in the name of friendship

i have met up with her probably 2 to 3 times in the last 35 years. she wants to borrow money, this almost stranger. i obliged, in the name of a friendship, rather than any actual connection that have lingered over the years. i agreed to a minimal sum, one that i have written off in my mind as uncollectable. 

i was berated. i was ready for it. i knew that she would take offence to my advices. no one feels good about their mistakes being pointed out but i feel that is what a friend has to do. if i were to lend her the money without any advice, i will just be blindly letting her continue with the things that led her down the path to where she is now. even if she knows, even if she chooses to close her eyes to it, i have to let her know where her problem lies, and i had a right to do it because i am lending her the money.

it wasn't the advice. it wasn't the words that hurt her pride. it was the minimal amount. she said she was alright with whatever i was comfortable lending. apparently she is not comfortable with what i am comfortable. she racked up debts from shopping, from seeking alternative methods to make herself feel better; things that i cannot agree with, things that i feel will only compound her problems. i cannot stand by her choices but it is her life, it is her choice. i didn't want to fully financially support those choices. i thought that choice was mine. 

in the end, i'm glad she got so angry. i'm glad i can now write this person off my book and give up on friendships. friendship - what a duplicitous word. 

mind decaying part of life

oh my god. i'm going out of my mind with boredom. i have just completed the two biggest projects of my life and am suffering from post-project mind-decaying tedium. bringing up my two children have been the biggest accomplishment of my life and now that they are both in Uni and i have my life back, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, i have no direction and no goals. true, one never stops being a mother no matter how old your children are, but at a certain stage you have to let go of the apron strings and let them fend for themselves a little bit, and not hover around like an air-borne drone. the span of 20 years passed in the blink of an eye, when you look back retrospectively of course. and i am proud my children grew up alright, but along the way i have forgotten many things. i have forgotten how to eat slowly and chew my meals well. i have forgotten what i like and dislike. i have forgotten to stay hydrated regularly. i have forgotten how to put myself first and i have forgotten to look after myself. i have no goals that i want to strive towards, nothing that i specifically want to do, or see, or eat. everything have always played a second fiddle to the needs and wants of others. perhaps i have always been so decision-less. i now have too much time on my hands, which i will unhealthily spend working for lack of a better distraction. i spends my days doing a little of this, a little of that, and when i look back, i have not done anything worthwhile.

at 48 i have to start questioning myself once again; what do i want, what do i like. but i really can't think of anything. maybe it's just a bad day. maybe it's just hormones wrecking my mind.

hiding from the apocalypse

you know what the world needs right now? love, simple and pure. and with that comes tolerance and acceptance. you don't have to understand them, you don't have to agree with them, but if you love them, for no other reason than that they are a fellow human being, with families, lives and stories of their own, you will just accept them as they are.

the whole world is in chaos at the moment. you turn on the news and you see rioters and protestors everywhere, in all corners of the world. not just disgruntled people coming together to make their voice heard but wilful violence toward innocent bystanders, toward public properties. whilst they scream for their rights to be heard, they batter those who voice disparate views. whilst they fight for freedom that they claim they don't have, they are freely roaming the streets creating fear, chaos and economic turmoil everywhere. in the place i call my second home. i am sad.

in another corner of the world, people are fighting others because they are of different colour, different religion, different race, different beliefs. but isn't that what the world is all about, what makes everything works better...because we are all different? we are not an army of AI, all identical without a single different or original thought. why should we demand that others be the same, think the same and act the same? what causes such prejudice to blind our eyes and our hearts to fairness, to love and to righteousness? it is not an area that is grey, it is not a matter that is controversial or arguable, it is as simple as ABC: it is never right to kill another innocent to make yourself be heard, it is never correct to harm someone because they are different or because they don't agree. shouldn't it be the very basis of your logic, of your character? not even for greed, which is an evil trait in itself but understandable because it forms the very basis of  development and advancement, but for self-delusional greater good. why can't they see that they are fighting for the right thing, but in the wrong way?

