12.57am 2 Aug 2007 Thursday
It's so hard not to get excited about something that hasn't happened, but yet possibly exists in our future. Don't laugh, but that's all I wanted to write about - a dreamy future with dim sum, work, beaches and mountains...
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I am a living human being.
9.50am 18 July 2007 Wednesday
Time spent contemplating alone does funny things to people. Put a thinking person in front of dishes every day, you get dissent sprouting out of the tap. I've tried to separate feelings from thoughts in hope of getting some viable solution, but so far all I can discern is growing despair.
What was it that I was born to do? People usually proceed in a predictable fashion: go to school, graduate, find a job, get married, have kids, retire... Do we really know where we are going when we take each step forward? I remember climbing up a quarry and having to repel down. I had guided all the younger kids down and was now the last one. Instead of taking the plunge into empty air, I had cowardly ran back into the woods. Perhaps I am one of no faith in anything but the solid ground beneath my feet.
As I grew up, there came more and more opportunities to jump off cliffs to unknown destinations. I took some and others I left alone. Right now in the silent apartment with dirty dishes in the kitchen and ripening plums that need attention, I take a pause to ask, when am I going to hit solid ground again?
It is like watching a bad TV series in hope that it's a joke that the writers are playing and the storyline will turn around. Unfortunately this script is in my hands and I've absolutely no idea what I'm doing with it other than taking one day at a time. I hate this... ambiguity within me. It is akin to being lost in a fog, where nothing seems real and you expect to snap out of it any time.
I am a living human being, made to think and be productive to the society. Not to merely vacuum floors, clean kitchens, cook and bake, and sit and read. It might seem like an ideal vacation to some but it's suffocating me. You escape to your work daily, use it as a cover, use it as a reason, an excuse. But what do I have to show after a day's labour?
More dirty dishes, that's what it is.
I am a living human being, brought up by parents who gave me everything so that I can reach the highest stars. Given up by a boyfriend who thought he was in my way to greater things, only to shackle myself with someone else who holds me in a gilded cage. How can I possibly be unhappy or discontent? I have all the material goods anyone can hope for, but these hands are made for more than just scrubbing and rubbing.
2 people have 2 sets of ideals, and I agree that it's darn near impossible to find someone with the exact same thoughts. Isn't that why people compromise with each other? You find a balance point where both are happy and can live with. If a see-saw has a heavyweight on one side and the lightweight on the other, neither of them are happy because their partner isn't. It doesn't mean that the lightweight tries to carry the heavyweight on her back, because one day it'll be the straw that breaks a camel's back. It doesn't mean that the heavyweight tries to carry the lightweight because they're trying to balance the see-saw, not carry each other.
By now I'm out of steam not because I'm out of things to say, but because I've gotten the most important things off my chest. There are things I can put out of mind, things that can wait, but not these. Each day that these words are unsaid or a decision unresolved (be it OK, I will try my best or Sorry, I can't do it) the discomfort builds in my heart. There is nothing to do with love or anger, but just basic things that build the basis of two people's lives together. We're lucky to have mostly similar principles and beliefs, and for that I'm really grateful for. The book I read yesterday described a lover who always says "I love you but...". I don't want us to be like that. I love you and there is no but. All I do know is I am unhappy with some big issues that if left alone, will only grow bigger and bigger. I don't want to be thinking of an escape every day. That isn't what our life should be.
Time spent contemplating alone does funny things to people. Put a thinking person in front of dishes every day, you get dissent sprouting out of the tap. I've tried to separate feelings from thoughts in hope of getting some viable solution, but so far all I can discern is growing despair.
What was it that I was born to do? People usually proceed in a predictable fashion: go to school, graduate, find a job, get married, have kids, retire... Do we really know where we are going when we take each step forward? I remember climbing up a quarry and having to repel down. I had guided all the younger kids down and was now the last one. Instead of taking the plunge into empty air, I had cowardly ran back into the woods. Perhaps I am one of no faith in anything but the solid ground beneath my feet.
