Read Between The Lines. 3:14am

Don’t run from my mind.
I know we live in the Internet era, a picture paints a thousand words, a thousand followers, do the math…
but don’t run from my mind.

Easier said than done.
I know it’s hard for you to prioritise time, but that’s all we have and all we spend, so once again do the math?
But just don’t run from my mind.

The lost soul, the writer. The desired outcast, in a place where sometimes the bridge feels to far to cross, it would be easy to burn it.
For now enter my mind.

Subliminal but sublime, read between the lines and find your way across this ocean which is my mind. If pressure breeds diamonds and burst pipes which am I?

If nothing else, just don’t run away from my mind.

SBIW, Asya Valentine

Still Busy In Wonder: Lost Hope… Chapter 10

It’s been a while, apologies, I hope you understand when I explain the issue. The problem is the people with the voices don’t always have the information. We glorify and promote the misguided when we should be teaching them, giving them the resources to relay the greater message. I find that often the people who are heard are the ones who can speak with the masses, the ones who speak in the language of the many and match the intelligence of the unknowing. If you keep hearing messages from those who know nothing how will you ever grow?

It’s bigger than the individual, we are the sum of our parts. The misguided leading the ignorant, the ignorant becoming the misguided and continuing the toxic circle. At times I write then discard, then write again, all the while refraining to post. It’s easy to say something when you have nothing to say, but when you’re really trying to say something, when you really have a message, the hardest thing is finding a way to package it.

At times I lose hope. When I see all what is being celebrated and promoted my faith in what I believe to be the right thing dwindles. I wonder if my idea of right and wrong is a mirage, if I am the only one who is unheard then maybe my message isn’t the one that the world wants. If I am the only one who is voiceless then maybe my tune isn’t the one that’s needed. For my tune is harsh, it isn’t always going to be fine, for a butterfly to fly it must face darkness, the same way for the people to move forward we must sacrifice.

This is my hope and its dying. Maybe this isn’t the best place for me to relay all my thoughts, so I hold back, the words mirror my tears that grow from ear to ear but never fall. My hope is the candle that was never lit, instead it waits for a spark that never comes and a shine that was never promised. My hope is lost and at times, I don’t think it will ever be found.

SBIW, Asya Valentine 💔

Still Busy In Wonder: Lost In Wonder, 4am… chapter 9

image.gifTimes like this my mind ticks. I wonder what awaits me, what’s next in this life. One of my youngers told me he’s lost in life, he looked at me like I had the answers but all I can offer is an ear. I ain’t selfish I’m just lost too. So uncertain, not sure where this journey will take me. All I can do is document this all. The thing about being lost is you never really know exactly where it is that you are trying to go. Imagine being on a train without a final destination, you just sit and wait, hoping that someone will tell you where to get off, but nobody shows, so you sit and wait and wait and wait.

I guess I had sort of made peace with the idea that I am yet to fully understand my own path, but seeing him and hearing him talk was like looking in a mirror. Imagine someone telling you about their life, assuming their feelings are foreign to you, but on so many levels you can relate and no matter how much you relate, in that moment your job is to appear to have the answers. How do you tell someone who needs answers that you need the same answers they seek?

Everything is so temporary, even the feelings. These are the thoughts I hardly disclose. The burden of success in a materialistic world, the pressure to achieve something tangible in this disconnected world. It’s difficult to ‘compete’ in a world that doesn’t share your goal post. I think I found myself lost with the idea of what life is in the modern world.

SBIW, Asya Valentine 📝❤️

Grenfell Tower fire is not a tragedy, it’s a DISASTER.

imageI struggled writing this. In fact I didn’t want to write this at all. I shouldn’t be writing this because quite frankly it shouldn’t have happened. After hours of interviews, hours of debate and a seemingly endless stream of consciousness, one thing is certain, this was no tragedy. This is a disaster, the likes of which will never be forgotten and should be spoken about as such. Many are suggesting that the death toll could rise to the hundreds and this is only the beginning.

As we now stare at what has become a painful reminder of everything that is wrong with capitalism, the greed, the disregard of life that is seen in the face of profit, we must demand justice. The cosmetic use of unsafe cladding to appease tourist and rich people who are viewing the building is, was and will always be a disgrace. Austerity and greed, the combination that is responsible for this unbelievable destruction… the price for a proper standard of living should not be death.

