Living & Dying

Whilst many people may come to fear the idea or even the reality of their mortality. Yes, many people fear death. And for those that don't fear death, they fear for the things and the loved ones they leave behind, that it may fall into the torment of decay without them being around. But I tell you, I do not fear death, and I do not fear for the things I leave behind...But I fear for the things I leave unsaid, for the dreams that I never lived, and for the nothingness I leave behind... No, I don't fear death. What I fear happens everyday, sometimes many times a day...What I fear is dying.

I fear the little deaths each day, and the slowly dying and decay. The parts of me I've had to bury, and the sacrifices for each day. I mourn the loss of the innocence in child-like fun, and for the six-foot trenches that memory had made. The wilting of compassion that once blossomed for each spring of appreciation, and the nonchalant lending of a hand.

I dread the gravestones that stood in my way, reminding me of cherished passions.  The stone-cold stark remarks of their bitter and unwelcome engravings, echoing the miseries of my lives long ago laid down to rest.

I curse the miscarriages of my dreams, my passionate achievements which could have soared to greatness. Like tumours, already dead parts of me, forced to be extracted and cut from my life.

But most of all, much worse than the long-drawn tragedy of dying, I fear the four walls of a glorified cage, like a tomb built for the living who are placed there slowly to die. For no matter how big or how small, what manner of material make up it misshapen bars, or the luxury of it's habitat...A cage is still a cage, and just another word for a coffin. No, I do not fear death, I fear the pieces and stages of my life...slowly...dying.

The Anti-hero

Is it truly possible that something with such profound meaning, such poetic sense and such heroism in its history, can be reduced to nothing more than just empty words echoing through the overwhelming silence of loneliness, but motivated by what appears to be more duty rather than sincerity? How is it then possible that such heroism is turned to nothing more than a pedestrian thought? The answer is simple...The answer is clear. But the answer is not always the truth that we're willing to face, because it's reality is too far from the fantasy we naively created all by ourselves.

In Shakespeare, we learn that bringing down the face of a hero, is as simple as pointing out its flaws. This does not make him an antagonist...no, it makes him less than what we thought before. It simply makes them an anti-hero, the kind of hero with no heroic qualities of note, but still, a hero nonetheless. But it's not the anti-hero who falls so far from grace that should concern us, as much as the hero, who in his own believable pretence, built a pillar of virtues that never really were his to begin with.

Yes, the way you bring down the greatness, the poetry and the heroic luster of something as profound as Love, is by pulling back the curtain and exposing it for all its impurities. And it is then that you learn that Love not only breeds Love and Happiness...no...Love too often decides to also breed Contempt.

Stains - Part 1

Anyone who really knows me usually knows my wardrobe - it's littered with white. And as obsessed as I am with whites and light greys (in my 30s), unfortunately, I'm a total klutz. My husband usually knows it's me by following a spill trail of food, or drink, on my clothing. Yes, I'm prone to stains. But it doesn't stop me from wearing my whites.

Over the last few months I've been going through a lot, physically, mentally and emotionally. Weird things have been creeping into my mind - foreign things, feelings I'm not familiar with, thoughts that keep spinning over and over in my head when the room goes empty or late at night. Things like loyalty, trust, friendship, dependence, freedom, responsibility, commitment, security... I'm one of the most confident people I know - ask anyone who knows me. But consolidating all these thoughts have only made me realise that every one of these recipes have the same ingredient... DOUBT.

I'm a complete workaholic, overachiever, who goes the extra mile for everyone, and a brilliant juggler. But never in my life have I wrestled with doubt, especially in my friendships, in my family, and worse of all, myself. But now, all the hats I've enjoyed wearing all my life have this horrible stain on them called doubt. Naturally, when I spill something and I can't get the stain out, I rarely throw it away. I often keep it in my closet hoping that one day I'll get the stain out so that I can confidently wear it again. But how do you pack away a relationship, a responsibility, a commitment, a feeling? You can't. It's ruined. You'd probably have to just... throw it out.

