IN the middle of a suddenly sullen night an orange glow attempts to gently illuminate its sultry surroundings. To any casual observer it would seem nothing more than a little lamp light. But to some others who bothered to imagine about such things they see it is a beacon, of many different things to many different people. To the jobless tramp who roams such streets at such hours it is a beacon of warmth, an extension of a sort of helping hand even if it only proffered the tiniest imaginable dosage of hope. To the tiny child still within its cradle it is a pretty decoration to widen one's eyes at, to point out to mother at and gaze in shared wonder at. To the mostly ignored little fly it is an enchanting little trap to which though they recognize in some part that comes from deep within themselves is dangerous, is harmful, they will still sing a soft serenade to it all the night long, sometimes forcing a particularly high pitched note, refreshing breath of a note and sometimes sticking to a steady low groove. No matter what, however, it's pitch will remain seemingly undulating irregularly despite occasional repeats of the simplicity of it's melody.
A little lamp is a little beacon. It is simple and yet it is complicated. How many times a day have you oversimplified the littlest things?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Context
Is it good that now kids from big cities are now learning about their world from textbook pages and workshops?
They sit and let their eyes glaze over staring distantly at their teacher, who has come with a bunch of PowerPoint slides that basically put the textbook's exact words into extremely long bullet points. She reads off them and tries to let her students understand about sunshine. How it lets the plants make food to grow well and big. How you can't look at the sun because it's too much for your corneas to take. And later for a test they will be studying the words of their textbooks, perhaps even have wandere into their yards to do so, and their eyes will only see the words on a page, not the sight before their eyes of the very plants and the very light they speak of.
They sit and let their eyes glaze over staring distantly at their teacher, who has come with a bunch of PowerPoint slides that basically put the textbook's exact words into extremely long bullet points. She reads off them and tries to let her students understand about sunshine. How it lets the plants make food to grow well and big. How you can't look at the sun because it's too much for your corneas to take. And later for a test they will be studying the words of their textbooks, perhaps even have wandere into their yards to do so, and their eyes will only see the words on a page, not the sight before their eyes of the very plants and the very light they speak of.
On My Way Here
I took my first step
On that black and white kitchen floor
I sometimes wonder if that house
Is even there, anymore
I had my first glimpse of love
When I was five
I watched two people split apart
But still the three of us survived
I've seen the best
I've seen the worst
I wouldn't change what I've been through
I've touched the sky
I've hit the wall
But I did what I had to
Ooooohhhh
CHORUS:
On my way here
Where I am now
I've learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I've fallen hard
But I've been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here.
Oh yeah yeaaah
My address has changed
Almost every year
I've found that standing still
Can quickly make a lifetime disappear
I'd rather try and fail
A thousand times denied
And this, whenever you feel pain
It lets you know that you're alive
I've been a fool
I've been afraid
Yeah, I've been loved
I've been lied to
I've been wrong
And I've been right
I stood up when I had to
Yeah Yeahhhh
On my way here
Where I am now
I've learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I've fallen hard
But I've been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here.
No guarantees
I believed that I would find
An open door or a light
To lead me to the other side
I guess that is why
On my way here
Where I am now
I've learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I've fallen hard
But I've been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here
Yeahhhh
Oooooohh
- Clay Aiken
On that black and white kitchen floor
I sometimes wonder if that house
Is even there, anymore
I had my first glimpse of love
When I was five
I watched two people split apart
But still the three of us survived
I've seen the best
I've seen the worst
I wouldn't change what I've been through
I've touched the sky
I've hit the wall
But I did what I had to
Ooooohhhh
CHORUS:
On my way here
Where I am now
I've learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I've fallen hard
But I've been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here.
Oh yeah yeaaah
My address has changed
Almost every year
I've found that standing still
Can quickly make a lifetime disappear
I'd rather try and fail
A thousand times denied
And this, whenever you feel pain
It lets you know that you're alive
I've been a fool
I've been afraid
Yeah, I've been loved
I've been lied to
I've been wrong
And I've been right
I stood up when I had to
Yeah Yeahhhh
On my way here
Where I am now
I've learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I've fallen hard
But I've been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here.