it is scary because these young minds, this generation of our future population, our future leaders and our future hope, is growing up with hatred in their heart, and in their mind, and believes with every fibre of their being that their actions are fully justified. monkey see, monkey do. and others follow. they create an era where violent protesting is 'acceptable', disrupting the lives of others is totally fine because they are fighting for the 'greater good' and for the 'future' and sacrifices are unavoidable. they lose all logic, all human decency, all moral compass, and are deaf to all reasoning, almost as if an invisible germ filled with hatred and anger has infected them all.

some may wonder...what has little me been up to all this while?....why the silence.....why the hibernation? little ms me has been burying her head under the blanket, willing for the world to return to sanity, waiting for the zombie hatred apocalypse to be over. and in the blue-moon chance that little ms me does go out, she tries to change the hatred and anger in the world by a big sincere smile, one person at a time.

the story of the eggs

how should the story begin? right in the midst of it would be best i think.

there i was, with more plastic bags in the supermarket trolley than i can handle, and my ride for the trip back home already at the door waiting. it was then that i saw a solitary carton of eggs crying out meekly for my attention, isolated from its other supermarket grocery mates that were already sitting snugly in the bags. clearly this one has not been paid for. perhaps it was hidden obscured from attention by other plastics in the trolley, but there i was with both hands full and late. do i go back to pay for it or do i just put it in the bag? i felt like a hundred eyes were on me, all staring and waiting to see what i would do. when i finally snuck a peek, the rest of the world was just going about their own things, nary an idea of the turmoil inside me.

do i or don't i, that is the question. after a moment of indecisiveness, i took the easier alternative and placed the carton inside the plastic bag, along with the other items that have been paid for and made my way up the escalator. the weight in my heart kept getting heavier and heavier as i went higher and higher. at the top of the escalator, i turned around and made my way down again. it took me forever to come up with the decision to keep or not to keep but it took me a split second when i knew i had to do what was right. i cannot imagine spending the rest of the day, the rest of the night and even the rest of my life regretting this second, unable to rewind and undo. i wanted to be able to erase this from my memory and forget that it ever happened, just like any other day in my daily life.

you may think that i am telling this story to boast about how pure and righteous i am. on the contrary, i am irked by many things; my indecisiveness, my hypocritical virtuousness and how i make my own life so difficult.

27 years ago, when i was still in university, my boyfriend and i decided to splurge on some hot wings from a fast food chain, which shall not be named in case they read this and decided to come after me 27 years later (who knows the statute of limitations on these kind of things. ok, i'm being paranoid). as a student, we were generally frugal and eating out is a luxury reserved for special days. however, we were working hard on our thesis and tired from the continuous work, day in and day out. being thrifty, we ordered for 1 box of wings to share. can you imagine the exhilaration and delight we felt when the man behind the counter gave us 2 boxes? you would have thought that we struck first prize for the national lottery that day. we snuck a peek at each other, clamped our mouth shut and ran out of the door as quickly as possible whilst trying to look inconspicuous at the same time. all the way home, we kept looking back to see if the man had realised his mistake and came running after us.

the hot wings have never tasted better. one box was not quite enough to share between us, but now, with one box each, we ate to our hearts' content. it was the best feeling in the world; a little delight plus a little guilt plus a lot of hot yummy chicken. we figured the famous fast food chain could afford to lose a little in this one exceptional incident. the exhilaration was much more than the guilt, i have to confess. to this day and age, not many other incidents have brought us as much elation and excitement.

now, presently, i am not sure i will be able to do it again. is it because i have grown older? is it because i am now a mother of two? is it because i can no longer preach one thing but do another? with age, comes not just wisdom but burden. no more fun naughty memories to create, only responsible calculated moves.

it was sure fun to be young.

you know

do you feel wronged because you cannot explain your actions, because your actions are misconstrued as being selfish? because you are not the type to sing your own praises, nor clarify your conducts or tirade about when things aren't fair? because you just silently go about doing the things that you feel should be done and love in the way you know is right. do you feel bad because it is your loved ones and they have never understood nor know you, the real you? and they never cared to. you know that you can't blame them, and you shouldn't blame them because they are getting older. and you know that deep down you were never the most important but that's how life works sometimes. and life goes on.