It's been a while since I've written. Since I've had to have a little one on one with me. And I realised I've just been too busy to get through a little love and a load of laundry. I don't have the answer. Not now. And call it what you want... Doubt, stains, depression, whatever. I simply have to figure out what the hell I plan to do with it. Because until I do, I don't really have whites anymore... all I have left are stains.

Beware of Sailing

The seas are wide, wild and unforgiving. And if you're gonna sail it's rough waters, be mindful of the wind. It'll raise your sails and keep you moving forward, but just as quickly it can change direction. And there's nothing worse than capsizing in open waters.

But the real trick about sailing with the wind is learning how to control your rudder, knowing when to hoist your sale and when to bring it about. And if you don't keep a firm grip of your rudder, you'll end up losing control and the sea will take you, claim you and break you. Because the truth is, unlike the sea with its tides and it's beaches, it knows where to end and which way to flow. The wind, however,  it has no rules, and can't be told what to do and where to go.

And just like life, in its rough and unforgiving climates, be mindful of the breeze that keeps you steady, it'll change direction quickly till all you're left with is the gail. So learn quickly, the rules about sailing, because you never know which way the wind will blow.

Pain & Pleasure

As a good saying goes - "One man's junk, is another man's treasure". But it's very rare that one hears the saying "One man's pain, is another man's pleasure"...

Similarly so, I find it interesting how one thing can bring good memories flooding back to an individual, whilst they sometimes only remind us of much darker days. And ironically, the same memories of those darker days in our lives, are sometimes shared with the same subjects that now finds only solace in the blurred memory of its happiness. Who mistake the undeniable wrongs for vague rights.

And like scars remind us of wounds, it's always the painful memories that you remember quite vividly, and the good memories that become only shades of shadows in the blurred silhouette of memory. And that's not to say that those wounds haven't healed, but rather that scars are so easily torn open once again.

But it is in time and in love that we must slowly learn to place our trust. After all, it is time that heals all wounds, but it is up to love to dress it it, tend to it and protect it. It is in love that we look to for guidance when we make those same mistakes and show us the line that divides pain from pleasure, and how feint that fine line becomes.

Autopsy

Living the type of life I've lived, having grown up and matured as quickly as I did has taught me many things about life, love and most of all...compromise.

I've never regarded the glass being half empty or half full as any matter of concern, I have always only seen the glass and its condition and probability for being either a positive or negative force. That's about as black and white as I've ever been able to deduce particular facts in and around my life. And with all the wisdom I've gained, I've never considered myself in these regards, but rather that at least the majority of the affected be affected in the best possible way, whether that included me or not. And even if after dissecting my perspectives, my understanding is undermined by the deterrent of my compassion, then my wisdom will not forgive the scars that my compassion leaves behind.

So yes, I may reason and rationalize things in a manner consistent to that of running an autopsy...But the fact remains that the last thing I should be called is inconsiderate. The tears that filled the wells of my life have all been rich in the nourishment they got from all my considerations, and those wells have turned to dams which no strength in a wall can further contain. Yes, life is full of compromise, and once again I find myself at the end of one. And as is true to my nature, I have the choice of choosing to understand and decide based on what lies at the end of the microscope, or follow what my compassion drives me to believe but cannot quite clearly see through a blurred spyglass.

Seasons

As the last of the warmer seasons leave us, we suddenly feel the cold reality of life, moving swiftly by like a sudden rushing wind. And as the memories of our liveliness, so suddenly, fade to pale browns and greys, the bite of winter's breath reminds us that the old season is gone, and that its time to let go and face the even greater, frosty horizon. So too in my life I feel the sudden plunge that turns to a fast free-fall, as if my soft, leafy landing had vanished and all that remains is the deep and long abyss of simply living.