No guarantees
I believed that I would find
An open door or a light
To lead me to the other side
I guess that is why
On my way here
Where I am now
I've learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I've fallen hard
But I've been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here
Yeahhhh
Oooooohh
- Clay Aiken
Tumbling Down
There is no longer any time to learn to forgive and forget and to be the impossibly nice people always able to see a situation "from someone else'a shoes" to figure out the best possible solution. There is no longer any time to wonder about the things that did not happen, nor about the things that did. There is only time to move on and past; and those who struggle to do so will only end up falling behind. No other competitor in this race is about to slow down to make you feel better. There is only time to assume innocence that it's not possible for everyone to claim truthfully, time to tell yourself it's not your fault, that nothing you could or could not have done would have made the slightest difference. In the end the outcome would have been the same. It would have been the musty, gradual sinking in, forced acceptance of the truth that sometimes your best isn't good enough. Sometimes your worst isn't even bad enough to call yourself hopeless so they give up on you.
It makes it worse that this time round you had the audacity to hope. You believed with the kind of fierceness only denial will supply you. You built yourself a palace wall to watch the results from and now you are hiding behind in because with every celebratory firework they seem to be setting off it's like five arrows aimed towards your heart. You can even feel the arrows just barely missing, singeing past the surface of your skin. Sometimes they don't miss but after hours of minutes of torture you don't feel that anymore.
Or perhaps you just wish you didn't.
It makes it worse that this time round you had the audacity to hope. You believed with the kind of fierceness only denial will supply you. You built yourself a palace wall to watch the results from and now you are hiding behind in because with every celebratory firework they seem to be setting off it's like five arrows aimed towards your heart. You can even feel the arrows just barely missing, singeing past the surface of your skin. Sometimes they don't miss but after hours of minutes of torture you don't feel that anymore.
Or perhaps you just wish you didn't.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sky Eyes
WHEN you look up at the sky you see such a small piece of the actual, humongous plot of land-above-land that you like to believe it's flat. Sort of like a piece of cloth into which the sun, the clouds were sewn on - and the clouds perhaps none too well either, for the cirrus marshmallow-like puffs continuously moved about on it's surface, almost as if wondering, like nomads whose directions literally changed with the the very winds that blew against their cheeks, by this time perhaps frozen as hard as luck.
You see a flat surface but in reality the sky itself is just an atmosphere. A circular bubble of sorts surrounding the Earth. Only of course, you choosing to see through the view of the idle cloud watcher that you are, will call it all sorts of things. A place for birds to fly free, for the sun to drive his golden chariot over daily, blazing a trail that only fades reluctantly into night in the quiet evening when it is quite done mingling about with the little creatures about at such times.
You forget to remember and acknowledge that the small patch of sky you see is but a fragment of a portion of the sky over your country. The sky over your country is but a small percentage of the actual area of sky there actually is to be seen and witnessed. Lone people who have nothing better to do than travel the world with their savings will tell you they have seen plenty of pieces of sky, maybe to the point where they all begin to look the same.
So hold your breath. Hold your breath and for a moment imagine the clouds will stop moving along with you. That they will stop frolicking frivilously about, gilded by a sun they simultaneously steal the limelight from draw from, just to wait for you to release that breath. But don't let go yet. Hold it. Hold it till you know you have realized that you yet know nothing. Then let it go. Like the ugliest repercussion of the most regretted bad mistake, let it go. Like an issue you have long longed to forgive someone for, let it go. Forget. But remember to remember.
You see a flat surface but in reality the sky itself is just an atmosphere. A circular bubble of sorts surrounding the Earth. Only of course, you choosing to see through the view of the idle cloud watcher that you are, will call it all sorts of things. A place for birds to fly free, for the sun to drive his golden chariot over daily, blazing a trail that only fades reluctantly into night in the quiet evening when it is quite done mingling about with the little creatures about at such times.
You forget to remember and acknowledge that the small patch of sky you see is but a fragment of a portion of the sky over your country. The sky over your country is but a small percentage of the actual area of sky there actually is to be seen and witnessed. Lone people who have nothing better to do than travel the world with their savings will tell you they have seen plenty of pieces of sky, maybe to the point where they all begin to look the same.
So hold your breath. Hold your breath and for a moment imagine the clouds will stop moving along with you. That they will stop frolicking frivilously about, gilded by a sun they simultaneously steal the limelight from draw from, just to wait for you to release that breath. But don't let go yet. Hold it. Hold it till you know you have realized that you yet know nothing. Then let it go. Like the ugliest repercussion of the most regretted bad mistake, let it go. Like an issue you have long longed to forgive someone for, let it go. Forget. But remember to remember.
Question Yourself
HOW often do we push ourselves beyond our normal limits?
How often do we keep running even though our legs are aching, our lungs are burning?
How often do you have to say No till someone understands you really mean it?
