On Seymour Hoffman, the blurred lines of being alive, and the cherry blossoms

When Phillip Seymour Hoffman passed away, I was baffled. I liked him. I have always wanted to be share a period of time with legends, having people like Kurt Cobain or The Doors to live their music in or or watching Humprey Bogart and feel that he's weirdly real. Hoffman helped me achieve that.

His "Capote" was sick. I loved his every strain of his silver blonde hair; and, "Synecdoche, New York" was just compelling. I love that he was not handsome, that he was subtle. Sometimes you forgot that you have watched a movie with him in it, like The Hunger Games. My friend and I ended our conversation following the news of his death by trying to remember his last movie that we watch, it took us to midnight to recall that we just watched Hunger Games together two months ago.

His death was disturbing yet predictable. It felt like it was almost natural that a person like him would encounter death as such. Sad, but too real. “Foolishness is the main recipe of happiness and long life," so a friend said. The statement annoyed me that I ended up reiterating all this nonsense about happiness is too socially structured. It's a good thing. But like every thing else in this world, once it got to human's twisted thoughts, it became disruptive.

The idea to have one thing better than the other, that life should be lived in a certain way, with a certain emotion; that there would be emotions that worth more; things more worthy to have to help you get to a certain emotion, well, it sucks. Those who want to be happy, who are in the journey of the so-called ‘pursuit of happiness’, are foolish. It is indeed  easier be fooled: letting them show all the positive sides of things, making the world a little bit bearable to deal with, being thankful with what we have and hopefully we’d find that happiness by doing so? Stand by that, on your own sense though because there is no such thing as being happy.

Being happy is impossible because we can't. It's a becoming; when there's no fix form, because it will always, always, find its new shape. 

You know, what I was thinking when I thought of this? Cherry blossoms. They will be gone by September, but man they're pretty. You wouldn't think they're not pretty just because you can't see them then; you know they are awesome. Period. I don't know why I thought of them. I guess, they gave me a reason not to care about the world; and when fall come, they just go.

And so they go. Po-tweet.