And there are times it seems that the elements of winter, such as deep chill of a quiet hush, and the crackling of frost as it envelopes us, all too quickly takes over the place that we once felt the warmth of the season we grew too used to being in. And like a thief in the night, the bite of winter has silently changed our surroundings, stolen what was left of our beautiful summer, and left us with the cold, unending night. But stepping into a new season is never easy, especially when the evergreen are all too fond of reminding us that we're simply out of place. Nothing more than bits of twine and twigs, without the lush of the green we once were clothed with, and completely fruitless in a season we suddenly realise we do not belong in.

But the truth that rings out is that with winter comes the rain, and the deep silence required to mourn the passing of a good season. A chance to rebuild and to regrow for the harvest yet to come. For there is no room for new beginnings, without letting go of the past. And there cannot be growth after a harrowing winter, if we're weighing ourselves down with the memories of a summer's past. So I'm appreciating the warmth I'm blessed with through the frost, to endure me beyond the winter till spring comes at last.

Equation

Its an interesting thing to consider, when one thinks of how to reason "purpose" in life. That if everything in the world can be summed up, rounded off, multiplied and divided, to a fraction of 'heaven', and somewhere in that enormous equation, still manage to find you. And if, like Einstein suggested, the world is simply made up of compressed, recessed, recycled and re-used energy, then how does one find purpose, for a purpose that is truly significant and special to you?

With all our mistakes, misdirections and imperfections in life, how is it we manage to find space for an unreasonable thing like love? For it in no way has an equation, or a reason or quantifiable reaction, nor does it have perceived methodologies that define it or bind it in any way. So then how do we describe it, define it, compose it or refine it, if there are no compounds to collate its unique sum?

The answer is simple and the equation is this, that love has no fraction or part in its whole. It can therefore only be defined by the source we find it most in, and can summarize its equation from the results we find in ourselves. And that no matter how the measure of your life seems at any point, that even the positives and negatives add up to the perfectly rounded you.

Hope For Courage

There are many things in this world that we may learn to fear. Especially when we live in a world that teaches us the value of things and exactly how to use people, how to treasure possessions and how much to love ourselves. But when we learn that fewer things give us courage, and that love gives us hope, then why place your love in a thing that decreases in value, and hope on a time that soon enough will pass?

Well, I've learned that the best place to store love, is to store it in people. The ones that can build the things that money cannot, and that can never decrease in value for as long as there is love. Yes, people can build memories, and hardly ever decrease in value, even if in their humanity, can make mistakes and turn love to hate. Then the key is to find one person who stores as much love in you as you do in them.

And I can say that at least I have a bank that treasures the thing I treasure most...My hope, my favourite memories, my values and my love. Because, courage is not the absence of fear, but the realisation that something, someone, is more important than fear. And that something, and someone, gives me something more than courage...Something to be courageous about...Hope...

Mended

A time will come when we have to surrender to the obvious, but oblivious fact, that perhaps beneath the porcelain plain of our deprived expression, and somewhere behind the masquerades of our poker faces, and buried deep within good intentions...Perhaps perfection is just the perception of what glue looks like when a man is broken.

Perhaps the only ties that bind a broken end to the part of a mended whole, are smiles and graces of wounded man, who stitched himself together with copious hours of work, and managed to hide his tears with laughter in an effort to numb the pain. And the truth is, eventually we become so used the reparations being in process, that we forget we ever have repairs to complete. Or is it just that we become so comfortable in our own brokeness, that we don't realise that we still have time for repairs?

A time will come when we have to realise that we cannot fix a thing, unless we acknowledge that it is broken. But understand that no matter how broken, there's a difference between you, and truly being beyond repair.

Desperation

There is a very fine line that sometimes separates the wants and needs in our lives. A veil between what is truly required in order to sustain a present or continuous level of being, and what our minds convince our hearts to long for in order to be complete. The divide between the desires of hearts and the restlessness of our minds. A line, a veil and a certain divide, all easily overthrown by the power of our own unwavering desperation.

Yes, the level of a man's desperation can drive him to many things, and at the same time hold him back from too many good things, can blind him from all the right things and sunder his conscience from realising which is which. For it is through desperation that he sees without sight, only the thing he wants, and not the obsession he is exposed to. And using the power behind its relentlessness can assure that man of his victory and failure in what matters most. Because what matters most is always seen from one angle, and every angle of perspective, but one perception which remains true. But even through perception, desperation lies to us, and throws what matters onto an alter as a sacrifice worth making for.