sanctuary for thoughts

the only time i have nowadays to form a proper string of thoughts is in the car. as a passenger, of course, when there is nothing to do, no distraction but the windmills of my mind . and so i begin the ingrained old habit of conversing in my head. Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel.

the moment i step in through the doors, when i am once again behind my desk and the fingers flying freely around the keyboard instead of the tiny spaces in a handphone, all thoughts dissipate into thin air, all rumination die prematurely in its womb before conception. a thousand things pull at me from all directions, requiring, no demanding my attention. i am a machine without feeling or contemplation, i am a vehicle of action.

there is something soothing about long rides, pacifying greens flashing before my eyes, and i look inwards into my soul instead of out at the view.  i remember wishing that car rides would last forever when i was much younger, riding in the back seat with the comforting sound of my parents chatting in the front. it felt like a protected sanctuary from the world, a pause from the hustle and bustle of life. 

nowadays my kids stuff their ears with their ear buds the moment they step into the car, closing the world around them with the music of their choice. or they doze off when their heads touch the seat. they don't hear what the adults are discussing, they are not interested to know. perhaps they are also hiding from the world for a little while. 

something that was

sometimes i do think of him. not yearn for him. sometimes his name plays on the tip of my tongue. i have not heard it out loud for more than three decades now. maybe it is the unfairness of it all that makes my mind travel on the long trip down memory lane; how can someone hurt me so bad, leave such sad memories and not look back, never look back, not even for a fleeting glance. we didn't have much time together, we probably met less than the fingers on both hands. but the pureness of the feeling, the sincerity (which i now realise was purely just mine), the strength of our conviction, the innocence. and then the lies, the wait, the anticipation and the disappointment. how could someone scars another so bad and continue nonchalantly with their lives? how unfair can this world be? he did not even give me a chance to say anything in my defence, he did not give me a chance to say goodbye. for that and for leaving a scar that will always be there, the devil in me wishes that he is living well and happily, as a fat bald man.

and you realise you are more fond of the memories of a person that was than of the person that is. you realise that none of those that you are holding close to your heart, memories of the past or people in your stories, exist in this world or in this dimension anymore, that all and everything has vaporised into nihility, and you are grasping onto nothing

hello......haven't seen you around for a very long time.

i am once again reminded of how much i love the art of writing, the expressing of emotion, the penned description of images so rich that one can conjure up the vivid images in one's mind.

not too long ago i contacted an old blogger friend who wrote so beautifully that it inspired but who has since deleted his account. i told him how i missed his writings, but i think he must have thought it was him that i missed for who would love writing with such passion. but i do, i really do.

beautiful writings stir dormant feelings that have been buried under the many layers of tedious repetitive everyday life. it brings flutter to the slumbering heart and awaken a zeal that was once tempered. it inspires, it dreams, it stimulates. writing records my stories, witnesses my steps and empowers my mind. without it, my thoughts have been short and flitted everywhere, like the beautiful butterfly darting here and there but never staying long enough in one place. without it, i have been lost and don't know what to think.

i want to start again, but it is not easy. to write, i need to have some time of my very own. some time to think, some time to reflect, some time to stop. i have missed that part of me for a very long time.

we meet again today. hello.......how have you been?