How often do you have to prove yourself so that people trust you?
How often do we say maybe when we mean never, say never when we mean yes?
How often do we deny what our bodies are telling us, what some deep, hidden part of us is whispering to us? We wander around aimlessly attempting to find ourselves when really we could have spared ourselves the trouble by just sitting down and thinking about it for a moment. A moment when the world is quiet so we may shout to ourselves, get a grip on our own collars, give ourselves a mental shake and say Look. This is you. This is who you have been, and who you will be. This is the mind you have nurtured unknowingly, and these are the values instilled in you gradually. These are the people you know, the people you love, the people you get annoyed with and the people you meet and never quite touch. These are the things that you do; so what are you going to do next?
How often do we keep running even though our legs are aching, our lungs are burning?
How often do you have to say No till someone understands you really mean it?
How often do you have to prove yourself so that people trust you?
How often do we say maybe when we mean never, say never when we mean yes?
How often do we deny what our bodies are telling us, what some deep, hidden part of us is whispering to us? We wander around aimlessly attempting to find ourselves when really we could have spared ourselves the trouble by just sitting down and thinking about it for a moment. A moment when the world is quiet so we may shout to ourselves, get a grip on our own collars, give ourselves a mental shake and say Look. This is you. This is who you have been, and who you will be. This is the mind you have nurtured unknowingly, and these are the values instilled in you gradually. These are the people you know, the people you love, the people you get annoyed with and the people you meet and never quite touch. These are the things that you do; so what are you going to do next?
Monday, April 26, 2010
Angels
angels cup their mouths
giggling uncontrollably
at human antics
frivolous creatures,
they give, and they take away
little memories
and they yet crouch down
faces hidden, in a kind
of bruising darkness
giggling uncontrollably
at human antics
frivolous creatures,
they give, and they take away
little memories
and they yet crouch down
faces hidden, in a kind
of bruising darkness
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Names
I want a name for the view over the back of my shoulder, of this path I've already walked upon, fell down upon, cried upon and smiled upon. I want a name for the ground beneath my very feet even now holding me steady, eternally still, secure, loyal, helping me to stay upright even as it keeps me to the ground. Because you can't have roots and wings at the same time.
I want a name for the horizon stretching lazily our before my eyes, one that yet seems far away and untouchable, even thoug I try to believe what everybody tells me; that I only have to keep walking and eventually I'll get there. Then you have people who insist the whole point of walking is the journey and not the destination. Because the journey is a process and the destination is a place that with the right kind of determination you can continuously move further away from yourself - restless destinations that will somehow tire your body and drain your emotions.
I want a name for the people and their acts, to which I bear solitary witness every day because at times it feels as though I am the only one who can be bothered enough to watch another instead of focusing straight ahead at the prize everyone seems to be chasing. But because the sun's out too hot we are running on indoor treadmills and not realizing that even this slight human simulation reduces how human we are; how many scars will have kissed our skin and maybe left a mark there at the end of our roads.
I want a name for the things I pass by like flotsam on yet another unidentifiable river, whose name nobody but those above it all knows. Because I never really touch the permanent banks of these people crowding these stalls, their spirits forced to live so far beneath the radar that even the underground seems above it. And much as I like to pretend that the collars of waste that will someday wash up on these shores will include myself in their number, I also want to roam freely. I want to be taken in somewhere that will release me enough to hurt myself, but accept me again when I come crawling home bleeding from wounds to my body and my heart. And maybe that's selfish but after years of living on this Earth and feeling my fellow people I want to be the one people will tend to and care about. Just like the proud workaholic who comes home, removes her ridiculous high heels and runs crying into the arms of an understanding soulmate who will let her stain his shirt with the tears of her labor. And he will rock her to sleep that night just as her mother did before, because someday we will alll return to our beginnings. We will all die and we will all be born. We will name things for ourselves; we will be selfish and self-centred and we will take but we will also give. We may or may not question the kinds of gifts we are blessed with daily but we will know the names of our true selves when we run hurt into the arms of someone who cares, enough.
I want a name for the horizon stretching lazily our before my eyes, one that yet seems far away and untouchable, even thoug I try to believe what everybody tells me; that I only have to keep walking and eventually I'll get there. Then you have people who insist the whole point of walking is the journey and not the destination. Because the journey is a process and the destination is a place that with the right kind of determination you can continuously move further away from yourself - restless destinations that will somehow tire your body and drain your emotions.
