I could doubt and still talk.

If I see my chance in these words, maybe I could close my wounds and understand. I could live without traces of desire in the afterlife or resurrection in a world I would never recognize. I would have possessed something great that I would no longer dishevel myself in this nonsensical... prolonged life.

@rks.wuhdrelis

_{A warrior of liberty. With ink stains on her mind and soul. Maayong adlaw! This page contains the information you might want to know about the author. She goes by the name Arques and is under the username @rks.wuhdrelis. She lives in Cebu, Philippines, and is a proud Bisaya. Arques is an 18-year-old girl, on a mission to her dream college and a writer wannabe is her reputation... Read more.}

_{Disclaimer: The prompt quoted at the topmost part of this blog is by far for inspirational purposes only. The author may have found an idea out of it and written a piece from this quote. Either way, the author's work is not directly connected to the original story where the excerpt came from.}