As I grew up, there came more and more opportunities to jump off cliffs to unknown destinations. I took some and others I left alone. Right now in the silent apartment with dirty dishes in the kitchen and ripening plums that need attention, I take a pause to ask, when am I going to hit solid ground again?
It is like watching a bad TV series in hope that it's a joke that the writers are playing and the storyline will turn around. Unfortunately this script is in my hands and I've absolutely no idea what I'm doing with it other than taking one day at a time. I hate this... ambiguity within me. It is akin to being lost in a fog, where nothing seems real and you expect to snap out of it any time.
I am a living human being, made to think and be productive to the society. Not to merely vacuum floors, clean kitchens, cook and bake, and sit and read. It might seem like an ideal vacation to some but it's suffocating me. You escape to your work daily, use it as a cover, use it as a reason, an excuse. But what do I have to show after a day's labour?
More dirty dishes, that's what it is.
I am a living human being, brought up by parents who gave me everything so that I can reach the highest stars. Given up by a boyfriend who thought he was in my way to greater things, only to shackle myself with someone else who holds me in a gilded cage. How can I possibly be unhappy or discontent? I have all the material goods anyone can hope for, but these hands are made for more than just scrubbing and rubbing.
2 people have 2 sets of ideals, and I agree that it's darn near impossible to find someone with the exact same thoughts. Isn't that why people compromise with each other? You find a balance point where both are happy and can live with. If a see-saw has a heavyweight on one side and the lightweight on the other, neither of them are happy because their partner isn't. It doesn't mean that the lightweight tries to carry the heavyweight on her back, because one day it'll be the straw that breaks a camel's back. It doesn't mean that the heavyweight tries to carry the lightweight because they're trying to balance the see-saw, not carry each other.
By now I'm out of steam not because I'm out of things to say, but because I've gotten the most important things off my chest. There are things I can put out of mind, things that can wait, but not these. Each day that these words are unsaid or a decision unresolved (be it OK, I will try my best or Sorry, I can't do it) the discomfort builds in my heart. There is nothing to do with love or anger, but just basic things that build the basis of two people's lives together. We're lucky to have mostly similar principles and beliefs, and for that I'm really grateful for. The book I read yesterday described a lover who always says "I love you but...". I don't want us to be like that. I love you and there is no but. All I do know is I am unhappy with some big issues that if left alone, will only grow bigger and bigger. I don't want to be thinking of an escape every day. That isn't what our life should be.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Of dancing dogs and passing time.
3.49pm 2 July 2007 Monday
I've just finished reading John Grogan's Marley and Me, in one sitting, and for the second time. The tears that followed the end of the novel were irrepressible and evoked me to write something to cover the silence in my head. It has been more than two months since I last wrote and even without many things happening, I feel like I'm a changed person.
H was talking to his mum today about our upcoming flight back home and I was drooling over the thought of filling up my stash of Pocky snacks when I suddenly realised that we were flying direct from Frankfurt, and would not be stopping in Narita as I had for the past four summers.
Isn't it funny how the smallest, most insignificant thing can make you realise a part of your life is over? I've been writing about change and growing up since the move to Dekalb, but so far it has been realisation, not acceptance, of change. I can still see the vivid blue skies and golden sunshine; the glorious reds, pinks, orange and purple sunsets that I've always wanted to photograph but never got around to doing so; and the majestic sight of the Santa Catalina, Rincon, Santa Rita and Tucson Mountains that surround Tucson area, all in my mind's eye. I can still feel the biting, numbing cold of my first Midwest winter; the crisp air that hurts your nose and lungs to breathe; and the soft caress of a snowflake falling onto an open palm.