I want a name for the people and their acts, to which I bear solitary witness every day because at times it feels as though I am the only one who can be bothered enough to watch another instead of focusing straight ahead at the prize everyone seems to be chasing. But because the sun's out too hot we are running on indoor treadmills and not realizing that even this slight human simulation reduces how human we are; how many scars will have kissed our skin and maybe left a mark there at the end of our roads.
I want a name for the things I pass by like flotsam on yet another unidentifiable river, whose name nobody but those above it all knows. Because I never really touch the permanent banks of these people crowding these stalls, their spirits forced to live so far beneath the radar that even the underground seems above it. And much as I like to pretend that the collars of waste that will someday wash up on these shores will include myself in their number, I also want to roam freely. I want to be taken in somewhere that will release me enough to hurt myself, but accept me again when I come crawling home bleeding from wounds to my body and my heart. And maybe that's selfish but after years of living on this Earth and feeling my fellow people I want to be the one people will tend to and care about. Just like the proud workaholic who comes home, removes her ridiculous high heels and runs crying into the arms of an understanding soulmate who will let her stain his shirt with the tears of her labor. And he will rock her to sleep that night just as her mother did before, because someday we will alll return to our beginnings. We will all die and we will all be born. We will name things for ourselves; we will be selfish and self-centred and we will take but we will also give. We may or may not question the kinds of gifts we are blessed with daily but we will know the names of our true selves when we run hurt into the arms of someone who cares, enough.
Develop
PATIENCE is a virtue, but sometimes you also have to keep in mind that some flowers never come to fruition. Although perhaps that's why flowers are beautiful, romantic. Full of potential.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
For What It's Worth
There was an expert watchmaker whose son was about to get married. To help with wedding preparations, he asked his boss for an extended period off work. Of course, his boss, reluctant to let his best watchmaker go for so long, requested that he make just one last watch before he left. The watchmaker agreed but it was obvious right from the start that even though his body was there, his mind sure wasn't. Sometimes when his colleagues called to him to go out for some lunch during their break time he would jump a little as if rudely awakened from a dream, shake his head slightly then blink blearily at them. And the watch that he was making was turning out nothing like the watches he normally produced. The straps weren't as brightly polished, and the tiny bits of machinery that ticked diligently behind the scenes to keep the watch running weren't very well put together at all, at times stopping completely. As he began testing the watch's ergonomics, one could already tell his head was already deeply immersed in seating plans, wedding invite designs and templates, the menu and decorations.
Finally he finished up and brought the watch to his boss. The boss accepted the watch, examined it carefully with his eyepiece and frowned slightly. Then he handed it back to the watchmaker, smiling wryly as he spoke these words:
"Here's your watch back. This was to be my wedding gift to your son."
We carelessly live our lives, stitching together random pieces that may or may not fit properly like a patchwork of random colors and shapes. Sometimes right in that crucial moment we don't give our best. We don't tell ourselves we have to because it doesn't seem worth it at that point. But is anything ever not worth it?
Why don't you go home today and imagine you were that watchmaker. Before you go to sleep tonight tell yourself tomorrow morning you will change from the inside out, not just make an oath you know you will not be able to keep. Tell yourself tomorrow morning that today as I'm fitting every little screw or gear inside I want to make sure it fits just perfectly, just right, so my life runs like clockwork and my heart will always feel more like a muscle and less like a bone because I won't let it harden and I won't let it be broken. Because my life I myself am a single creation, a handmade DIY craft. And maybe that's why those things can cost so much. Because you are worth so much.
Finally he finished up and brought the watch to his boss. The boss accepted the watch, examined it carefully with his eyepiece and frowned slightly. Then he handed it back to the watchmaker, smiling wryly as he spoke these words:
"Here's your watch back. This was to be my wedding gift to your son."
We carelessly live our lives, stitching together random pieces that may or may not fit properly like a patchwork of random colors and shapes. Sometimes right in that crucial moment we don't give our best. We don't tell ourselves we have to because it doesn't seem worth it at that point. But is anything ever not worth it?
Why don't you go home today and imagine you were that watchmaker. Before you go to sleep tonight tell yourself tomorrow morning you will change from the inside out, not just make an oath you know you will not be able to keep. Tell yourself tomorrow morning that today as I'm fitting every little screw or gear inside I want to make sure it fits just perfectly, just right, so my life runs like clockwork and my heart will always feel more like a muscle and less like a bone because I won't let it harden and I won't let it be broken. Because my life I myself am a single creation, a handmade DIY craft. And maybe that's why those things can cost so much. Because you are worth so much.
