Horror Vacui

Horror vacui, n.
Horror of empty spaces; An aversion to empty spaces in artistic designs

We fill moments with memories.   I can see now that I've been consciously and unconsciously trying to fill 2012 with just about anything, trying to push away the quiet, embracing the frenzy.  I filled 2012 with lights and sounds, with people, with places and food and experience, with school, family, sometimes mundane things.  

I guess I did all these in hopes of self-actualization or something... but I always find myself asking: Where was I?  Memories are much too hazy, unreliable.  I was here and there -- both living in the moment and far, far away.  Which is good and bad, I guess.

 Even if my 2012 planner is bloated with tickets, words, red letter days, I don't feel like I had made the most out of it. Even if I've made myself especially busy.  The truth is that Twenty-twelve had been a year of escaping and turning my head away, of risks and foolishness, of selfishness, of superimposing truths and feelings with smiles (none of them fake, but most of them empty) and some semblance of courage.  But I find myself drawing out emotions, siphoning feelings resulting into half-experiences.   

And so I've filled 2012 in hopes of covering up everything I should have felt a long time ago.  But I guess, I hadn't anticipated to be faced with reality.  The truth has a funny way of clawing itself out, true purposes (whether intended or otherwise) are always revealed. 

I have to start letting myself embrace the emotions.  It's okay to be sad or angry.  It's okay to be happy. It's okay to want things. I need to start appreciating the stillness -- stop flitting from moment to moment without really being in them.

2012 was about horror vacui.
2013 is about being.

(In my planner somewhere: Moments are meant to be shared.  

But alas.  Here we are.  And here, you are not.)

It's okay to be sad or angry. It's okay to be happy.

&

2013