Before we left the apartment this morning, H asked if I was sure if I wanted to lug five books with me, although I was only going to a nearby cafe for an hour or two. I had picked two Su Doku books, the aforementioned Marley and Me, Chronicles of Narnia and Jin Yong's Xiao Ao Jiang Hu, and was excited to spend a lazy day losing myself in books. H and I met about halfway through the book for a quick lunch break, when I realised how good it felt to be reading again. Don't get me wrong - I read every day. I devour newspaper articles; I read blogs; I even read sides of cereal boxes. The written word is so ubiquitous in daily life that it is nearly impossible to avoid reading. But to utterly wrap yourself in someone else's world and thoughts for hours is a completely different thing. It is, other than talking, the closest you can get under someone else's skin and walk around in it.
As I interact with bits and pieces of the international stage, the same bits and pieces within me evolve. And perhaps this is why I had the sudden desire to write - maybe that way you can get under my skin, walk around it for a bit and tell me how I feel. It is as if I am half inside and half outside my body. My eyes see the clouds before me, but yet my hands pecking away at the keyboard don't feel like they are part of the same body. There are thoughts swirling round and round my head with memories intercepting each other, and stills from scenes I've seen whizzing through like a whirring slideshow of photographs.
Who am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? When is the right time? Why am I in this time/space combination? How do I take the next step forward?
I have had a recurring dream where I am being chased (for different reasons each time) and I run with all my might. I feel each movement through thick, sluggish, gel-like air, and I can't move any faster despite my soul pressing hard against my body, dying to push ahead. The pursuer and destination are inconsequential, but the claustrophobic feeling of not being able to move any faster is akin to what I feel right now, mentally.
The basic premise of life is rather simple - eat and rest. How you get to those two things fill up the rest of your time and the way you get there fill up the time outside your life as memories of others' lives. The meandering route I've taken to write this post is perhaps a good reflection of my thoughts right now - equal parts past, present and future.
Macht nichts. Es hat viele spass gemacht. It feels like, regardless of outcome, that each step I choose and take is a step closer to untying the Gordian knot called my life. How are you resolving yours?
I've just finished reading John Grogan's Marley and Me, in one sitting, and for the second time. The tears that followed the end of the novel were irrepressible and evoked me to write something to cover the silence in my head. It has been more than two months since I last wrote and even without many things happening, I feel like I'm a changed person.
H was talking to his mum today about our upcoming flight back home and I was drooling over the thought of filling up my stash of Pocky snacks when I suddenly realised that we were flying direct from Frankfurt, and would not be stopping in Narita as I had for the past four summers.
Isn't it funny how the smallest, most insignificant thing can make you realise a part of your life is over? I've been writing about change and growing up since the move to Dekalb, but so far it has been realisation, not acceptance, of change. I can still see the vivid blue skies and golden sunshine; the glorious reds, pinks, orange and purple sunsets that I've always wanted to photograph but never got around to doing so; and the majestic sight of the Santa Catalina, Rincon, Santa Rita and Tucson Mountains that surround Tucson area, all in my mind's eye. I can still feel the biting, numbing cold of my first Midwest winter; the crisp air that hurts your nose and lungs to breathe; and the soft caress of a snowflake falling onto an open palm.
Before we left the apartment this morning, H asked if I was sure if I wanted to lug five books with me, although I was only going to a nearby cafe for an hour or two. I had picked two Su Doku books, the aforementioned Marley and Me, Chronicles of Narnia and Jin Yong's Xiao Ao Jiang Hu, and was excited to spend a lazy day losing myself in books. H and I met about halfway through the book for a quick lunch break, when I realised how good it felt to be reading again. Don't get me wrong - I read every day. I devour newspaper articles; I read blogs; I even read sides of cereal boxes. The written word is so ubiquitous in daily life that it is nearly impossible to avoid reading. But to utterly wrap yourself in someone else's world and thoughts for hours is a completely different thing. It is, other than talking, the closest you can get under someone else's skin and walk around in it.