But ignorance does not excuse a man from what lies between the veil, beside the line and over the divide, for it either makes us human or in the worst case, inhumane. Desperation too has a price, that all too late, a man will bear, if he chooses it and uses it to get what he wants and leave behind what the soul truly needs. Like oxygen, truth is the sustenance for the soul, and if its not this need that desperation has led you to. In truth the thing we often fin ourselves desperate for is nothing more than a desire that's just not worth fighting for.

Flashback

There are times when I sit back and relax, and try to glance over the chapters in my life that have played a significant role in shaping and changing who I was at that time, and evolved and developed my way of thinking to the mindset I find myself living with today. And I often wonder if the choices I made were the best ones at the time, if they were only suited for that time, and whether or not they were right for my future, my current present or just the situation at that time. And like a photographer going through the stills of each deciding moment, the pinnacle of choice and the height of indiscretion, that perhaps I could've done more, or should have done less, that perhaps the quality of my results could have somehow been better.

It is in these times that I find profound meaning to Shakespeare's wise and poetic words. That "All the world is a stage, and the men and women merely players", and that in each defining moment, we pass into another simple 'act' and that each enlightening moment is just another chapter, and then perhaps each provoking choice is nothing more than a climax...standing at the brink of change...waiting for the eruption of a resolute fact. It is in this moment that we must realise, that time waits for nobody, and is always fleeting, and that whatever choices we do make, will ultimately become who we are, or at least how the world sees us.

Yes, life is like a script, a play, a film, a song or an unscripted moment. And every choice we make, we put ink to paper, song to sheets, and light to a strip along life's un-ending plain. And although life may seem un-ending, as individuals we must come to an end. So one day you'll find that heart-wrenching moment, much like pre-premier of a new blockbuster film...And on that day, when your life does flash before your eyes...the least you may want to do is make sure you're in for a good trailer. Define your life, each and every day, with each and every moment, in your own unique way.

From Where You Stand

Isn't it amazing how the world changes from where we stand. That from a birds-eye view, a mountain, is just another grain in the sand. And that as we move through our world from day to day, seeing ordinary people in ordinary places, to a man who has nothing in his own world, those ordinary things to us, are quite extraordinary to them. That a simple line in the sand becomes deeply dug trenches to the ant journeying through his day. And until we learn that the only obstacles that are placed in our lives, are only there on the condition of our very own perspectives.

So it baffles me how easily it is to exert so much energy on stress alone, then using all your reserves on fixing a problem, that from another perspective, was never a problem at all. And that's not to say that life is not filled with problems, but only the reality that we simply need to change the way we see and deal with another everyday thing. There will always be problems for as long as there is change, and as long as there is change there will always be solutions. Yes, as long as there are problems, there are millions of perspectives, and to find the right solution, you will have to apply a change. Because the size of a problem changes, depending on where you stand against it, and as such, a solution changes it feasibility depending on which perspective applies.

It is through change that we encounter problems, but change is inevitable in order to promote growth. And if change is the catalyst for an ever evolving problem, then change in kind must be the solution, to solve a problem evolving with change. So change your perspective, and change your solution, for it will change your problem and your life from where you stand.

Rekindle

Like a spark awakened from an ashy past, it only takes a cinder from a spark to ignite a flame. And in an instant a flash is seen, and a searing fire is heard, biting through the cold and damning the night. And just like that something small was motivation enough to bring this blog to life again. It was hard tearing my fingers away from the keyboard, or my hands away from the ink in my pen, but as a writer I feel far too compelled to do what life calls me to do, and just write.

You see frost slips through silently, and is strengthened by the night, and the dark of the evening sets the icy cold alight. And in the morning when you wake, you find your world frozen...without life and without growth...inside you fall apart. And yes frost slipped through the cracks of a strong wall, that I built with my own hands, but failed to support. And even through the darkness I tried to maintain all the upkeep on a wall that should have remained intact. But whether it could, or that it should is not a matter of fact, but a high hope that fell from my own naivety.