L.O.V.E.

it is a lofty proclamation, to say that i will be loved greatly, or not at all. no half loves, no faltering loves, no one's bench warmer, no one's substitute. when i was much younger, i chose to leave when i felt i was no longer someone's greatest love, or when i realised i never was. my mind was filled with fictional fairy tale loves. it was all or nothing.

many many years down the road, i can no longer say such arrogant words. i can no longer choose how i am loved, only how i love. i can give 110% of myself, and only shrug my shoulders, steel my heart and move on when i receive cold words and colder indifference. in the silence, i look back and i realise that i have only one who loves me so devotedly. throughout my entire span of 47 years, everyone i know, who knows me, only one single person takes such great effort to love me. and for that i am very very grateful. that one such person does exist in my life, that my happiness makes a difference for someone in this world. for otherwise my life would have been so cold, when i look back from my deathbed i would never know for what i have lived.

to say the word love is so easy. to believe that you do is even easier. being by someone's side every day, is that love? by doing what you would normally do anyway, is that love? i have since learnt that when say you love someone, ask yourself, what have you done for that person lately? are you sorry you couldn't do more? such is love, to give of yourself without asking for anything more than their happiness. i never had parents who thought the world of me, family who treasured me, people who thought the world of my mere existence. if i were to drop dead tomorrow, how many would shed a tear? how many would still shed a tear 10 years down the road? i don't want to know the answer for i fear that i will falter in my love. i don't want to know the answer for it should not be the reason i love. i love because i do.

life is tiring

i'm tired today. i don't know why some people think that it is okay to be mean to be me, to use words that hurt, intentionally or unintentionally. i think i try to hard. and maybe that is suffocating to some. or maybe they don't see that i am trying hard, and they can't feel it. so that is why they are lashing out.

sometimes i hurt, and i want to give up. to disregard or to just ignore. but i can't. i can't be cold just because they are cold to me. i can't hurt just because i am hurt.

life is complicated. and i'm tired.

the boy

he is cold and aloof, apathetic and indifferent. he is sullen and keeps to himself. he doesn't talk when he comes back, he doesn't talk in the morning, he doesn't talk when he wakes up. he is moody and a teenager. you ask him a thousand questions and he grunts a reply. i could whack some sense into him, or at least some manners, but i really don't think that is the way to teach a child. i could nag, i already do, but a parent has to know when to open and shut that gaping hole in the face and so you choose your battles. i don't know how to bring up a son, i never understood the male species. you ask too many questions, they tell you to chill. you don't ask any questions, they say you don't care. sometimes you want to shout in their face 'and how much did you care for me?' but you probably can't stand the reply. when he is cool, he can be very cold. when he is chatty, he can be very warm. what goes on in the mind of a 16 year old boy, i will never know. i never knew when i was 16, i don't think i will know when i am 46. babies should come with an instruction manual.

..........the moment he opened his mouth and uttered a single sentence to me, all the anger and frustration of the day melted into thin air. such is the relationship of a mother and a son.

with you

when was the last time my mother brought me to the hair salon? i haven't the faintest recollection. when did i start going to hair salon on my own, telling the stylist how i wanted my hair done on my own. looking back it seems strange that i made the transition from going to the salon with my mum to by myself without even realising it, and now not even being able to remember no matter how hard i try. was it when i came back from singapore? when i was in secondary school? or when i went into college? i can't even seem to remember where my mother brought me to cut my hair when i was little. now that i am starting my journey of many 'last's, i wonder as i am sitting on the salon's swivel chair with my daughter on hers next to mine, and she going off to university very soon, when will be the last time i bring her to a salon. will it pass by without me noticing it once again? will it happen without much fanfare and notice, as with all things so inconsequential such as this? with the passing of all memories so small and sweet like this, every day things that many take for granted, sitting quietly beside each other without a word, comfortable with each other's company, time moves on no matter how we fumble and grasp at the trickling of its passing, only looking back once in a while with longing and nostalgia

insulted by a F

signing off on the year end accounts today. i just began to notice that there is a capital F behind my name, in brackets. uh...why? since i don't think i failed in my role as a director of the company, yet, i can only assume that the F must mean that this particular person by the name so and so (yes, that is my name, Ms So And So) is of the female gender. again, why? there isn't any M behind the other director, who is a male, so why this gender bias? i assume this means that by default it is a he, unless otherwise specified. have you heard of anything so prejudicial? on so many levels!