The Philosophy of Ants
RECENTLY I've been observing the way ants, our tiny little friends - or pests - and realized that they uphold, in their every movement and decision, a certain Ant Philosophy. And it's this philosophy of sorts that enables creatures seemingly small, seemingly powerless and puny to the point of insignificance, to come together, and work together. I guess if you wanted to be organized about it you could divide this philosophy into four factors.
The first factor: never give up. Supposing you try to block the path of an ant, say, by putting your finger in front of it. That ant will try all ways and means to either climb over, burrow through or circumnavigate your finger. It won't give up till it manages to get past the obstacle, even if you continuously adjust the position of your finger to stay in its way.
The second one: prepare for a rainy day. Throughout the summer ants are already busy preparing for the long, cold winter that still seems far off. Once summer begins, in fact, they will begin gathering up food to store for winter. That way, while other creatures have to hibernate throughout the season, ants will continue to enjoy life as per normal, just within the safe, warm haven of their nest.
Thirdly, anticipation. Throughout the winter itself the ants will be dreaming about the flax-golden summer, continuously reminding themselves to bear with their current, compromise freedom, because it would be over soon: soon, they would be back in the heat of summer daydreams mingling with sunlight. And the moment a single warm breeze blows a few brave souls will already be out there stretching their limbs and testing the temperature. Should it drop again, it's back inside the hole to wait for another opportunity to roam about again.
Lastly: put in all you've got. No explanation needed here.
Have foresight and labor for the future: do it with diligence and pride that you are putting in 120% and that someday you are going to look up at magnolia white clouds and realize it was all worth it.
The first factor: never give up. Supposing you try to block the path of an ant, say, by putting your finger in front of it. That ant will try all ways and means to either climb over, burrow through or circumnavigate your finger. It won't give up till it manages to get past the obstacle, even if you continuously adjust the position of your finger to stay in its way.
The second one: prepare for a rainy day. Throughout the summer ants are already busy preparing for the long, cold winter that still seems far off. Once summer begins, in fact, they will begin gathering up food to store for winter. That way, while other creatures have to hibernate throughout the season, ants will continue to enjoy life as per normal, just within the safe, warm haven of their nest.
Thirdly, anticipation. Throughout the winter itself the ants will be dreaming about the flax-golden summer, continuously reminding themselves to bear with their current, compromise freedom, because it would be over soon: soon, they would be back in the heat of summer daydreams mingling with sunlight. And the moment a single warm breeze blows a few brave souls will already be out there stretching their limbs and testing the temperature. Should it drop again, it's back inside the hole to wait for another opportunity to roam about again.
Lastly: put in all you've got. No explanation needed here.
Have foresight and labor for the future: do it with diligence and pride that you are putting in 120% and that someday you are going to look up at magnolia white clouds and realize it was all worth it.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Fountain
At times they looked like sequins, haphazardly sewn on so they fell off the moment the whole world gave a little jump at the sun's debut ray peeking shyly into the park.
At times they were kamikaze soldiers plummeting to their deaths as if they believed what they were doing actually carried a little weight in the world.
At times they are emotions, riding up and down a rainbow-kaleidoscope, hoping to dazzle when really, they had no audience.
At times they were kamikaze soldiers plummeting to their deaths as if they believed what they were doing actually carried a little weight in the world.
At times they are emotions, riding up and down a rainbow-kaleidoscope, hoping to dazzle when really, they had no audience.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Hesitation
SHOULD you head out now? Or should you sit and wait for the rain to pass? You know you tell yourself that you wouldn't be wasting any time but eventually, of course, you end up just watching the drops, wondering if by this time they were plummeting to the ground, stabbing into it vengefully, or merely scattering themselves across the thirsty, dry earth. You see the problem with waiting is you'll never know if the storm will subside in five minutes, or five hours or days. It's a calculated risk whether to go out there and brave the danger of taking an unintentional shower. And I keep hearing people tell me to wait out the storms, staying indoors or under shelter. And then every single time words along those lines settle upon my ears, waiting to be heard, I try to find a formula to work out when to wait and when to just do it. After all, the rains could get worse. But after hours of letting my thoughts mingle with the rain, I discovered a formula is not possible when you're talking about raindrops free enough to get to fall down from the sky when as yet nothing is above it.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Little Miss Princess
AN hour late means sixty minutes wasted of my life. 3600 seconds gone. I got less time nowadays to act like I've got time to spare so please spare me the torture of sitting here listening to half my world sing your praises when we both know you are made up of nothing but that custom-made blazer and skirt set you don with a savage abandon of pride.
