TowARdS ThE LigHt

tRusT

"I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races
So I trust too."

(John Masefield)
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tHE paSsaGE Of wRiTinG

I miss writing. I miss the hours I could spare, staring into space, waiting for the ideas to come, for the words to materialize. Now, my days are packed with reading (mainly of the textbook variety), sitting in lectures (hoping we can be let off before 8pm), and revising (more flipping of textbooks to copy out important points and then to try to commit those points to memory). So I spend considerably less time on writing, and subsequent initiations of the writing process just gets harder each time.

I am lazier too, I guess. Now that my writing has transferred to the electronic word-processing realm, I no longer carry little notebooks with me to capture my thoughts. And even if I’m not crazy lugging my laptop everywhere, anyone would think I’m crazy if I started yanking it out every other minute to type. Not that I think Roger ThinkPad would enjoy the constant booting up and shutting down.

So I’ll have these random interesting thoughts, and say to myself, “This is a really great idea for my blog!” Within the next 10-15 minutes, unless I attend to it consciously (and forcibly), I would have forgotten what I wanted to write.

I recall in my studious undergrad days when I lived and breathed language and cognition, I read somewhere that says we have about 30 thousand thoughts running in our heads on a daily basis. I don’t really know how to quantify thoughts, but 30 thousand of anything is a staggering amount.

And I just need that one. That one little thought I can catch and write to life.
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a PoiNTe oF nOtE

One of the more interesting things (amongst the many) in my transition to Boston (or US in general) is having to consciously change my spelling. If nothing else, to at least look more credible in the work I hand in for marking. Because, I was brought up in the old-school British English (remnants of British colonialism in my part of the world), and took my major exams from the British board.

For the longest time, I have been ignoring those squiggly red lines that come up when I type an incorrectly-spelled word. Not anymore. As part of my assimilation process, I am learning to put aside my “British roots” to embrace the “New World order”.

So now, I don’t see the “colours” of the rainbow, but I see the “color” of the blue summer sky. I am not as “sombre” contemplating spelling as I used to, because “somber” seems more intuitive. It is a fascinating “realisation” for me, to “realize” the differences in the two spelling systems of the same language. And while I do like “jewellery”, I think I can get used to liking “jewelry” too.

But I think I’ll stick with calling my “mom” “mum” and not “mom”. Some habits are hard to break.
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LifE CyCLe

While many people may not like hospitals, I actually find them really exciting places. I have to walk through the hospital every day to get to school. And the moment I step inside, I feel this buzz in the air around me. There is all this hustle and bustle that goes on, flurries of activities, a kind of system within the chaos.

I think what really touches me is this whole notion of people working to save other people. I have been on this side of being saved, so I fully appreciate the dedication of those who are on the other end doing the saving.

I am not smart enough and resilient enough (too much blood scares me) to be a doctor. And anyway I might be a little too old to start pre-med now. So studying to become a speech language pathologist is my little way of contributing to this cycle.

Maybe not to save lives, but to be life-giving.
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RanDoM

What I lack in aptitude, I make up for with writing.
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miXeD

It’s been a little over a month since I relocated to Boston. It’s been a little over a month since I started school again. It’s been a little over a month that I am living my dream to reality. Sometimes, when I’m ambling along the sidewalks, I have to remind myself that this is not just my imagination. That I am in my dream country in my dream school preparing for what I believe is my dream career.

I look forward to each day of classes, even though lectures are 4 hours long. I struggle with the assigned readings, my concentration is not what it used to be. I wonder how much of myself to put out there, in my first tentative steps at making new friends.

Coming to a foreign land and learning to settle in is exciting, challenging, frustrating, interesting, amusing, scary, intense, lonely, and wild. Exactly like life, I guess.

I am a mixed bag of emotions.
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sTop

The thing is, I have not dreamt of you. Yet every day, so many things remind me of you. In my mind, it seems almost as if I can see you. In my mind, I still talk to you. I have so many stories to tell you. I have all these things to show you. I have so many questions to ask you. I want to ask you, “Why?”

A lot of people say it is futile to ask why. Be that as it may, it is difficult for me to not know. Like a jigsaw puzzle that is missing a piece. And that disturbs me greatly. I don’t know when this questioning will stop, or if it will ever stop.

Once I start, I won't be able to stop, and that, would be very bad.
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tHE pRooF

Writing has always been something very intuitive for me. I do not pause to think of whether the sentence is grammatical or whether there is subject-verb agreement. Most times, I work on the theory that “it sounds right”. In fact, I am hard put to explain what is an adjective or adverb or a passive sentence. When I need to parse language down to that level of detail, it often eludes me.

It is sobering for me then, to learn about speech and language disorders. To know that a skip in my gene sequence, a knock on my head, or even just simple old age, could lead to a breakdown in communication, is humbling. When I see videos of kids trying so hard to express their intent, adults so frustrated that they cannot remember the name of a loved one, something in me stirs.

Have you ever marveled at the fact that when you say, “Aren’t you feeling a bit cold?” and the other person stands up to close the window, that something miraculous is happening between the two of you?

And that, is the only proof I’ll ever need that there is a God.
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OveRHeArD

Scars remind us of where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we'll be.
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tRiButE To a FriEnD

I am a fighter. I am tenacious. I do not let the tears blur my vision. I do not let the sadness hinder my path. Even when the darkness seems to trap me in a forever moment, I know the moment will pass when I eventually walk out of the tunnel. I will not be beaten. I will continue walking. I will not give in.

I choose to trust my friends. I choose to be happy each day. I choose life, for myself.

For my very dear friend B: You are all of these and more.
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wHo sAiD

Gandhi said, “Be the change you want to see.”

I say, “Do not sit here, waiting for the sky to fall.”
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i LeaRNt

In that space between knowing and unknowing, I learnt a few things…

* That a moment can be the most beautiful and it can also be the saddest at the same time.

* That letting go is more painful than holding on.

* That it is equally important to be able to love and to be able to accept love.

* That it is not always the case that having something is better than having nothing.

* That grieving for the loss of someone still living is as difficult as grieving for the dead.

It’s a matter of perspective, I think, whether you experience each day as a blessing or a curse.
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