first (i can't even choose which is my first point of peeve), why does the gender of the director even matter in the financial statements? if 'she' signs, please take it with a pinch of salt? or are we so few and rare that every effort must be made to identify those rare specie and protect them? nobody has given me special treats, air-conditioned rooms and specially-grown bamboo so i don't feel very protected at all. i feel alienated and targeted for some strange reason that i have not been informed of.

secondly, the default is male. why? if there is a F behind the woman's name, shouldn't there be a M behind the man's? i do understand that the working society is predominantly male and there is more chance of hitting a male director than a female if you were to throw a rock in the city center, but if you deem it necessary to highlight the gender you should do it for both. our identity cards carry the gender of both male and female, they don't just state if you are a female and omit if you are a male. by being silent for the male gender, one is saying the default is male unless otherwise specified. i feel like i am carrying some kind of sign behind my name to advertise that i am carrying some highly contagious deadly disease. if i ever find out who is behind this great new law and i get to have the wonderful opportunity of meeting up with him (i can only assume that someone who came up with such a ridiculous idea must be a he, as with all the stupid prejudiced remarks that have been uttered by our nation's ministers and law-makers), he will never hear the end of my grumbles.

what is our country coming to? secretly, quietly, all these crazy people with prejudiced and unbalanced mentality are changing our world in the most perverse ways. people who think that it is alright to ask women to wear longer skirts or pants, to stay a metre away from the nearest male specie, who deem it alright for rapists to marry their victims....the stupidness is endless. i think our country can very well try for a record in the guinness book very soon.

do i know you?

i received 2 wedding invitations this week. bombs, they call it. i get faintly annoyed when i receive wedding invitations from people that i am not close with, not to mention those that i hardly know, as i am sure most people do. when someone you know well finds their other half, you feel happy for them and are grateful they have found someone to spend the rest of their lives with. but for people whose last names you don't even know, it is a little difficult to muster that type of passion for random strangers. it is pretty obvious that their intention is to rake in a little bit more income to finance the wedding and honeymoon and i scoff at such blatant display of motive. ha! there, i scoffed, but still, i understand them and accordingly, i send my best wishes in the form of cash.

however, it gets a little ridiculous when i don't know the names on the wedding invitation. the invitations somehow manage to find their way into my hands, sometimes a little mysteriously and it bears no name of the sender. the clue is in the name of the bride, bridegroom or the parents and perhaps i am suppose to solve it nancy drew style. oh no! that reference shows the age of this writer. i should make the comparison to sherlock, ie the benedict cumberbatch one and not sir arthur, which would have been even more ancient. anyway, like a fool, i had to go around asking people do i know so and so (father), or so and so (bride), or so and so (bridgegroom), like a dementia patient unsure of who and what they are supposed to know. the yardstick perhaps should be that if i would not recognise any of the names on the wedding invitation, it is not appropriate to send one to me?

'tis the season

how was your chinese new year? i seem to be getting that question a lot recently. is it just a customary way of extending greeting, or can they perhaps sense a little difference from within me? a little more detached, a little less mirthful, a lot more stressed.

as we grow older, the festive season is no longer about getting together with your closest relatives, laughing and giggling, receiving red packets, eating delicious food and wearing pretty clothes. it seems to be an endless list of chores, one after another, check boxes to tick before the 15 days of the lunar new year is over. in fact, the seemingly endless things to do starts before the end of the year, stretching all the way until the 15 days of the lunar new year is up. one duty after another, stacked up on ends into one high tottering tower of tension. today is the 5th day, and i still have more than a handful of things sitting prettily on the list.

meeting old friends and busy relatives should have been gratifying but everybody wants to talk, nobody wants to listen. the little games they played should have been fun but they were all so engrossed with materialism. the rich aunty who was not satisfied with a RM200 lucky draw. the guards and cleaners who rotated work station every 15 minutes so that they can get more red packets. the captain whose service was unabashedly motivated by a red packet. where does the spirit of the chinese new year fit into all these?