So once again the wall is rebuilt, and come the day it was needed, it shall be rebuilt again. Till my hands are no more, and used the last ink in every pen. But still I will remain, with all the words in my heart, and every syllable in my head, and every movement on a page that becomes a blog out in cyberspace. No, words cannot be killed, and like a cinder in the air, it will always rekindle a flame in the hearts of those out there.

The Sieve

There will come a time in life where we begin to understand, that the art of perfecting and of creating something great, is not only in the detail of a grand design, but simply in the persistent scrutiny of finding its imperfections. Whilst many appreciate the steady hand behind the talent of an artist, using his knowledge of his own craftsmanship, and in knowing exactly what he wants to achieve from his stone colossus...Nobody understands the wisdom behind the sieve that passes through the finely crushed powder, extracting each impurity it finds, and casts it out to the sand.

For if the sieve had pores much larger, only to seek out the obvious imperfection, what good would its purpose be to the grandeur of a statue with a hairline crack caused by a stubborn grain found somewhere in the batch. And if the sieve weren't given enough time to tediously go through the same layers of the batch, then how would the mixer differentiate between the perfected and the less than obvious problem in the mix. And even if through all its sifting and separated, the sieve were not meant to cast out the impurity but to leave it there lying, what purpose would it serve at all if not to perfect the fine powder used for the cement, used in the mixture to build up the stone, moulded into a structure the artist can work with, chiselled down to his work of art?

For nobody can understand the true work of a sieve, and the purpose it plays in a much grander design. Yet it remains humble, and still does its job to bring forward the grains with potential and to cast aside those without. But if not by it wearing itself slowly down, or that time and circumstance should wear its pores out, then simply by choice it can step aside, and let an artist with talent shine...but in his artwork remain with doubt.


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Derailed

Its often that we find that life can seem like a mighty hurricane, flying so speedily past us, leaving us dizzy and our world thrown upside down. But every now and then we realise, its not life, but us, moving like a bullet train, seeing only the glimpses of the life we've lived, from a beginning, without a middle, to an end too soon and die. And like a bullet train, never taking the steady scenic route, in which you can slow down for a moment to look out and see the wonders of the world. Instead all you see is just a blur, and the shaking of a speeding train.

And you'll find that moving at such great speeds, that life can get noisy, and feel so unsteady, and that the pressures of living weigh more heavily down when we're moving at great speeds. And yes, you're places, but you've not stopped to look at the places you've passed by along the track to a destination you hardly know yourself. Until you reach a point where you're craving silence, only to realise the noises are coming from you, and the only pressures you're feeling can only be stopped when you stop, for just a moment to take it all in.

So now I've run so far from the world and all its pressures, and its social calamity and its devious repertoire. And I have lengthened the space between myself and the graces of friends and frequent acquaintances, in all their mediocrity and dramatic declines. I've never been much further from the familiarity of family or of traditions and the roller-coasters of their precious demeanour. Only to find myself, even after all that, so far from all the pressures and chaos, not in peace or in quiet, but the unmistakable sound of my own stresses and prejudiced repose...All by myself, deep within myself, so far from myself...with the sound of a speeding track...about to be derailed.

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Love & War

It is said that all is fair in love and war, and that no matter what your intentions, your strategy of interception and attack must always be for the sake of victory for either side. But nobody wins a war with no goals, or takes up arms in a battle without a great purpose in mind. And so the same rules apply in any relationship, which should be discouraged if they have no clear direction for growth in mind. Because if its engaging in a battle, and yes...love is a battle, against all odds...without goals, the only two factions in that war are the two people in love.

Without knowing what they're fighting for, soldiers will lose their morale, until eventually they lose faith and are faced with either defecting or retreating. When two allies meet amidst a war, the strength of their front does not lie in their power, or in their wisdom or even the magnitude of their honour, no matter how dignified, but rather in their diplomacy, in their union and their trust. And without their rules of engagement in a war against time. And no matter how dire their circumstance, or how advantages their position in life, they must never become the casualties of a war against their own tides.

