Fragments of the Quiet Mind

It wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy. We were just moving out. A change of address. A few boxes. A goodbye email. That’s what the memo said. But the soul doesn’t read memos. The decision came down with the usual cold efficiency — political maneuvering dressed as “strategy.” Someone upstairs, removed the scent of our coffee or the soft glow of kindness at the front desk, decided we were better off elsewhere. More aligned. More brand-consistent. Whatever that means. I packed my things slowly. Not because there were many — a mug, some folders, a forgotten plant — but because everything in that space had stories tangled in it. The smile of the security guard who knew when you were too quiet. The landlord who once fixed the busted ceiling fan on a Sunday. The hallway where I paced during panic attacks and found calm in the hum of old fluorescent lights. How do you walk away from a place that remembers you when you don’t want to remember yourself? People call it “just a space.” T...

There are goodbyes that shatter, and then there are silences that echo. Not all endings announce themselves. Some just slip quietly into the background — like static you stop noticing until you realize the music’s been gone for a while. No slammed doors, no explanations. Just a gradual erasure, like watching ink fade from a letter you read too many times. You keep checking your phone, not because you expect a message, but because some part of you still hopes silence can be broken like a fever. Unspoken words hang heavier than shouted ones. The things we never said take on lives of their own — mutating into doubts, rewrites, what-ifs. You rehearse arguments you'll never have, play both sides until you forget which one was yours. And isn’t that the cruelty of silence? That it offers no shape to mourn, no moment to collapse against? Just a formless absence where meaning used to live. Closure is a myth we invented to survive unfinished stories. But silence — silence tells you there was...

To suddenly come to the realization that I bring nothing but pain and hatred... Is this because of the belief that  happiness is possible in a seemingly futile case?  In this futile attempt in trying to reach for dreams, we seldom think of consequences, and technically, we end up killing people close to us. I guess people have  to weed out all remaining hope in this utterly meaningless condition. In as much as this kills us, staying away is the most sane option. It’s as if the entirety of our situation where people once believed in the achievement of goals and dreams is now turning into a realistic nightmare where they are weighed down by their very definition of universal concepts regarding justice, love, hope, bliss and others – but the saddest thing is, people don’t actually agree with an objective perspective of how things are. Most often than not,  concepts are defined through people's pompous and subjective understanding of everything. What's worse is the stu...