These days, the rain keeps coming, bringing down the flowers which have just had their first peek of the world.
I can’t help but to wonder, what is there to life. As there are many elements that are beyond our control, life as we see it always threw curve ball after curve ball, expecting us to get better with each one thrown.
Some, taught us technique.
Others, we can do nothing but to dodge.
Lastly, we get whacked by those of which we fail to avoid.
Not everything teaches us a lesson that we can use in our life next time, but it does tell us abit more about the person we are dealing with.
Looking at the fallen flower, floating on the puddle, when it has fully blossomed. Did it expect its end? I wonder if any bees had visited it before? Would it have had a chance for to turn into a fruit if it had survive the harsh rain?
So many questions, yet so little answers.
Does it actually want to turn into a fruit?
What do I want out of this life, actually?
A flower has its natural programme ingrained in its genes, do we too have things we are destined to do, carved in our DNA?
Confronting mortality hasn’t been easy, watching people say goodbyes is always difficult.
As I muttered a goodbye to the fallen flower, the wind blows.
The water ripples, and the flower danced one last dance in the water.
People often ask me, what do I admire about others. It is often, without thinking, that I would mention grit.
Grit is something valuable in everyone, it is the spirit that keeps us going when, possibly, all things are not going in our favor.
I admire my friends for their grit, resilience in different situations that they are chucked into. They didn’t accept failure, they turn failure into a stepping stone towards success.
Funnily, the one trait that I admire most about others, I lack in it. I may not be the most resilient person you would ever know. When things don’t happen how I envision it to be, the very first thing I would do, is to review the details, then proceed to beat myself over every single thing that could suggest the point of failure was. It was as though I went into something, fully envisioning that the idea that I was about to propose is the sole winning idea IS supposed to work.
When it doesn’t, I feel that says more about me as a person, rather than the idea itself. Then, I would start persuading myself that, hey, maybe I am better off not doing this. Since they cannot accept my idea, so whatever.
At first glance, it might seem like I am strong believer of my own capabilities, but retrospectively, it seems like I was stubborn mule (not to mention it looks like a highly defensive move).
There are many things that I can learn through that little mistake I did, like I shouldn’t try to ride a bike without proper brakes down a hill, rather than fixated on the scar that I can no longer erase from my leg.
The many months have taught me again and again, the value of having grit. To work on things, when the situation is tough, and the tides are against you. To adapt and learn to swim instead of thinking that maybe if I stay afloat I might somehow survive.
I want to do more than just survive, I want to grow, I want to progress. Be it mentally or physically, I want to move on from the point of stagnate.
So I started doing (but I still like to complain about it, just let me whine, I’ll be fine.).
Though I always like to say that I don’t feel much changes, when I look back, there are changes, although minor, it is a progress towards the direction that I set out upon. It was upon reflection, that perhaps, all the stresses, pain, tears, sweat and all that random nonsense, was perhaps quite worth it.
Perhaps, my return to the tennis court can be in 2022.
Perhaps, my choice of position can be in 2022.
Although there will always be people who will deny and hold opinion about the things I choose to do, I have slowly learn to tune out their words.
I have been reading alot recently, soaking in the world that others depict.
A recurring theme in the stories that I have read is about love – the love between lovers, siblings, parent and child, pets and above all, self.
Some had happy endings, others, not quite. Some depicted love as a struggle, identity crisis, habit, understanding. Not one was identical, but nevertheless, they are beautiful and haunting in their own ways. The experiences shared through beautiful writing reminded me that, no one is truly alone in the struggle, and if you are willing to look beyond, there are others willing to accept you for who you are.
(Even though you think that you can be an unlovable monster most of the time.)
It brings hope and calm during the morning rush commute, starting each day with an inject of fresh hope, that perhaps, this world ain’t so bad and tough after all.
I lay lazily on the floor while the sun shine against my face, the warmth caressing my face. The cold in my heart lapping up the delicious warmth of my skin.
I read underneath the sun, as though the warmth of the sun can cushion any impact that the stories are going to throw in my direction.
I touched my skin, finger tracing the little freckles that graced my skin over the years as I frolicked under the sun with no sunblock. They feel like any other part of my skin, except they tell the tales of the sun.
I remember the sun at 3p.m., giving me countless of burns while we ran around the courts. I remember the beauty of the sun at 6 p.m., blazing the earth to orange.
I remember the sun rises, the sea water refracting the light. The cold splashes of the sea water tickling our feet, while we waited for the embrace of the sun.
The way it felt like home when I see the sun lighting up the corners of the house. I felt embraced when I return home to see light in all corners. The warmth of the sun, always signify the possibility of happiness to me. That no matter how grey the skies are, the warmth from the sun will return once more, and happiness can be again.
So when I am sad, I seek the sun. I find corners with sunlight and lay there, taking in the warmth.
I take in the warmth and remind myself, perhaps, it isn’t so bad after all.
It is a simple concept, but to realistically apply it to your everyday life… …
It is a struggle.
They always say that comparison is a thief of joy. But in this era where you get bombarded by information and visuals left right centre every other minute, the thief creeps underneath your skin, and seeps into your brain. You start to notice the things that others have, whereas you lack. How it seems to be effortless for others, but is a struggle for you.
“你过的人生，却是别人梦幻人生。“
Retrospectively, my life definitely isn’t as bad as what I thought as it to be, when I don’t compare.
I try to be more mindful of my thoughts these days, and spend less time on social media. I post what I wanted to post, checked on others that I care for, and then exit the platform.
I read more, listen to more music.
I write more too. I think the two weeks challenge is doing some good for me. Although on some days I am cracking my head on what to write, but atleast I tried.
For a long long looong time, I’ve always told people that I’m looking for someone who likes me for who I am.
Today, I saw in a letter thanking me “for seeing me for who I can be, and push me towards it. Even though at that moment, I hated it. But I grew to understand why, and I’m glad that you did it, because without you, it’s be impossible to who I am today.”
At that moment of time, I paused. Am I committing an error myself, for not seeing them as who they are, instead of who they can and will be if guided down the path?
Then, could I blame others for seeing the potential in me, and for pushing me towards it? Because, just like her. I don’t understand it at the moment.,,,
I know that sooner or later, I would think about the same issues.
To be perfectly honest, it’s always a cycle. I don’t quite care since I don’t use it often enough – seems a pity that I let go – the more I look at it, the precious it seems (cues my preciousssssssss)- it’s my memories after all – but can memories be eaten – the moments captured can never return – are moments captured truly representative of the moment at that point of time?
I always don’t have an answer to anything, and year after year. I would pay the fees to maintain what I term as my memory (My real memory however largely cannot be trusted). I am buying space on the world wide web to keep memories, that I don’t think is going to matter 10 years down the road.
Every year, when I pay, I have hopes for this place, and hope turns into nothing but a lie that justifies the price that I am paying to upkeep this place.
Alot of times, the real moments are often not recorded through the lens, but recorded through the eyes. The warmth of interaction cannot be captured through the lens. The last thing that ever crossed my mind when I was talking to someone close, was to raise my camera to capture them.
It was like a sacred interaction that shouldn’t be interrupted by the third party.
Alot of images are often intentional, chosen ones are curated.
Sometimes, I don’t truly understand the joy of using the camera anymore. I don’t understand the real intention of expressing anymore.
At this point, I don’t quite see the point of having this place to write anymore.
Hiam 