And you totter over, unsteady on heels, you walk over in your perfectly fitting clothes and you speak words that are like an itch to my skin where they settle. Allergic reaction. Cussing is one side effect.
And you totter over, unsteady on heels, you walk over in your perfectly fitting clothes and you speak words that are like an itch to my skin where they settle. Allergic reaction. Cussing is one side effect.
Workaholic
GUESS what? I'm still human. Even though I seem to work like a machine and always come up with good results all you see is the numbers. You don't care about the other ones you dismiss as unimportant. Number of hours of sleep per night. Number of skipped lunches or recess. Current tally estimates of how many different emotions I can feel in a day.
Don't tell me there's no other way because I know different.
Don't tell me there's no other way because I know different.
Monday, April 12, 2010
An Attempt at Definition
The physical properties of carbon vary widely with the allotropic form. For example, diamond is highly transparent, while graphite is opaque and black. Diamond is among the hardest materials known, while graphite is soft enough to form a streak on paper (hence its name, from the Greek word "to write").
... the chemical basis of all known life.
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carbon?wasRedirected=true
... the chemical basis of all known life.
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carbon?wasRedirected=true
Friday, April 9, 2010
Lie A Little More
SOMEONE showed me a book today, a really good one she was reading. The front cover had this lifelike illustration of a blue ribbon, the kind they glue onto the book spine for use as a bookmark that you'll never lose. I began telling her - and I can't explain why I did that - about when I was younger and used to like to finger and stroke those kinds of bookmarks or when I closed the book, do it gently and arrange the strip of fabric carefully so it wouldn't get bent out of shape and so even the threads sticking out on its frayed end would look pretty. At some point maybe the almost-spiritual, ritualistic stroking might have been recognized as a sign of autism - repititive motor motion. But I was oblivious I suppose. And every time I reached out to try to stroke a fake one, an illustration, I would sit and softly wonder why people had to try to trick people, why they lied and disappointed and were never as they seemed.
Today I asked that friend if it was real before reaching out to try for myself. Because after a while I guess I sort of started thinking all of them were all just make-believe, and not the fairytale ending variety.
Today I asked that friend if it was real before reaching out to try for myself. Because after a while I guess I sort of started thinking all of them were all just make-believe, and not the fairytale ending variety.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Gray
LAST night I dreamt there was a place where music wasn't just lines and dots, dollars and cents, but feeling. The breath of a taste that lingers in the mouth, whether good or bad. But maybe that's just me being cynical. Maybe I'm only attempting to maintain a shred of hope when my world is going down this whirlpool, heading down this black hole into a strange new reality I'm not afraid to admit I am scared of. Even though our scientists work daily to discover new materials to help us build our clothes or bridges to new places we had not ventured before, we have sadly flown past that time when we yet knew we knew nothing. And really, these gray areas amass and gather, dark clouds on a humble old horizon just trying to keep up with the pace.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Theory 4: Sun, Rise or Set
WE always seem to believe that the sun rises on us. We use it in our self-help books to boost out spirits and attempt to heal our hearts. But throughout all of this therapy for ourselves, we forgot one very major thing.
When the sun rises for one, it sets for another.
When the sun rises for one, it sets for another.
Sepia Footprints 5
IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
Five. A sky painted morning kaleidoscope-rainbow like the sun needed to grasp the world to hoist itself out of bed. A road stretching out towards it, yearning for the warmth of home.
Five. A sky painted morning kaleidoscope-rainbow like the sun needed to grasp the world to hoist itself out of bed. A road stretching out towards it, yearning for the warmth of home.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Through the Glass
WE are all truly alone in this world, even with friends surrounding us. Because nobody can ever understand exactly what you've been through the way you have taken it in or rejected it. That makes you unique but it seems to place you in a class of your own, kind of like being in your own infinite glass tube, able to interact with friends through it but never quite being able to burst through. Makes you wonder if being unique is all that important. The consolation prizes are those moments when you know the glass barrier doesn't make a difference; you'll break it together.
A Letter
At the local post office there was a particular staff member whose job was to sort through mail with illegible or invalid addresses. This day he came across an envelope that read, in a black, shaky script: To God.
He flipped it over and gently slit the letter open. Its contents read:
Dear God,
I am an 83-year-old pensioner. Yesterday my purse containing $100 got stolen and my next social security services check won't be coming till next month. My only two remaining friends will be coming over for a party this weekend. Without that $100, I won't be able to buy any food and throw a decent party for all of us. Please, God, help me.
