RACING THOUGHTS Poem by Ma. Angelica Blessing Agaid
As time passes, I am slowly drifting away from the things that I love. I constantly find myself staring at the shelf full of books, untouched, paintbrushes and palettes clean and colorless, skateboard unscathed, and myself; empty. My hands suddenly had a mind of its own, carefully plucking the strings of my guitar—it feels like I am in a trance, I have forgotten what I was doing. What was it? Oh, I was trying to play the guitar. I don’t know how to play the guitar anymore. At the back of my mind, I still know how to, I just don’t have the courage and the energy to do it like I used to. I am now terrible at the things that I used to love. I am constantly tired. 4 hours of sleep are no different to 15 hours. The more I had sunk in bed, the more energy I drain. Is it possible to lose strength while in deep sleep? I need to stand up. Why was I standing up? I need to write this one. That house across my bedroom window has been left unoccupied for the last eleven years. The moment I have stepped foot on this room, and I looked outside the window, it looked empty. It was interesting for me, then. The things that are completely opposite to what we are, are deemed interesting. I wonder if I had grown accustomed to that house, so much, that it doesn’t feel that interesting anymore, or maybe I have grown attached to it. In my head, on the other hand, says neither of the two. I have come to understand the emptiness within its wall. A foreseen revelation: I am mirroring that house, empty and worn. Time had passed. The only thing productive in this room is my head. Its constant rambling and thoughts are the only thing running in this room. If I can only channel that energy to pick up a book, stroke a brush, pick up a skateboard, and play the guitar, maybe I wouldn’t be so empty. If I can only stop these thoughts. 15
