9 Crimes

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If u don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright...
With you?
- Damien Rice, 9 Crimes

Still trying to figure out what this song means. But it's nice.

Reflecting is a vital part of any purpose making one may have in life. It is easy to get wrapped up in the cycle of doing things as part of a routine, and forgetting the greater purpose that one may serve in the larger scheme of things.

I wonder how much time i have spent reflecting like this for a long long time.


Looking at you makes it harder
But I know that you'll find another
That doesn't always make you want to cry

Started with a perfect kiss then we could feel the poison set in
Perfect couldn't keep this love alive
You know that I love you so, I love you enough to let you go

It's almost an onimous sign. Is it so difficult?

Yes. It is. It breaks my heart. My very core of my soul.

But isn't this what it is about? Sacrifice? So much has been done for me. It's time for me to do the same for others. It's not that I need to 'payback' or get retribution. I'm doing it against the very intuition, desire and hope that I have. The few things that keep me breathing and feeling alive. I can see why they say love is tough. It's like the pouring out of one's soul, putting it at the very risk of someone abusing it, breaking it, trampling on it, belittling it.

I really don't mean to sound so.... down? But I'm not. I'm just reflecting.

Those who are thristy, come to me and drink.

It's like my feet knows exactly where to take me, even my head cannot conjure the images that I lost 3 years ago.

I wouldn't call it a pilgramage although it does feel like there needed to be some closure, or some consolation from this journey. It's like so much has changed and so much hasn't. I find comfort in the things that stayed the same, and I found beauty in the things that didn't. Random images come to my mind and I come to realize that maybe my memory isn't as good as I thought it to be. Or maybe I just wasn't trying hard enough.

"City lights shine down upon the place that I call home
Surrounded by a million but I feel like I'm alone
And I might be a nobody to you
But if I'm playing, would you listen?"

The stinging cold winds on my face, the 'wrong' side of traffic, the mere insignificance of my existence around those I pass by, was this what's left behind?

But I am content.

It struck me how Law cannot save.
No one does everything right.
No one.

How can you call yourself merciful and loving if you tie strings to the forgiveness given?

No.

Someone asked me, how can you love your children equally if one child is always doing wrong things and breaking your heart?

Then what is the point of love? Is it to be earned? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of it all? Because no one can earn enough.

The point of Love is exactly that we will not be able to earn it, and yet we are still shown love.

I'm glad I came. It's good therapy.

A walking contradiction, ignorance is bliss.

The beginnings of complacency is the end of understanding.

If forgiveness is not extended, not explicated, not offered, then the person at fault is condemned to a downward spiral of shame, guilt and unforgiveness for the self.





That is why I believe. It's the only thing that brings us hope.

You see things differently at different phases of your life.

It has become quite clear to me at this point, why they always say that being a child equates to being care free, to being without worries. Being a child again means mostly good things to most.

But a child worries too. She worries whether she will get to play after she finishes her homework. She worries whether she will get the toy she always wanted for her birthday this year.

These matters seem so minute juxtaposed against the worries of whether one can save enough for retirement, whether one can survive the economic downturn, whether one can find the meaning in life.

But a child also worries whether her parents and her friends will love her.

And in the midst of our adults' concerns, I feel that this represents a fundamental, human need that everyone feels.

It seems to always come back to this: LOVE. The most complicated four letter I feel exists in any human language. (Of course, in every human language, it may not always be a four letter word)

But beneath that lies something more fundamental... something more that caused the stone tablet to crack that fateful night to break the curse of the world.

I miss writing like this.

Sheesh. With bad english to boot.

It amazes me how much immaturity can show through times of adversity. But everyone has their own way of coping. Can't blame you.

You can call me whatever you want, but you remain a coward if you never want to speak to me about it.

What a hypocrite. And no, I'm not afraid to call you that because I have witnessed what you do and what you say.

But that's all I will do. Because I know that if I build on this bitterness, it can only turn inward and harden myself. I will let it go.

Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.