Saturday, December 19, 2009

text

Why?

Good question.

I shouldn't have shown you how desperately desperate I was. It was embarassing and degrading - to a certain extent. But of course, crying over that stupid spilled milk is a waste. We are walking puzzle pieces, if you haven't already figured that out. A person is meant to fill only one part of this gigantic picture called life. The pieces that fit from all over us represents the most important people in our life. One will always stand out. One will stick like glue. Without that piece you are nothing but an organism with gaps.

That's why.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

the toast will always fall butter side down

Tuesday was supposed to be about moving forward. I was supposed to troop downtown, to that decrepit, old, dark, maze of a building, submit my resume, and wait for that phone call that would announce my acceptance as a staff nurse in their hospital. Except that today is not. I just realised that I had to do my laundry, lest I decide to walk about naked. That's why I don't like making plans.

I have had enough of blueprints and Murphy's Law. They almost always fall flat on your face and make you feel slow. Sometimes even stupid. And then you're back where you started - square one.

Monday, December 14, 2009

then

I remember being ten. I remember how it was to think of nothing but play. I remember standing on the table while mom would clean me up after a day's work of running, and jumping, and skipping, and hopping. I remember how it was to feel as if the world revolved around you. I was the sun. Bright with flames.

I remember being fourteen. I remember rejection and pain. I remember confusion and restlessness. I remember how I always refused to be categorized. I remember reading, and long hours on the phone. I remember carefree laughs and public transport. Diaries stashed away under the bed. Thoughts whirling about in my head. I remember boys and giggles. I remember secrets and lives. I was the moon. I shine while people turn themselves off. White and pure.

I remember being seventeen. I remember how everything looked new to me. I looked and searched. I worried and paced. I studied and wrote and did homework. I remember University. I remember independence and long lines. I remember being quiet. I remember being shy. I was careful with words but I was careless with everything else. I hid and pondered.

I remember now. Now is sane and structured. Now is about order and places. Now is about searching and deep thought. Now is about being an adult. Now is about responsibilities and sanity. It is about keeping your head above the water. Now is difficult. Now I don't know...

But I do remember being ten.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

faith

Everyday, we make decisions. Where to go. What to do. How to get there. We live in a world of choices, yet, at times, we struggle and complain about not having the freedom to choose.

I am a creature of science, and as such, do not greatly believe in the influence of fate. When you get to the point of having to pick between forks in the road, does fate have anything to do with the path that you will choose? Do they null the mistakes you commit when you happen to have chosen the wrong road to take? When does fate end and responsibility begin?

You turn your head, look around you, and suddenly your perspective wavers. It is no longer about what you have, or what you can achieve, but rather, it becomes what they have that you don't. The world suddenly turns into a violent hand, slapping away at your consciousness, mocking you and asking more of that which you do not have. Then, you realise that you own nothing and drown in that nothingness that you perceive of. Is it valid then, to say that it is fate that chose your circumstance, in that moment?

Sometimes, we blame things and people other than ourselves, because it is easier that way. It is easier to have someone or something to throw knives at instead of being honest. No one desires to be on the receiving end of the guillotine, obviously. The blade is a tad too sharp and no one wants pain. Or death.

Still, in the deepest part of our hearts, we hope.