I saw you online yesterday, and for the first time, I felt like talking to you. Not to reminisce on old times, nor to tell you how much I miss you. Because I don't anymore.
I felt like talking to you just to say hello. Not to ask you how life is and how work is and how your family is anymore. Just to say hello, and for you to say hello in return.
I'm thankful for everything that you've been to me, and sorry that you weren't the one I would share my life with. We would've pulled each other's hair out if that were the case. You weren't my prince, and I wasn't your princess. But you'll always be a part of me, even though you may not realise it.
That's it, really.
Take care.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
They can take everything away from you, but they can't take away your mind.
The truth in that sentence rings so loud, it startles my gut. The mere thought that things so precious to me can all be taken away from me in a second sends shivers down my spine. My family. My friends. The silver lining, though, is that stripped down to the bone, they cannot take your mind away, because you are, at the end of the day in control of your thoughts and your self.
Or are you? Is there a God that is ultimately in universal control?
And if there is, doesn't being in control of your mind really mean having the faith that God will preside over all else?
Take care.
The truth in that sentence rings so loud, it startles my gut. The mere thought that things so precious to me can all be taken away from me in a second sends shivers down my spine. My family. My friends. The silver lining, though, is that stripped down to the bone, they cannot take your mind away, because you are, at the end of the day in control of your thoughts and your self.
Or are you? Is there a God that is ultimately in universal control?
And if there is, doesn't being in control of your mind really mean having the faith that God will preside over all else?
Take care.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Pitter-patter
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The raindrops splash onto the windows and slowly drip their way down to the panes. Occasionally, the minute outward splash that bounces off the panes makes its way onto the window sill. The aroma of fresh rain fills the room with a pale yet distinct blue, like the blue of a cloudless sky on a bright summer day. The hush-plush of tyres on wet tarmac ebb and flow, its rhythm picking up speed and and slowing down constantly. Hush-plush, hush-plush.
Outside, the lights of the 'G' reflect against the low clouds, lighting up the night sky like a spotlight in a dark auditorium. A train far away rumbles from east to west, its passengers spotting the illuminated windows. Along the pavement, a solitary man walks hurriedly against the direction of the traffic, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his thick fur coat, his neck huddled into his scarf. Head down, so as to avoid the increasingly heavy rainfall and chilly wind.
I close the window and snuggle under the covers, thankful for the warmth of my bedside lamp. I open my book to the page where the Musei Vaticani bookmark was last placed, and my eyes find comfort in a good story whilst my mind slowly drifts away to a land far, far away.
Take care.
Outside, the lights of the 'G' reflect against the low clouds, lighting up the night sky like a spotlight in a dark auditorium. A train far away rumbles from east to west, its passengers spotting the illuminated windows. Along the pavement, a solitary man walks hurriedly against the direction of the traffic, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his thick fur coat, his neck huddled into his scarf. Head down, so as to avoid the increasingly heavy rainfall and chilly wind.
I close the window and snuggle under the covers, thankful for the warmth of my bedside lamp. I open my book to the page where the Musei Vaticani bookmark was last placed, and my eyes find comfort in a good story whilst my mind slowly drifts away to a land far, far away.
Take care.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
My hiatus
As much as it pains me to say it, I am going to attempt to articulate as best I can the reasons behind my writing hiatus over the past year or two, and in doing so, am adamant to overcome this incredibly barren spell.
Many a time during this hiatus, I have tried to write - sitting with my fingers perched meaninglessly over the keyboard - but the words were trapped. Trapped in a maze chock-a-block with varied and confused emotions and ideas, yet so empty and sparse like the desert sand in a dust storm. I struggled immensely with articulating my thoughts on paper, a process that once came to me so fluidly, even though I had much to say. During this period, I questioned my motives for writing to a mostly-unknown audience: the internet. I questioned why I'd previously written annonymously. I wondered where my inspirations came from and who I was inspired by. I queried why writing used to give me so much pleasure.
Finally, I came to a conclusion that I need to write. Writing provides me with a way to articulate my thoughts and also my speech. It helps me to focus my energies into something positive, and to channel them into an arena which I am familiar with. When I write, I let the random words and ideas weave their way onto the page into coherent sentences. I don't necessarily plan what I want to write or how I want a piece to be structured - I just write. The sense of accomplishment it gives me is truly wonderful, and, if I may say so, addictive.
But first, I need to overcome my current verbal constipation. Oh, I have so many stories to tell you, and my plan of attack is simply to keep writing. So, please forgive me if much of it comes out as literal garbage, for I have faith that there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Take care.
Many a time during this hiatus, I have tried to write - sitting with my fingers perched meaninglessly over the keyboard - but the words were trapped. Trapped in a maze chock-a-block with varied and confused emotions and ideas, yet so empty and sparse like the desert sand in a dust storm. I struggled immensely with articulating my thoughts on paper, a process that once came to me so fluidly, even though I had much to say. During this period, I questioned my motives for writing to a mostly-unknown audience: the internet. I questioned why I'd previously written annonymously. I wondered where my inspirations came from and who I was inspired by. I queried why writing used to give me so much pleasure.
Finally, I came to a conclusion that I need to write. Writing provides me with a way to articulate my thoughts and also my speech. It helps me to focus my energies into something positive, and to channel them into an arena which I am familiar with. When I write, I let the random words and ideas weave their way onto the page into coherent sentences. I don't necessarily plan what I want to write or how I want a piece to be structured - I just write. The sense of accomplishment it gives me is truly wonderful, and, if I may say so, addictive.
But first, I need to overcome my current verbal constipation. Oh, I have so many stories to tell you, and my plan of attack is simply to keep writing. So, please forgive me if much of it comes out as literal garbage, for I have faith that there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Take care.
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