2004-04-28

Confused-Conformity

I have been awarded with the Humanities & Science Award from the University of Rochester.

Suddenly, after looking at that blue-gold plaque containing a carved out emblem reading "Meliora" in the center, thoughts of why I am even here began to all of a sudden resurface.

It is quite ironic that at the same moment the representative was announcing my name, I was within the confines of my four walls drowning in my own anguish and pity. The physical confinement intertwines with this restless internal struggle to slowly kill me.

I wonder if whether or not I remember true happiness. Morning soliloquies and one-thousand placid emotions dancing about in my chest. Utter happiness from watching the dark crows soar through the grey-etched clouds of winter.

Walking home in the afternoons after mock-trial practice-feeling reassured by those rose-pastel clouds that somehow my cause is noble. Passing that same looming tree as I watch the mint-forest green leaves float towards the concrete sidewalk.

I wonder if I even remember what the temperature felt like at dusk when I was the only person that mattered. The warm air is like curry to the famished pallate-I was embraced and caressed by the soft-hot dancing air molecules.

Memories are so much like ghosts--they haunt, they force us to remember, they inspire regret, pride, tears, anguish...

I still hear my old footsteps echoing in the hallways, and I still know the feeling of care-free Saturday morning.

Sometimes my current thoughts wander into the breath of conviction whispering that who I was is merely the epitomy of a confused-conformist.

I never wrote during those years--not like I do now. The feeling was dormant and the past events were required to slash open my soul. Creativity and talent must be bled out through deep gashes.

As a writer, am I good? Do my words make sense, or am I the only one who understands my writing. I care not for grammatical structure or correct punctutation (I'm a "comma-happy" person). I care for their bitter-sweet taste as I slowly mouth them over and over.

I am defined by melodrama, sadness, and the ever-present hope of having someone love me one day.

In my head it's similar to the cold, stone-rigid gargoyle statue doted on above its neighboring marble statue. I see two frail hands re-sculpting the crevices, passing their fingertips over the gaps and coarse texture of the stone--this is the image of appreciation. A distorted image that I hold in my mind as to what love is supposed to be--as to what my love is supposed to be.

One day I stopped caring about everything and all too soon realized that nothing is quaint.

Quaintness is a state of distorted perfection to me. Life continues like a solid line of cold steel. Not a dirt road, not a garden, not a river.

Another day passes me and leaves me breathless with its gentle embrace of goodbye. I fail to notice my aging soul, but don't hesitate in revering in it. My sole wish is to awake, and feel true happiness.

Let me take this brief moment to show my gratitude to the university (also my top-choice university). Perhaps I will really be able to major in physics at your school. Either way, I am in a state of immeasurable happiness.

aeka at 12:32 p.m.