oF STeAm, miRaGEs & CLouDs

I love to watch the wispy strand of steam dancing its way out from my hot cup of coffee. If I concentrate really hard, the world around me becomes fuzzy. It is as if I have become one with the dancing steam.

I love to watch the hot asphalt road for any sign of mirages. If I concentrate really hard, I can find them just there in the distant track as far as my eye can see. It is as if the magical mirages have pulled together the horizon and the road into one seamless piece.

I love to watch the fluffy cotton clouds edge their way across the sky. If I concentrate really hard, I can spot the rabbit and the deer, the mountain and the little girl. It is as if the cotton clouds are trying to mime to me the story of my life.

Little things, immense love. Passion, and contentment.

sO LaUGh

I have stopped along the way. Many times. And I’m not proud of my lack of determination.

I have thought of giving up. Many times. And I’m not proud of my cowardice.

I have made mistakes. Many times. And I’m not proud of my stupidity.

I have fallen. Many times. And I’m not proud of my lack of balance.

They say to learn to laugh at myself. Ha ha ha!

wHAt We LeARnT

Just last week, my friends and I were reminiscing about the good old days. The good old days when we were teenagers. The good old days when we were in our twenties. The good old days when we were so full of hope, so full of energy, so full of ourselves.

Suddenly, we are 30. And none the wiser.

Back then, we were caught up with work and making money. We were caught up with dating and finding true love. We were caught up trying to discover who we are. We were caught up in search of the meaning of life.

And we realise, with a kind of wry and sardonic wisdom, how little we knew then, how little we know now. The banalities of daily living continue to occupy us, continue to elude us.

Money and love and life? They are way too over-rated.

No CoURaGe wiTHoUt fEAr

“Maldivian president Maumoon Abdul Gayoom escaped assassination in his Indian Ocean archipelago on Tuesday, thanks to a teenage boy scout who wrestled back a knife-wielding attacker.”

Clap clap clap for the boy. A hero! That takes guts. That takes resolve. That takes faith. That takes courage.

Now, what would make the boy do that? Grab hold of a knife with his bare hands! Was it love and affection for his president? Was it instinctual? Was he out of his mind?

I am sure many thoughts raced through his head at that moment he reached out. Who is this fellow waving a knife in front of me? What is he trying to do? I can’t let him harm anyone. Will it hurt if I grab the knife? I am scared. Will I die? What if I can’t stop him?

Having guts and resolve, faith and courage, doesn’t mean there is no fear. I think it is in recognizing fear, and acknowledging it, that brings about guts and resolve, faith and courage.

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” (Seneca)

CroSsiNG tHE LiNe

I like to watch races where there is a finishing line and the one who is first gets to break through the tape in victory. Even though I’m not really competing in the race myself, my heart still skips a beat when the winner crosses the finishing line. I imagine the sense of achievement knowing that their hard work has paid off. I imagine the sense of relief that they have completed the race. I imagine that moment of wonder when they cross that line.

I guess we all have some version of lines in our life, be they personal or public. And I suppose having lines gives us some semblance of security and balance. Lines we draw define our private and social boundaries. And yet, do the lines really keep us safe? Or do the lines isolate us by keeping out those who care for us?

I want to cross the line, will you let me?

LivE thE QueSTioN

For my dearest friend, who will appreciate this quote in all its depth and breadth and magnitude.

"Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day."

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

gREat ExPecTaTiONs

I suppose we all have that to a certain extent. Expectations, both from others and from ourselves. We project what we believe is the ideal onto others. We project what we believe others perceive as ideal onto ourselves.

Expectations, real or imagined. Expectations, set them too high, and you get disappointed. Expectations, set them too low, and you miss the point.

Do expectations give us an opportunity to become better people? Or do expectations drag us down into dark dungeons?

Don’t let expectations choke you… one can breathe so much easier without expectations.

imMoRTaLiTy

I have always wondered about the sanity of those who seek immortality. Why would someone want to live forever? Imagine, having to carry the burden of life into eternity. You probably need to continue working to support yourself. Work forever?

I like to believe we lead meaningful lives because we know we are going to die someday. Our mortality forces us to choose life. We walk the walk because we know the path will come to an end.

Is the dead-end just round the corner? Nobody knows.

"Tread softly now for I have lain my dreams under your feet."

SeCRetS oF tReES

The pages were all empty. He said to fill them up with colours. Colours, to express what words cannot say. Colours, to express what is hidden inside. Colours, to express myself.

The first drawing I’m going to make is of a tree. I like trees. I like big, fat, gigantic, old trees. I like how strong and sturdy they are. I like the steadfastness in them, rooted to the ground.

Come sit here under the shade of the trees.

Ssshh. The trees are telling their secrets.

rUnNinG iN ThE WinD

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

(Author unknown)

Running, with the wind against my face, in my hair, on all of me. I wonder, if that’s what horses feel when they gallop. Or, what birds feel when they soar.

Running, is a strangely reflective time for me. Beyond the stomach-clenching and gasping-for-breath, I like to see the trees and flowers and people I pass. The feeling of being part of nature is reassuring.

Running, is my private communion time with God. Almost as if we can communicate telepathically.

Running, to be free

gReENer PaSTuREs?

"The grass is not, in fact, always greener on the other side of the fence. Fences have nothing to do with it. The grass is greenest where it is watered. When crossing over fences, carry water with you and tend the grass wherever you may be."

(from It Was on Fire When I Lay Down on It by Robert Fulghum)

pASt FoRWarD

And so it was, and so it has been, and so it will always be?

I think sometimes, we get so tunnel-visioned we only see this one big event in our life. And it consumes us, with all the ferociousness of a tiger killing his prey. And we allow our lives to be defined by this one big event.

But, we are more than just this one big event, as I am slowly coming to learn. Because we are doing ourselves an injustice if we allow this one thing to contain and restrain us.

I like to think the human soul is much bigger. Even if our concerns don’t go further than what can I have for lunch tomorrow or what do I wear for dinner tonight, these little things make us who we are. Mundanity roots us to the ground.

For the sum of our parts is greater than the whole of our self.

ReVisiTiNG mY RoOm

I spent today on a cleaning rampage of my room. I wiped down every shelf and ornament. I put up photo frames that I never knew existed. I hung pieces of art that I have been hoarding for years. I arranged my books and CDs and DVDs. I swept the floor twice. I put on new bedsheets.

And now I have a beautiful and clean room to start off the year, complete with brilliant blue sheets that have colourful animals on them. And looking at my clean room, I feel a sense of fulfillment. The kind of quiet joy that you derive from a hard day of labour.

Sort the treasure from the junk, come back to the basics.