Life is running into a whole bunch of uncertainties, one after another, and forcing ourselves to decide what we’re going to do about each of them. We stop growing once we decide not to face that uncertainty – or not deciding – ever again.
Once in awhile, I get that one day which I feel so tired of not getting to where I wanna be, doing what I wanna do.
I wanna find a huge rockable cradle that has an inbuilt heater function, put it in a large serene room with animated light art – like those at the galleries, play some twinkle tunes from the musical box and rock myself to the most peaceful sleep ever.
Or alternatively, perhaps a person that holds my hand, let’s me feel all of that safeness and warmth with his/her presence and hugs – assures that everything is gonna be okay. In which the architecture of this person is art, and the voice be a soothing sound to my heart. And that this person -though more human – will be unmovable like this amazing slumber room. Someone who will never ever leave, until I get the longest slumber of my life.
Like you, but with a little more glitter.
Nothing beats homemade curry rice by my father on a rainy day.
Except maybe my mother’s omelette with long beans.
The understated notes of black pepper and paprika, loaded with curry powder and onions, you could taste from the potatoes cooked till the right ‘doneness’. (In my family, everything has a certain type of doneness, even potatoes). My parents are amazing. We fight, we disagree, we annoy the hell out of each other and it’s not always smooth sailing, but I love them to bits.
Mummy is quite the feisty one, she grew up in challenging situations and she figured out her life independently. She was harsh, she challenged me, but made me as independent as her. I would describe our relationship kind of like tough love. She taught me sometimes the person with the harshest words love you the most. The one who taught me how to protect myself yet protected me when odds were not in my favor. The one who wrote my Chinese words for me to submit but then made me write another page to show her that I learned. The one who showed me Chinese was not intimidating and made me passionate about it. Her who sacrificed her youth and drive to raise us to adults.
Daddy is quite the non-confrontational one. The peacekeeper. The one who would draw with me when I cannot figure out how to draw ducks at 4 years old. The one that would ask and understand my exploratory paintings even when it looks like strange streaks of color. The one that would fetch me to school. The one that would wake up to wake me up. The one who shows me acts of service makes love the real deal. The one that shows me he does it, not because he thinks I cannot do it but wants to genuinely show his concern. He inspires me to be humble and appreciative. He cooks great meals, but he almost never cooks. My mother used to cook frequently, and each time he shows his eagerness to enjoy my mum’s cooking. He taught me sacrifice, because I learned that his family is his duty. He used to play the guitar, but I’ve only seen him played once when I was a kid.
Each day I learn more about my parents. I understand them more. I’m glad I never gave up on communicating, despite how difficult it was at various phases. Because of them, I understood what love is to me.
Love is consistent, anything else, that is not love.
Love is a series of deliberate choices, moments, consistent considerations, that you show each other, and thereby translating to bulks of good, positive feelings. It is not induced by feelings, it induces feelings.
Love is not winning, if you see her upset.
It is not instant – like the moment you get together – that’s being a pushover. It’s an understanding. It wouldn’t happen overnight, people fight, quarrel and learn each other’s boundaries. We learn by being honest with each other. Teach each other that aggression is toxin to the soul, accept and make a conscious effort to want to work it out with them.
Love is understated, classy and timeless.
Love is not always showy and grand. They disguise themselves as nags, reminders and bland food, if they make you the better person you want to be. Love volunteers their services even if it sometimes means going out of their way to make your life a little better. They also end it with a smile. Or perhaps, a pouty glare or rolling eyes when we fucked up, but still solves the problem and laugh at your silliness together at the end of the day. They always kiss you goodnight. It withstands time because they won’t change in their quality of love. And we never take it for granted.
The best kind of love makes you feel warm, and yet you received it delicately like it is soft and fluffy. It fills you up, like you got a fresh set of lives on Super Mario, and leave you with smiles of satisfaction. Perhaps, just like the most perfect meal I could ask for – curry chicken rice and omelette with long bean.
If you see beauty in something, don’t wait for others to agree.
– Sherihan Gamal
I like a song very much such that it’s been one of my ringtones since 6 years ago. It gave me a sense of an ideal evening. With the sun setting, pale blue skies. Orange light casting harshly on the white walls. It’s the most beautiful time of the day.
It meant reunion to me. Reunion to a loved one after work. Reunion to my passions and hobbies after classes. Reunion with my bed when I’m busy being with myself. It’s also the best time for hugs, cuddles and romantic afternoon teatime. My sense of romance, though, isn’t always gushy and showy. It’s an afternoon with cakes, tea or coffee. Holding hands across the table. Smiling and basking in the presence of one another, having conversations about our silly life problems. Romance to me seems to be a series of comfortable moments. Delivering over with packed lunch because food just suck at workplace canteens. Sending each other their favorite songs which are not played on mainstream radio. It’s kinda simple, yet specific.
This song is Santa Monica by Savage Garden. Mainstream but gold. It spoke to me in its tune and lyrics. And now I thought, it’s not only on the telephone line I can be whoever I wanna be. In writing too, I can be whoever I wanna be. I can write stories, I can write about love that didn’t happen. I can write an emotion, a thought, or describe the most perfect face I’ve ever encountered. I can be however I wanted to be. And with that I can now preach this quote,
“…everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
– Sylvia Plath
It is now that I finally attain the outgoing guts to do so. I used to be so afraid, insecure and couldn’t put up with being misunderstood, as well as explaining to those who’ve misunderstood me (especially if they mattered to me.) I figured now, that I don’t really need everyone to understand, because those who truly matter, eventually will. I feel liberated, it’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.
Be weird, be strange. Embrace change.
Is raw and simplistic.
Experiences of my own or others’,
From which I draw feelings.
Situations or emotions that need not be personal,
States of mind that could be one of yesterday’s.
It might or might not be,
And it’s beauty is in ambiguity.
Read and deep beyond skin deep,
And love it like a great movie.
In a world where there is an over-emphasis of self, we sometimes find many givers in awkward situations in the society.
Sometimes they end up having to choose between being themselves and continue giving until someone believes in them or join the majority in the quest for self fulfilment.
Personally I would feel it’s equivalent. We need to fulfill ourselves in order to give. Love ourselves in order to give wholly love (not broken love) in which to satisfy an aspect of insecurity.
It’s becoming ever more important to learn to be giving. Give to those who love, give to those who believe, give to those who hunger.
Ever wanted to leave everything down, buy a one way ticket, run to a place where nobody knows you and survive for the rest of your life?
At this moment, I think I need that.
Went on a short trip to realign and rejuvenate but it turned out pretty exhausting as well.
i . need . rest .
And rest assured (yup, pun intended), I’m tired, not forlorn. But yes, I’m aware I sound pretty much so in writings. 😂