Silence hangs over us, but it is a different kind of silence, one that lets me breathe. I have nightmares about the other kind, the silence of when Papa was alive. In my nightmares, it mixes with shame and grief and so many other things that I cannot name, and forms blue tongues of fire that rest above my head, like Pentecost, until I wake up screaming and sweating. I have not told JaJa that I offer Masses for Papa every Sunday, that I want to see him in my dreams, that I want it so much I sometimes make my own dreams, when I am neither asleep nor awake: I see Papa, he reaches out to hug me, I reach out, too, but our bodies never touch before something jerks me up and I realize that I cannot control even the dreams that I have made. There is so much that is still silent between Jaja and me. Perhaps we will talk more with time, or perhaps we never will be able to say it all, to clothe things in words, things that have long been naked.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Purple Hibiscus
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Bu tarz şeyler çok küçüktür. Dert etmeye değmez hani bir insanın gidişini. Araştırmaya değmez nedenini. Bellidir zaten neden gittiği, bellidir zaten çoktandır sevmediği.
Bu tarz şeyler gerçekten çok küçüktür ama nedense her şey aşırı önemli,
Galiba kimse kimseyi gerçekten,
Sevmediği için bu durumlar bu kadar önemli,
Oysa tekçe samimiyet gerekli,
If the sage would guide the people, he must serve
If he would lead them, he must follow behind.
In this way when the sage rules, the people
will not feel oppressed;
When he stands before them, they will not be harmed.
The whole world will support him and will not tire of him.
Because he does not compete,
He does not meet competition.
—Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
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"I feel fine the best i've felt in quite a while"
I've felt a storm brewing,
its coming ever closer.
The pressure, the pain,
its not going away.
Closer it comes,
Leaving nothing behind.
When will it be my time to die?
Death, is it the end?
Nay, nary a thing to do,
but to scratch and to scream,
and hope death is like a fitless dream.
Dreams, a wrenching sensation of quasi death,
Whence do they come from, whence have they left?
All i get now are night terrors and frights.
Please ensure I have a strong Knight.
I wish to be all that i can be,
In the unfortunate neccisity i cannot;
Let me try.
Try, try, TRY.
Why do I try, all i do is cry out, trying, hoping for something to change.
No. It doesn't, never forever.
The pressure is on me.
I stumble, and cry hoping to never lie again,
why do i do it, the lies come so naturally to me.
The chaos is building, am i to be swept away?
I know not, think not, hope not. But, i have power... not.
My identity, fading, ebbing. Losing. Help?
I dont know who i am, am i a favela of lies, deciet and omissions?
Or am I a ball of lies that now truths?