As I interact with bits and pieces of the international stage, the same bits and pieces within me evolve. And perhaps this is why I had the sudden desire to write - maybe that way you can get under my skin, walk around it for a bit and tell me how I feel. It is as if I am half inside and half outside my body. My eyes see the clouds before me, but yet my hands pecking away at the keyboard don't feel like they are part of the same body. There are thoughts swirling round and round my head with memories intercepting each other, and stills from scenes I've seen whizzing through like a whirring slideshow of photographs.
Who am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? When is the right time? Why am I in this time/space combination? How do I take the next step forward?
I have had a recurring dream where I am being chased (for different reasons each time) and I run with all my might. I feel each movement through thick, sluggish, gel-like air, and I can't move any faster despite my soul pressing hard against my body, dying to push ahead. The pursuer and destination are inconsequential, but the claustrophobic feeling of not being able to move any faster is akin to what I feel right now, mentally.
The basic premise of life is rather simple - eat and rest. How you get to those two things fill up the rest of your time and the way you get there fill up the time outside your life as memories of others' lives. The meandering route I've taken to write this post is perhaps a good reflection of my thoughts right now - equal parts past, present and future.
Macht nichts. Es hat viele spass gemacht. It feels like, regardless of outcome, that each step I choose and take is a step closer to untying the Gordian knot called my life. How are you resolving yours?
Thursday, April 19, 2007
An update
9.11pm 19 April 2007 Thursday
I once read a useless tidbit about how, if you manage to keep up with a new habit for more than 30 days, you're very likely to keep it up for the rest of your life. I was just typing the time and date of the blog entry, although I know posts have time-stamps, when I realised that I've gotten so much into the habit of writing it a certain way that it's now second nature for me to continue.
After accidentally stumbling onto a disturbing novel on incestuous relationships and familial murders, I was determined that the next batch of books I borrowed from the library was to be simple and... normal. It's sad that nothing in life can be expected to be "normal" any more, with reading material these days being one more shocking than the last. So I hark back to the older, 1970s books for some gentle reads that just soothe the soul and genuinely provide you with an avenue for escape.
We're reminded time and again that human civilisation is but a speck of dust in the history of time. With some time on my hands the last weeks, I've finally sat down quietly to think about some things that I never had the cause to think about. For example, that when you think of life, it is only right that you also think of death.
At the Body Worlds' exhibition I attended some time ago, I read several thought-provoking quotes on that subject matter. I wished that I had brought along a notebook instead of an acquaintance so that I could slowly ponder about this age old cycle, but sometimes the best ideas come from slow ruminations that you don't really realise is slowly churning deep inside this primal brain.
I can remember the first time I was introduced to books - my mum hired a university student to read to us. The book was about flowers that looked like droopy bells and elves. Since then, the comfort of the written word has been a constant companion throughout exams, deadlines, heartbreak, and upheavals. When I look into my mind's eye, I realise that the person I am now is a culmination of books, of memories and tales that other people tell me, and that you can choose to be a person you wish to be.
And the person I wish to be, is, after 23 years, a simple one. I don't want no pretentious "dinner parties" or fashionable friends. Although I'm always physically distant and many times mentally distant to people dearest to my heart, many times they are all I want. Just a simple, small house filled with love, not expensive nor fancy gadgets, and a predictable life.
Yesterday I told some classmates that with life comes death. Irrational as it sounds, but recently I've been afraid to get closer because I don't want to leave anyone, anymore. Not now, not in 20 years, not till the end of time. Perhaps this is why philosophers exist- to do the thinking for others so that the rest of us can do "constructive" things like betterment of life.
Every time I'm at crossroads I come back to the same question- why am I always planning ahead? Why should I fill my hands with work or errands or tasks instead of spending time with people, doing activities we all enjoy together? Funny thing is, maybe we don't know what to do with ourselves and each other when there is forever to contemplate. But I digress.