With a public inquiry announced by Prime Minister Theresa May, we must be clear about what this means. This is a government led investigation, how can we expect the government to fairly investigate the government? It’s a conflict of interest, very similar to new housing regulations that conservative MPs voted against, despite almost 80 of the MPs profiting from this. What we need now is an inquest, separate of government, with no conflict of interest or bias, an inquest for justice.

I initially didn’t want to write anything. I wanted to collate all of the facts around the situation before speaking on it out of the fear of being clouded by emotions. But it’s these same emotions that carried me and so many others, whether it was those who were bringing supplies for the survivors, those who were organising supplies or just those who where there to show solidarity and strength in numbers. The community started to walk what will inevitably be a long road to justice and healing, a community that is now mourning loss and once again being shown by the establishment that we do not matter.

The tower now stands as a testament for what happened here. A symbol of disaster and pain, a reminder for us all. I’d like to end by offering my condolences to the victims and all those who were affected by this disaster. Your lives were abruptly and prematurely taken by a system which has shown time and time again that poor people are disposable. A system which was never built for us to thrive, a system that fully intends to separate people and base their value as a human on their ability to generate money. This is not a broken system, this is austerity working exactly how it was designed to work.

Long Live Latimer, Rest In Peace to all. SBIW, Asya Valentine

 

 

 

 

Still Busy In Wonder: Writers Block… Chapter 8

Over the last week I have wondered the question ‘what should I write about next’. At first I frantically wrote, re-wrote and promptly discarded of several new blog pieces. My initial thoughts were that it is my duty to provide a certain quantity of posts. So much so that I found myself rushing and forgot the true essence of what it means to me to be a writer.

The essence of writing to me lays within the heart. It’s an emotion, you do not write out necessity, you write out of love. It’s about writing because I want to. When writing becomes routine and too planned it becomes mundane, in fact, for me this can be said of all passions. It’s about getting into that zone, that zone where your fingers move before your thoughts do. That zone where all you want to do is write, the same zone that I was in when I first fell in love with the pen.

I understand that all things need some sort of structure, but the will to write is in a zone of its own. For a piece of writing to truly speak to someone it needs its own spirit, its own soul, a sort of identity that can only be built outside of structure. Never let necessity build within your passion. Always leave a layer of innocence with your passion, to protect it from the chains of structure.

SBIW, Asya Valentine

Still Busy In Wonder: The Philosophy – 2am… Chapter 7

I am a weird person. I find myself awake at random times, thinking random things, dreams, plans and general thoughts. I spent years chasing ideals that I thought mattered and dreams that I thought I believed in. Money, relationships and material things. I spent years chasing these things thinking these things had any bearing on my individual happiness, only to find that I am a being of solitude.

I refer to myself as a convenient extrovert. I am able to become an extrovert when the situation calls for me to be one, but generally I am an introvert. Not in the sense that I am shy, more that I enjoy my own company. My favourite time of the day is 2am, the time when I am alone, the time when I can ask myself questions and get to know myself. 2am is when I fall in love with myself. As a child I spent my days lost struggling with identity and working out what it was that I wanted to be. Those late nights, or early mornings depending on your perspective, shaped me, 2am is where I found myself.

I have spent my entire (short) life believing in the myth of validation. This idea that worth isn’t ultimately intrinsic, the fallacy of approval and the burden of peer pressure. In pursuit of such things its easy to forget yourself, lose yourself or never even give yourself the chance to know yourself in the first place. Its easy to find yourself trapped in expectations and conformity, so much so that you never discover your unique beauty, what it is that truly makes you special. 2am is real, its raw, its honest. I’m a great advocate for vulnerability, I believe its a necessity when forming the foundations of all relationships, even the relationship you have with yourself.

So often I find that we neglect ourselves in favour of extrinsic phenomena. If not we then me. In the hope of pleasing others I forget to please myself and embrace the things that truly make me happy. I love myself, I always love myself. But at 2am I fall in love with myself, every night I learn just that little more about myself. As I sit awake at 2am, busy in wonder I find that there are so much layers to my character that I ignore throughout the day, but at 2am I shine. My soul sings and my spirit dances until the morning comes and its back to normal. The mundane regularity of life, but I get through it, knowing that at 2am when I return to my shell, my natural introverted habitat the stars will align and once again I will fall in love with myself at 2am.

two-timw.jpg

Still Busy In Wonder: The Generation… Chapter 6

imageThe dreamers generation, the ones who were taught we could move mountains and count grains of sand if we put our minds to it. The ones who were sold the myth of meritocracy, simultaneously being sold the propaganda that our democracy was more than bureaucracy. The lost generation. The children who were taught to love things and not people, to chase a vision that we could never see, to believe in the same systems that let us down time and time again. The celebrity generation. The ones who were raised by the Internet and television, taught that the individual is always more important than the community. Generation Z.

