I am Looking For Me

I searched myself,

https://www.flickr.com/photos/9933300@N02/5803068620

on Google.

Three times in an hour, not sure
what I was looking for.

Bored.

Clueless, for sure.

I saw my name popped up,

I saw me, my picture, news, accolades, data, information, Google, Bing.

Do people have time to read all this?

Do I exist outside of these pages?
Am i defined by these info layers?

Neon-lighted, layered, e-pages that no one cares for?

Does it matter?

I scrolled and scrolled down the pages,

So many identities, names, profiles.

Lying their unnoticed and unrecognized.

Lifeless lives, electronically dead, decaying encryption, digital IDs.

I searched myself, again, hoping to find something new, although,

I know.

Nothing has changed in an hour.

The cycle continues, and even-though I know

there is nothing new to look for. 
Yet.

I searched myself, one more time.

Is it to confirm that I am still alive? Or

To ensure my existence?
Is it because I don't know what else to do? Or
I cannot decide what i should do?

Google does not have answer to my questions.

Am I trapped with-in a powerful data center?

Am I becoming a series of codes?

Who knows?

One last time,

I searched myself.

To know I am alive.

To know, I am still being upgraded.

I could see a new update patch coming,

to add info on my profile page.

The new info was

the date of my digital death

Now, I know

what I was searching for

I was searching for me, myself.
Searching for that cannot be found on a page.

I was searching my soul.

Red River Valley

Have you ever felt that the path you are walking is already walked, sometimes before that you are not aware of? Would it be normal to feel so strongly that you see yourself on the screen when you are watching a movie?

Just happened. And I am not able to forget how that young boy sang "Red River Valley" in the movie "Wild". His innocence and the portrayal was so raw, I am not able to stop thinking how poignant his voice was, how velvety were those eyes. He appeared for, maybe, a minute or so. But he was so true to his words, I could not let that face go away. A rejuvenation, find-yourself-from-others moment in its true sense.

I felt the connection. I was crossing the Pacific trail alongside Reese Witherspoon. I was feeling the heat of Southern California desert, almost touched the nice lush forest, shriveled in that snowy mountain-pass, and completely drenched by west-coast torrential thunderous rain. I normally do not relate to movies and I am definitely not an audience who looks for an artistic twist in every plot. I am not "god-fatherly", cliche af.

How do you let go of something? I am a keeper. I secretly stored my texts, photos, and more than that - memories. 

I thrive on memories. Memories - some are good and some are bad. And others, well, they are precious- good, bad and ugly.

"Red River Valley" from the movie made me search the song and there was Marty Robbins. And, I must admit that I am in awe of his voice. So much so that, I am compelled to come back to my good old blog. Where I don't want to come back, just because I have some memories here - overtly raw grammatical memories.

Marty Robbins is my new favorite. I have been listening to his records and continuing with John Denver for almost two hours now.

Ripping the book pages you already finished reading to lessen the weight. What a life lesson that is. Don't hold on to your memories. They bring you grief, attachment, and sorrow. Rip them apart so that you don't have to carry the baggage. If only, I can do that the way I was able to understand the analogy.

Our memories are old chambers. No-one can access the corners and alleys. Well, not yet. Who knows the "Black Mirror"-ish future where memories are uploaded to the cloud for reference.

As of now, I am holding on to my memories. I am yet to rip them apart. I am trying and there are some pages, lost, and for good.

Here's a red river valley.