Being alone in Dekalb has really changed my life quite a bit. For one, I realise that I'm as much of a sun worshipper as H's mum who would lie in the sun for hours no matter how hot it got. It also forced me to examine what was really important, and what was fluff. And finally, I think it precipitated my transition into real adulthood, and I'm thankful to Life for making it as smooth as can be.
So really, this post is about being grateful for what I have in life, right here, right now. It gives a nod to Death, that distasteful beast who will always be hanging by your doorstep, except you've just got to do everything you can and want to do, in case it decides to pull you over to the other side. There's no "I'll do this when I retire" or "I can't..." any more. Right here, right now.
I once read a useless tidbit about how, if you manage to keep up with a new habit for more than 30 days, you're very likely to keep it up for the rest of your life. I was just typing the time and date of the blog entry, although I know posts have time-stamps, when I realised that I've gotten so much into the habit of writing it a certain way that it's now second nature for me to continue.
After accidentally stumbling onto a disturbing novel on incestuous relationships and familial murders, I was determined that the next batch of books I borrowed from the library was to be simple and... normal. It's sad that nothing in life can be expected to be "normal" any more, with reading material these days being one more shocking than the last. So I hark back to the older, 1970s books for some gentle reads that just soothe the soul and genuinely provide you with an avenue for escape.
We're reminded time and again that human civilisation is but a speck of dust in the history of time. With some time on my hands the last weeks, I've finally sat down quietly to think about some things that I never had the cause to think about. For example, that when you think of life, it is only right that you also think of death.
At the Body Worlds' exhibition I attended some time ago, I read several thought-provoking quotes on that subject matter. I wished that I had brought along a notebook instead of an acquaintance so that I could slowly ponder about this age old cycle, but sometimes the best ideas come from slow ruminations that you don't really realise is slowly churning deep inside this primal brain.
I can remember the first time I was introduced to books - my mum hired a university student to read to us. The book was about flowers that looked like droopy bells and elves. Since then, the comfort of the written word has been a constant companion throughout exams, deadlines, heartbreak, and upheavals. When I look into my mind's eye, I realise that the person I am now is a culmination of books, of memories and tales that other people tell me, and that you can choose to be a person you wish to be.
And the person I wish to be, is, after 23 years, a simple one. I don't want no pretentious "dinner parties" or fashionable friends. Although I'm always physically distant and many times mentally distant to people dearest to my heart, many times they are all I want. Just a simple, small house filled with love, not expensive nor fancy gadgets, and a predictable life.
Yesterday I told some classmates that with life comes death. Irrational as it sounds, but recently I've been afraid to get closer because I don't want to leave anyone, anymore. Not now, not in 20 years, not till the end of time. Perhaps this is why philosophers exist- to do the thinking for others so that the rest of us can do "constructive" things like betterment of life.
Every time I'm at crossroads I come back to the same question- why am I always planning ahead? Why should I fill my hands with work or errands or tasks instead of spending time with people, doing activities we all enjoy together? Funny thing is, maybe we don't know what to do with ourselves and each other when there is forever to contemplate. But I digress.
Being alone in Dekalb has really changed my life quite a bit. For one, I realise that I'm as much of a sun worshipper as H's mum who would lie in the sun for hours no matter how hot it got. It also forced me to examine what was really important, and what was fluff. And finally, I think it precipitated my transition into real adulthood, and I'm thankful to Life for making it as smooth as can be.
So really, this post is about being grateful for what I have in life, right here, right now. It gives a nod to Death, that distasteful beast who will always be hanging by your doorstep, except you've just got to do everything you can and want to do, in case it decides to pull you over to the other side. There's no "I'll do this when I retire" or "I can't..." any more. Right here, right now.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Catharsis
7.40pm 3 March 2007 Saturday
Trine asked me some time ago, why I had stopped writing. To tell you the truth, the urge to write just slipped away from me as quietly as it slipped back in today. I used to think in words and paragraphs, as if my thoughts were being composed for an unseen audience that I would later try to form into prose. Somewhere along the way, the clear sight of my thoughts suddenly fell into a deep, dark fog.