We believed in the dream, the idea that we would all make it. The idea that if we worked just that little bit extra we would all climb the hills of prosperity side by side. The idea that war and hate live in the past, protected by safe spaces and safe havens, bubbles of sorts, bubbles that are only penetrated by like minded thoughts. In the presence of dreamers all dreams seem real. But this is not a dream, this is reality. A reality that we were never prepared for.

Somewhere in the chase of the dream we lost the reality, we believed in the great myths and dismissed that which has always been fact. This is not a system that was built with the intent of sharing wealth, of ensuring that everybody grew together, equally. The idea was always to sell a dream that we could never catch, to believe in that which just isn’t and was never possible. It’s an illusion. The illusion of choice and the illusion of happiness, all intended to keep as distracted, distracted just long enough to raise and indoctrinate the next generation. An illusion that helps to make the cycle not brake it.

Still Busy In Wonder: The Philosphy – Thought… Chapter 5

imageStill busy in wonder. It’s not a secret or anything too profound. It’s just an adjective of sort, it describes what I do, what I am. I have a few philosophies that govern my life, they all bring me to the same place, with the same goals and the same feelings. Wonder. Not wonder as in something be great (wonderful), rather wonder as in thought. A place where I have an infinite amount of questions and points of views, for me this is tranquility, in thought I am still, at peace one could say. For me thought is is the shell which encloses all emotions from love to sorrow, from joy to pain.

To be busy in wonder is to be busy in thought. A juxtaposition of sorts, I mean thought and busy are sort of on opposite sides of the spectrum. Well that is the case when discussing passive thoughts, thoughts that come and go. But to be busy in wonder is to battle with active thoughts, to think of thought as an activity. I set aside time for thought in the same fashion that I set aside time for reading or hanging out with my friends. To be busy in wonder is to analyse thoughts, to have an opinion on thought, it’s a greater desire to understand things.

This is the first part to my Philosphy, my understanding of life.

SBIW, Asya Valentine

Still Busy In Wonder: Speaking vs Talking… Chapter 4

While reading an extract by Helene Cixous for an exam, I came across something which I found to be a rather insightful idea. in regards to the role of women, she said that they ‘talk endlessly… but they don’t actually speak’. This led me to ask myself a question, how many people do we talk to without actually  speaking and vice verse?

Its easy to find yourself in a position where you and someone may talk but never actually speak. For example, you can know somebody for years, talk all of the time and never know a thing about them, so much so that then they do finally speak, metaphorically or physically, you come to the conclusion that you never quite knew that person. It is possible, actually it is common, we often hear people complain how people have changed, how people no longer represent what you knew them to represent… but maybe in this instance the style of conversation has simply changed from talking to speaking?

The commonality of this can not be understated, there are many times when we gather very little from a conversation, when a conversation is just talk, mundane chit chat. We do this everyday. What we do not do however is speak, To speak is to be vulnerable, to speak is to allow somebody to know you, to know your opinions, to potentially dislike you and said opinions. Its much easier for us to just talk, its safe. Its very human to desire acceptance and those who speak too often are very rarely accepted.

I am not sure that this is something to be discussed or measure among gender lines. I think the topic rather revolves around the idea of assimilation. From the moment we are conceived we are taught to speak in one common language, a consensus that society as a whole must agree too. This language that started off as a way for us to speak has instead become a way for us to talk, a way for us say something while saying absolutely nothing. A way for us to fit in and communicate without running the risk of speaking, without running the risk of revealing ourselves too much, ensuring that we are always accepted.

This is a very logical process and for the most part it is Teflon. However there are situations where emotion beats logic and in such a situation it is impossible to avoid speaking. Speaking, unlike talking is natural, you speak with you heart, with your eyes, with your soul,. You talk with your mind, you talk what you are taught, what you know or at the very least think you know. But you speak what you feel, you speak what is within. Speaking is an unorganised language, removed from the restraints of talk and societal norms, that is why we hardly speak in such a rigid conformist society, but we talk all of the time.

SBIW, Asya Valentine2_men_talking_silouette