Without even finishing his sorting duties, the man began making a round about the post office showing his colleagues the letter he had just read. Each one of them, touched and sympathetic, dug deep into their pockets and came up with a couple of dollars each. Soon the total reached $96 and they mailed it to the old lady.
A few days later, another letter addressed to God came to the man. He called everyone over and they all eagerly crowded round to read over his shoulder.
The letter was quite simple this time:
Dear God,
Thank you so much for helping me! Because of your generous help, I was able to have a wonderful time with my friends. However, there were $4 missing in your letter back. Must have been those thieving scoundrels at the post office.
When it's a gift you've been given accept it. Say thank you politely, just like a child. By this time maybe you have a shell of makeup you wear like a mask, one you grew yourself from experience to keep yourself from hurt. When you can anticipate the future, be your prediction right or wrong, where's the point in even getting there in the end?
He flipped it over and gently slit the letter open. Its contents read:
Dear God,
I am an 83-year-old pensioner. Yesterday my purse containing $100 got stolen and my next social security services check won't be coming till next month. My only two remaining friends will be coming over for a party this weekend. Without that $100, I won't be able to buy any food and throw a decent party for all of us. Please, God, help me.
Without even finishing his sorting duties, the man began making a round about the post office showing his colleagues the letter he had just read. Each one of them, touched and sympathetic, dug deep into their pockets and came up with a couple of dollars each. Soon the total reached $96 and they mailed it to the old lady.
A few days later, another letter addressed to God came to the man. He called everyone over and they all eagerly crowded round to read over his shoulder.
The letter was quite simple this time:
Dear God,
Thank you so much for helping me! Because of your generous help, I was able to have a wonderful time with my friends. However, there were $4 missing in your letter back. Must have been those thieving scoundrels at the post office.
When it's a gift you've been given accept it. Say thank you politely, just like a child. By this time maybe you have a shell of makeup you wear like a mask, one you grew yourself from experience to keep yourself from hurt. When you can anticipate the future, be your prediction right or wrong, where's the point in even getting there in the end?
It's A Girl/Guy Thing
DEBATE at hand: talking and hearing
Girl: Guys don't ever listen.
Guy: Girls only keep repeating themselves. What's there to hear?
Girl: Girls only repeat themselves because guys don't listen.
Girl: Guys don't ever listen.
Guy: Girls only keep repeating themselves. What's there to hear?
Girl: Girls only repeat themselves because guys don't listen.
When We Played
I was telling him all about the complexities of trickery, the day's history of fun, and suddenly he burst out with the words:
"Haven't you grown out of this yet?"
No, actually, Papa. We haven't. We haven't and we shouldn't and we can't, because much as sometimes we do want to feel grown up, much as sometimes we girls want to dress up in our mothers clothes and we boys want to pick fights and act macho, we're still just kids. We are in a world where some of us may be forced to grow up fast, but maybe, on this one day when we can come together and stumble around foolishly, playing those 'immature' games with our fellow 'immature' friends, we only really wanted to be naive again, get to believe someone with no quick moment of hesitation, of doubt and mistrust. Maybe we really just want to be fooled, to be conned, and to do it in return, because in this world there are more things than just protecting yourself and striking out at others - whether intentional or not. There's also giving and taking, gaining and losing and above all, forgetting about the repercussions we might have to face the next day as a result of our one day of fun, forgetting for a moment about what could happen and what might be the result of that. Because in the games that children play, on slides and swings and not in office blocks or even diamond rings, we don't consider or discriminate. In the games that children play, we play.
"Haven't you grown out of this yet?"
No, actually, Papa. We haven't. We haven't and we shouldn't and we can't, because much as sometimes we do want to feel grown up, much as sometimes we girls want to dress up in our mothers clothes and we boys want to pick fights and act macho, we're still just kids. We are in a world where some of us may be forced to grow up fast, but maybe, on this one day when we can come together and stumble around foolishly, playing those 'immature' games with our fellow 'immature' friends, we only really wanted to be naive again, get to believe someone with no quick moment of hesitation, of doubt and mistrust. Maybe we really just want to be fooled, to be conned, and to do it in return, because in this world there are more things than just protecting yourself and striking out at others - whether intentional or not. There's also giving and taking, gaining and losing and above all, forgetting about the repercussions we might have to face the next day as a result of our one day of fun, forgetting for a moment about what could happen and what might be the result of that. Because in the games that children play, on slides and swings and not in office blocks or even diamond rings, we don't consider or discriminate. In the games that children play, we play.