I had begun to live day-to-day and worry only about the immediate and impending, instead of seeing with a child's clarity what is right and what is wrong. In this adult world that I wasn't ready to plunge into, there were so many different shades of grey. Shadows lurked in the foggy darkness, but I went on with life as I had known when the sun was shining brightly.
At some point I must have known that I was only turning around in circles while getting lost in this fog, but people see what they want to see. I thought I was still safe with clear sight of where I was going, but in reality, I had projected my destination while stumbling about in murky depths of the real world.
Writing has always been a cathartic process for me, but it's a very demanding lover who requires all your attention, all your faculties and for you to know exactly what you're trying to say. If you don't even know what is happening in the world around you, then writing becomes a tedious task because every word you try to use is like trying to fit 2 wrong jigsaw puzzle pieces together. You hunt and search for the right words, but if you're already blind in your inner world, it's highly unlikely that you stumble upon the exact words you're looking for to convey your feelings.
Unfortunately ever since I've moved to DeKalb, I've only experienced spurts of reality and a lot of my addled thoughts. Here in the quiet room and looking out at an unchanging landscape, I suddenly feel a little charge; a spark of what was before.
And then it fades away. Every day I struggle to find my purpose again, to seek a goal that I'm truly working towards other than graduation. Where is my Self? Where is my Path? I need my guiding light - this fog has to lift. I push and push at it like a weightlifter huffing and puffing to raise the barbells, but the cunning greyness slides away, evading my pathetic attempts to master it.
Is this depression? I don't feel depressed. In the same time space where apathy pervades, guilt lingers around like a sour understudy in the wings. Who is in charge here? What is the next line in the script? I feel like I'm clawing at thin air, clutching at rays of light like a beached whale gasping for air.
Somehow this writing experience isn't exactly cathartic; if anything, it raises more questions. But I need to find some reason to live, other than a distant future in 2 years. There must be a push factor for me to do well other than guilt at staying on in school while my father toils to pay for school. I feel short of breath, even as I run in circles in my mind's eye, looking for the way out of this dark icy vacuum.
Trine asked me some time ago, why I had stopped writing. To tell you the truth, the urge to write just slipped away from me as quietly as it slipped back in today. I used to think in words and paragraphs, as if my thoughts were being composed for an unseen audience that I would later try to form into prose. Somewhere along the way, the clear sight of my thoughts suddenly fell into a deep, dark fog.
I had begun to live day-to-day and worry only about the immediate and impending, instead of seeing with a child's clarity what is right and what is wrong. In this adult world that I wasn't ready to plunge into, there were so many different shades of grey. Shadows lurked in the foggy darkness, but I went on with life as I had known when the sun was shining brightly.
At some point I must have known that I was only turning around in circles while getting lost in this fog, but people see what they want to see. I thought I was still safe with clear sight of where I was going, but in reality, I had projected my destination while stumbling about in murky depths of the real world.
Writing has always been a cathartic process for me, but it's a very demanding lover who requires all your attention, all your faculties and for you to know exactly what you're trying to say. If you don't even know what is happening in the world around you, then writing becomes a tedious task because every word you try to use is like trying to fit 2 wrong jigsaw puzzle pieces together. You hunt and search for the right words, but if you're already blind in your inner world, it's highly unlikely that you stumble upon the exact words you're looking for to convey your feelings.
Unfortunately ever since I've moved to DeKalb, I've only experienced spurts of reality and a lot of my addled thoughts. Here in the quiet room and looking out at an unchanging landscape, I suddenly feel a little charge; a spark of what was before.
And then it fades away. Every day I struggle to find my purpose again, to seek a goal that I'm truly working towards other than graduation. Where is my Self? Where is my Path? I need my guiding light - this fog has to lift. I push and push at it like a weightlifter huffing and puffing to raise the barbells, but the cunning greyness slides away, evading my pathetic attempts to master it.