As is in war so the rules must apply when engaging in love. That without borders, barricades and boundaries, the rules will always be broken unless the laws are laid out on a solid line. And whether for the best of intentions, or for morals far from kind, as in war the rules of engagement, in love, must be clearly defined. Yes all is fair in love and war, but remember which treaty you signed, make clear the terms of your allegiance, against your enemies, and with clear goals in mind.

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Rogue

Strange, isn't it? That one of the strongest muscles in a human being's entire physical body, is also the one you wish you had the most strength of will to hold tightly down, and silence it from throwing a blow that can often be more devastating to a man than any physical attack. For it leaves the kind of wounds you'll likely never find, are easily concealed, but take the longest time to recover through the worst kinds of recovery processes. And even though you have control of it, still it seems to break free from the bonds of discipline, understanding and self-control.

It is said that, that which flows from the mouth of a man, is merely the overflow of the rivers in his heart. And if the river flows black from the taint of disdain, and icy cold from the chill of sadness, then from his mouth only hurt and anguish can flow. Soon hurt turns to hatred, and anguish to abhorrence. Until the only words he has left to say, are the rigid and broken descriptions of his own fears and the sharp edged fractures ricocheting against that which he loves, and the innocent bystanders he never means to hurt.

So if your strongest muscle fails to find the strength to simply tame itself and stop, then like any unruly thing, it simply needs to be taught the discipline of humility and the knowledge of kindness. But most importantly train your tongue in the skill of understanding, and slowly it will gain the wisdom...of Love.

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Ping

Interesting that in this world of Instant Messaging, Email, Broadcast Messaging and Social Networking, every now and then we come face to face with the realisation, that under all the technology, we still have our humanity. That in a world of political correctness, censorships, laws, jargon and colloquialisms, there's nothing quite like communicating on a basic human connection. And as it happens, I have only begun to fully realize how true and real this connection is when it happened at such a level that made me disappear for a minute or so, deep in thought of these facts, and ask myself...What has happened to our humanity in all a world of "Instant Living"?

We want to live things through sooner rather than later, get more done faster, and get everything done better, and to be able to do all of these things over further distances than ever. And in all this fast paced living, what has happened to the appreciation of the Here and Now? Its not that life has passed us by and when we realised things have changed, all of a sudden we're stunned...In fact its us moving too fast for life, to the point that we haven't slowed down once to notice the changes taking place...changes that we have created ourselves.

But one day you'll happen across the same connection as I did, as few of us did...Like pulling up to a red robot, and at that very moment looking into the next lane to find someone stopping at the same time, staring them in the face, and simply smiling...and you'll find the most remarkable thing will happen, when the next person smiles right back at you. And you'll realize, that above the mail alerts, the instant messaging and the social networking, that nothing is more remarkable, than the human connection...Like a human 'Ping'.

Picking Petals

Like picking petals in a park, there are times when a relationship feels like it sits on a scale...And counting the bundles piece by piece feels so exhausting and unnerving as we get closer to a final result. Because we can count the "He Loves Me" petals, and we can count the "He Loves Me Not", but in the end that's not how Love works. Its based on whole different set of scales.

You see sometimes there are more times that one says "I'm Sorry", than the times you say "I Love You", and it may seem a bit weary to the person or people that the words are meant to be given to. But its not about weighing one set against the other, or about which pieces bear more significance to the next. Its about the connection that you've just encountered, and knowing that someone still remembers to bring an "I'm Sorry" petal or an "I Love You" at all.

Yes, there will be times that there are more "I'm Sorry" petals than "I Love You" petals on one blossom, and sometimes it may strike you as frightening that it grows at all. So the key is to simply stop counting petals and remember to grow your relationship like a garden in bloom. Because one day you'll find yourself without anymore flowers, and only the petals from the garden you've picked.

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