Barriers
IN recent months I believe my parents have been considering what's going to happen when they die. This may seem like morbid subject matter for any casual conversation in a car but I suppose with my family dying isn't something to be afraid of. I mean we're not exactly gonna enthuse about dying and gladly throw ourselves at death but we accept that it is going to happen one day to all of us, be it sooner or later.
My mum started cracking this joke about how she wanted her ashes to be spread over this shopping market near our house which is essentially her second home. She knows every shortcut and every sale and best deal there, making her almost necessary for any visit my family is planning to pay to the place. Of course that also makes it her 'place to go'. No matter what you need her solution will inevitably be there.
At the same time she wants the ashes of her favrorite dog, Haydn, to be scattered along with her. She does believe in reincarnation but she claims that she would like to go shopping forever.
My dad was a little more philosophical. He told us to go somewhere, anywhere, and release his ashes on the wind so he would always remain a free spirit. Of course he probably just wants to be 'one' with the nature that he has helped nurture in that forest of a garden he just manages to keep at bay from invading our house.
Me?
I've learnt that the more you have, the more you have to lose, the more you'll have to let go of someday. But does that mean we should all build a mile-high wall around ourselves? Pretend not to care, feign ignorance and nonchalance at every last hand the world deals us?
I've tried that once. But something I realized when I did was that when I was hiding everything and trying to become the shadow of a mask, I still cared. Cared enough to sense what I was doing to the people around me and to myself. Closing up was never the solution.
At this point, wouldn't you be able to stop reading here, find a mirror and tell yourself that surely you can care about a great many things, today?
My mum started cracking this joke about how she wanted her ashes to be spread over this shopping market near our house which is essentially her second home. She knows every shortcut and every sale and best deal there, making her almost necessary for any visit my family is planning to pay to the place. Of course that also makes it her 'place to go'. No matter what you need her solution will inevitably be there.
At the same time she wants the ashes of her favrorite dog, Haydn, to be scattered along with her. She does believe in reincarnation but she claims that she would like to go shopping forever.
My dad was a little more philosophical. He told us to go somewhere, anywhere, and release his ashes on the wind so he would always remain a free spirit. Of course he probably just wants to be 'one' with the nature that he has helped nurture in that forest of a garden he just manages to keep at bay from invading our house.
Me?
I've learnt that the more you have, the more you have to lose, the more you'll have to let go of someday. But does that mean we should all build a mile-high wall around ourselves? Pretend not to care, feign ignorance and nonchalance at every last hand the world deals us?
I've tried that once. But something I realized when I did was that when I was hiding everything and trying to become the shadow of a mask, I still cared. Cared enough to sense what I was doing to the people around me and to myself. Closing up was never the solution.
At this point, wouldn't you be able to stop reading here, find a mirror and tell yourself that surely you can care about a great many things, today?
Friday, April 2, 2010
Breadcrumbs
I slap the board hard trying to dislodge every last crumb of bread from its surface, shaking the tiny forsaken morsels into the slowly yellowing old grass below. Although she would never approve of simply giving food away to the sparrows that come to our garden every time we slice our own bread for a quick lunch, I'm glad to say my mum does have a heart big enough to allow them to at least get something out of what we now find insignificant.
It's days like these that I watch their beady little black eyes, the quick movements of their heads from side to side upon landing cautiously on the ground to get a close up of where exactly the food was today. It's days like these that I wonder what I did that allowed me to live a life in which I am the giver and not the one crouching in the bruising darkness awaiting the kindness of another which is too often, I find, mistaken or something more along the lines of pity.
She may find my antics foolish when I do something like sneak out an entire hunk of bread and go out into the garden to tear it quickly into pieces small enough for their tiny beaks to grab ahold of with ease. But there is a thin line and it's still being defined, between foolishness and a sort of peaceful wisdom.
It's days like these that I watch their beady little black eyes, the quick movements of their heads from side to side upon landing cautiously on the ground to get a close up of where exactly the food was today. It's days like these that I wonder what I did that allowed me to live a life in which I am the giver and not the one crouching in the bruising darkness awaiting the kindness of another which is too often, I find, mistaken or something more along the lines of pity.
She may find my antics foolish when I do something like sneak out an entire hunk of bread and go out into the garden to tear it quickly into pieces small enough for their tiny beaks to grab ahold of with ease. But there is a thin line and it's still being defined, between foolishness and a sort of peaceful wisdom.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