Is this depression? I don't feel depressed. In the same time space where apathy pervades, guilt lingers around like a sour understudy in the wings. Who is in charge here? What is the next line in the script? I feel like I'm clawing at thin air, clutching at rays of light like a beached whale gasping for air.
Somehow this writing experience isn't exactly cathartic; if anything, it raises more questions. But I need to find some reason to live, other than a distant future in 2 years. There must be a push factor for me to do well other than guilt at staying on in school while my father toils to pay for school. I feel short of breath, even as I run in circles in my mind's eye, looking for the way out of this dark icy vacuum.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
The emperor's new clothes
8.21pm 14 Jan 2007 Sunday
The classic fable spoke of an arrogant emperor who swaggered around town in his fancy new clothes- his birthday suit- after being lied to by the royal tailor. Everyone in his kingdom was too afraid to tell him the truth until an honest little boy blurted out, "But you're not wearing anything!".
That's how I felt after graduation, that I was a big hoax awaiting someone to unmask me, that I would wake up one day to realise that I didn't actually complete my credits. Now this nightmare doesn't seem as funny as the time Mikhaila told me about his fear of waking up to realise that he didn't actually finish his course and the architectural board was going to revoke his 10 year old licence.
Maybe that's why people go to graduate school - to graduate from their childhood into the real world. The more new-years I see whiz by, the more I wish I could still say that I'm a child who needs to be taken care of. Right now I'm functioning on autopilot while living in an underwater world, oblivious to the actual comings and goings of those ashore.
Today while unpacking I found some letters that reminded me of him. Then I thought of the question Mark asked me some years ago, "What would you do if one day you opened the door and found him standing there, wanting to revive the relationship?". At that time I told him that with my then-current mindframe, I'd say I would drop everything to try it out again with him.
So when I felt that familiar flurry of emotions again today, I asked myself that same question Mark had asked me, only to find that my response would be to gently shut the door without saying a word.Perhaps I know one day I'll even stop thinking about him.
Your love and in loving you, I've slowly recovered without even realising it. Time and again you've proven to me what love was, what to expect, and what to give. Perhaps I might not feel the same way about you as I did him, but give me more time and one day I'm sure I'll start a new life, with you as the love of my life.
The classic fable spoke of an arrogant emperor who swaggered around town in his fancy new clothes- his birthday suit- after being lied to by the royal tailor. Everyone in his kingdom was too afraid to tell him the truth until an honest little boy blurted out, "But you're not wearing anything!".
That's how I felt after graduation, that I was a big hoax awaiting someone to unmask me, that I would wake up one day to realise that I didn't actually complete my credits. Now this nightmare doesn't seem as funny as the time Mikhaila told me about his fear of waking up to realise that he didn't actually finish his course and the architectural board was going to revoke his 10 year old licence.
Maybe that's why people go to graduate school - to graduate from their childhood into the real world. The more new-years I see whiz by, the more I wish I could still say that I'm a child who needs to be taken care of. Right now I'm functioning on autopilot while living in an underwater world, oblivious to the actual comings and goings of those ashore.
Today while unpacking I found some letters that reminded me of him. Then I thought of the question Mark asked me some years ago, "What would you do if one day you opened the door and found him standing there, wanting to revive the relationship?". At that time I told him that with my then-current mindframe, I'd say I would drop everything to try it out again with him.
So when I felt that familiar flurry of emotions again today, I asked myself that same question Mark had asked me, only to find that my response would be to gently shut the door without saying a word.
Your love and in loving you, I've slowly recovered without even realising it. Time and again you've proven to me what love was, what to expect, and what to give. Perhaps I might not feel the same way about you as I did him, but give me more time and one day I'm sure I'll start a new life, with you as the love of my life.
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