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.
