The Life Is Simple yet Complicated Agony

Confusius once said 'Life is simple, it's us who make it complicated"
Guess what? The man is Goddamn right. For most of the time we, human, always try to create a gray area, the in between black and white area. At one time simply because we don't want to lose both the essence of black and white.
We struggle to find a middle way between black and white out of fear of losing.
We don't want to completely lose what our left hand holds nor do we want to lose what our right hand holds.
Thus making us thinking very hard, complicating things,in justification of looking for the best solution but still doesn't want to lose anything.
Controlled by the fear and desire, we forget that we are losing something more important in life. Time and momentum. Two things that none of in this world can make them both comeback again because God forbid, if time traveler machine does exist, world is definitely at its end.
So why does we tend to make life complicated?

The answer lies inside of our self. I can just point out whatever I feel it would match for the reason, but that would be my own reflection of my own experience when I complicated life by entering the gray area.
It's when I forgot asking myself "What do you really want?"
It's when  I forgot asking myself "What makes you happy?"
It's when I forgot asking myself "How do you really feel about it?"
It's when I forgot asking myself "Why is your fear controlling you?"
Most of the time it's because I am to afraid of letting myself talk to myself and ask myself the one million dollar question "Which hands will make you happy, which hands will make you sad, which hands will make other happy and which hands will make other sad"
And when I am not ready to deal with the real answer because I am not ready to let myself be happy, or let myself be sad or let other be happy or let other be sad, then I will try so hard struggling to find a way, not choosing the black or white, the right or left hand, so that I can be happy, others can be happy.
After that, I am good...for awhile until the vicious cycle comes back to me again. And so I have lost the time and momentum of choosing from the beginning whether it's black or white.

Wait a moment....

Did you just realize that I have just complicated what supposed to be a simple writing?

Now you see my point?

Love
Dee

Repost from Thought Catalog: Instead of Loving Someone You "Don't" Want To Be With

Below is a re-post from Thought Catalog  (http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/what-you-can-do-instead-of-loving-someone-you-cant-be-with/) but instead of using the original title on my blog page, I change it into the title that I love.

Why did I change it? Wait... let me think....

Ah... maybe because for me when it comes about love, it's not a matter of whether you can't be with your loved one but it's the matter of not wanting to try hard enough to be with your loved one. 

It's not a matter of not having the capabilities of being with your loved one, but it's the matter of actually, if you dare to admitted, you don't really love your loved one that strong enough. 

 At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what your excuses are for the "can't be with you" love story. It's just that you love your loved one, but you have stopped wanting to be with your loved one, yourself. 

 So, when you eventually decide that you can't (read: don't want to) be with your loved one, always remember it was started by yourself, ended by yourself and shall be started again by yourself... 

 

Now, enjoy the re-post...

 

Love

dee

      

What You Can Do Instead Of Loving Someone You Can’t Be With

Jul. 10, 2012

By Stephanie Georgopulos

Instead of loving someone you can’t be with, fictionalize them. Reimagine your encounters as dreams: the kind you wake up from, shake off, disregard; not the kind you journal, analyze, relay relentlessly to bored friends. Treat them like the subject of a poem that tickles you in the chest cavity but only very slightly, a poem you copy paste publish on the internet and forget about soon as you read something else worthwhile, something that moves you to repeat the process like you’ve never read poetry before. Think of them the way you remember characters from books you haven’t read in a while; fondly but vaguely and all smudged ’round the edges.

You can fill your days with hobbies, god knows unrequited love swallows free time like it’s air. Why not begin running, learn to get away, and fast. Or you could read a few novels, is there a more efficient way to stack your life with characters who will eventually leave? Because that seems to be the type that attracts you, the ones you know will end before they begin. You can knit, keep your fingers busy and away from the phone and away from that soft patch of skin you like to hold when you’re alone, to remember. You can finally learn to swim, because it’s summertime and there’s nothing else to do and you’re so good at holding your breath, anyway.

Remind yourself that you are other things besides in love and hopeless and sort of sad in the saddest way possible like, you are also a friend or a son daughter or an employee student and also a thinker, a doer, a person who lives and has lived before this sad, sad mess came to pass. Think about when you were a five-year-old on a beach somewhere collecting shells and digging moats and chasing strangers through the sand because you were about the same height and had the same castle-building interests and wore almost-matching swimsuits. Remember when you were a 10-year-old who wore smiling faces on t-shirts and backpacks and scrunchies and when you were a 13-year-old who was ashamed for having done so. Remember when you were 17 and began to form a soft casing around your stomach that spoke to your affinity for beer, remember when you turned 21 and spent the night spinning and drinking and kissing the best friends you’ll ever have. Remember whatever age you were the first time you had your heart broken and how the pain felt endless until it ended and then it was like you’d imagined it all, a fever dream of a romance. Uncountable things to define who you are, and the only one you toil over is the one you’re not permitted to have you silly, silly…

Go be silly with someone else and maybe you won’t love them, but maybe you will. Maybe you’ll see-saw between having everything and nothing to say to one another until you’re wearing each other’s weight and finding yourselves somewhere in the middle. Maybe in a rush of words they’ll say something arbitrary that for some reason makes your stomach smile, you know, tickles you in ways that a copy paste publish poem can’t. Maybe you’re unsure because you’ve already invested your thoughts and feelings elsewhere without yielding any profit or interest; maybe you feel safer holding on to what’s already failed because that failure is familiar and comfortable and you wear it so well. But maybe — and this is just another suggestion — maybe you can try again, instead of loving someone you can’t be with.