things i wish i had been taught

i am now young as i am old,

so many things i should've been told;

that weren't taught by books on a shelf,

like how to laugh at one's own self.

with all the riches in the world,

of gold, and diamond, and of pearl;

that could not buy one lesson true,

that money won't live life for you.

through all the persons that i've met,

i wish i'd learned one thing as yet;

to see in others what is best.

and life will take care of the rest.

still, oh, so weary, do i grow,

for more pure things, i wish to know;

that is another - the crave - the yearn,

to always hope, and wish to learn.

but, most of all, i should've known, before i am from grace to fall,

"be happy with what we already have, that happiness may bless us all".

every damn book

perhaps, the one thing that i am proud of when people stereotype me of is that i read. i may not read the most books in a year compared to those who are deservedly called bookworms, and i definitely do not write enough to pretend to call myself an author of books, myself; but, i do read every so often, and of varied enough material that i can happily call myself a reader, and perhaps even a somewhat-learned person.

i cannot say the same for many other things that warrant stereotyping - that of race or religion, of gender or predisposition, of political inclination or awareness (neither of which i have even the slightest inkling), and a hundred thousand other things. but definitely, mostly regarding the first couple of things that i’ve listed. in fact, i am ashamed to say that with regards to race and religion, i have found myself so far lacking that i am impeded and sometimes distraught because of them (and, of course, their stereotypes).

in any case, i read. for those who share a similar interest, or are sometimes forced to do so, i hope you can empathise with empathy. that when i read any book, it often times does not matter what themes and questions are raised by the author. instead, i find myself honing in, or at least accentuating themes that are pertinent or relevant to my current (ongoing) situation(s) in life. in fact, i can even emboss and embellish the themes beyond the writing of the book, which mayhap is the reason that i find solace and escape in living vicariously through works of fiction. and when i can relate, even in the slightest, to a character - well, this is where ink and paper become the lifeblood of not just those persons, but perhaps even myself.

of course, this all is very fanciful in writing, and has an alluring mystique fit for rogues and despondent lovers. but what tangible is come from all of it, and more importantly what can i relay to you, the reader here, regarding such superfluous endeavours?

i read 'the brothers karamazov' not too long ago. alyosha, or alexei is a protagonist that captures my empathy to no end, of which i choose not to elaborate, if only so that a loose coalescence of ideas may be formed of the abstract i wish to convey, by reading through the next few example characters i wish to mention. which brings me to another alexei, with whom i share the reticence and stoic-ness of love (where i have given it away, but to no reprecussion), yet cannot swear to have even a portion of whose nobility and honour - that who is so misunderstood (and beautifully so portrayed) in anna karenina.

of course, i have listed before a few others, such as the loveless for fermina daza, and the fulfilled of elizabeth bennet. but for today, a nearly-unnamed and perhaps unsung hero:

the chaplain from catch-22. now, i would implore that, if the reader is to read only one book for the entirety of this year, it should be catch-22. and if there should be one character that does not attract attention, but should be given more than is warranted, it should be the chaplain. for he, as i should want to see so much in myself, is guilty of all charges made against him, because the crimes are his. i feel, that if it is inappropriate to say, then at least i have said it in privacy, that this is particularly so of the uncharged faults that the chaplain is also guilty of pertaining to all his relationships - barring perhaps the one irony that does not serve my situation at all, his relationship with his wife. however, if anything can be learned from the chaplain's torment future of being guilty of all accusations not yet made against him, i should relinquish all responsibility, authority, and (un)fortunately all joy that can be made from such future things before they can come to pass - absolving me from all that could be made against me (and with this, wishfully, all that is worse than nail clippings in a box, though i can imagine no greater sin).

before the detritus that already is this paragraph unhinges into something slightly more than mindless dribble and aloof proclamations of love and lust, let us all take a moment to remember that all of this future sin could be avoided easily by remembering ones place. my place. because in any decent outfit, no chaplain can be a major, much less a colonel or general. and even those who aren't chaplains, they may (quickly rise to the ranks and) become someone, but never become more than; especially if the appearance of that person is so easily pigeonholed: of grotesque physique, or infidelity in faith, or laughable accent in speech, or a slouch of gait and posture. but, especially so, if the name is any indication or leader. a name of great import, of high esteem but low amiability, that of major major.

if only i had known

'do not grow up, it's but a trap!' i wish i had been told,
when i was young, while growing up, before i'd become old;
they'll laden you with chores and jobs, and dinners, stale and cold,
with adult responsibilities, and bills of the untold!

a hundred thousand and two score more of duties to be done,
then add about fifty-two more for each accomplished one;
while toiled away with worries including all under the sun,
and trying to convince yourself 'at least i'm having fun'.

'don't get a job, it's just a farce!' i wish they'd told me so,
while i was young, like bamboo shoots, while i had yet to grow;
what is it for? just money's sake? i've heard worse, i suppose,
a vital evil for a house, a car, and to propose.

and on that note, i wish they'd warned me, 'never fall in love!'
for what the heart has deigned for is from hell and high above;
that best you can do for the one is stop short of enough,
much like a fleeting, despondent, and skulking caged white dove.

but most of all, i wish that they'd told me just this one thing -
i wish they'd told me that we're all but mere and mortal beings;
'do not grow old, for with it comes all ailments, sickness, death,
and torments filled with dread regrets you'll hold with your last breath'.

not all is lost, however dreary made but all these naughts, there's hope yet still for all your children, brazen by the bunch:
'if all with growing is but fright, and sign of your demise, know that you're still an adult and can have ice cream for lunch'.