but isn't it the same every year? this endless list of customary things to do. this eternal greed. this shallowness. this isn't the first year, and barring any unfortunate events happening to me for the next 365 days, this will not be the last year. why is this the new year of discontent? why does the ugliness that escaped the pandora's box seem especially glaring to me and ruffles my feathers so? even as i sit on my wicker chair, swinging right and left, with the chirping of the birds and the din of the traffic intertwined, i don't have the answer to my questions still. perhaps this is what i needed. an escape. a sanctuary to hide for a little while and immerse in my thoughts, a shelter to introspect and reinvigorate, away from everybody, away from all the demands and expectation. perhaps i am weary.

chinese new year wasn't all bad. there were the friends who showed sincerity and enthusiasm. the sweet man who bought lunch because it was his first time meeting me. the nice couple who was heartfelt. the old friend who was modest. the relatives who came from afar to say hello once a year. the husband's friend who tried to make me feel less awkward. the dear friend who wished me better late than never. the kindest in-laws. and the lovely friend who asked me how my chinese new year was.

ghost

sometimes i forget the beauty of life. like right now. i can't see beyond the ugliness enveloping me. i try to live my life so diligently every day, so hard, so sincerely. one cannot control how others act or how others think but i live to satisfy my conscience, at the very least. to be there for everybody as much as i physically possibly could, to fulfil my duties in the various roles of my life, to love and to listen.

but nobody sees it. even worse, nobody feels it. i stop, i stand in bewilderment, i falter in a daze. i am lost. then why do i live my life so onerously, i ask myself. why do i take the hard road? when none seems to appreciate. when none acknowledges. if i am giving and no one is receiving, what am i doing? if i love but someone doesn't feel it, what was i feeling? what does that make my life? what does that make me?

why

i don't get it. i thought as you grow older, you grow wiser. you understand things. but i don't understand how some can blatantly lie, or rather tell the opposite of a truth, right in your face. at the dinner table. both times, different people. are dinners cursed? or is it normal for families to tell lies and i am the naive idealistic one?

the lies are not of paramount importance, which makes it even more confounding. i get lies to cover up lies. i get lies to hide some important facts. i get beautiful white lies to let others feel better. but lies that nobody gives a damn about.....why? and families at that. why? why say you don't know, when you very well know. why say you didn't, when you did. it wasn't like either of the answers had any consequence. if they lied so that i will not know the real them, then who are those that i know of as my family? who and what lies inside the physical embodiment of those i know as family?

if i can't even believe the words that come out from family, whose words can i believe in? if i can't even trust family, who can i trust? what is my life without belief and trust?

sometimes i believe that this world was never meant for me.

exhaustion

some days i'm so tired from what life throws at me. sometimes i can struggle on and i work late into the night, even after a full day of running around and pleasing everybody, because the pile of work will still be there waiting for me come what may. i have to care for the one that was thrusted into my life, i have to care for the one who is on summer holiday, i have to deal with a string of things going wrong in the house, i have to care for my mother in pain, and then my ailing father, i have to cook for a household of 12, i have to make sure others have their meals, i have to deliver my end of the work for the office, i have more on my plate than anyone can sanely juggle.

other days i'm so exhausted that i can barely hold my eyelids open. i thought i could do no more, that i am on the brink of collapse. i thought that i could take in no more, i have done all that i could with my two hands and super-woman capability. i thought that i will go berserk if i have to juggle more. but life throws a fast ball and i am left with little choice but to struggle on and do more.

i'm tired to the bones. i'm exhausted. i''m stressed to the max. but i'm grateful that i can be there for her. i am thankful i am given the chance to love her and care for her, to show her that she means the world to me. sometimes i am frustrated, because she is frustrated, and she in turn takes out her frustration on me. but i know i'm just tired.

i'm tired because those around me are falling down one by one and i only have one pair of hands to catch. i feel like the energizer rabbit who is running low on power. i'm babbling. i'm drifting. i'm too tired to think.

a fleck of dust

they think that i must be nurturing and loving; that to take care and to provide is in the innermost core of my being, my basic instinct; because i am a woman. they do not see how much of a struggle it is for me every day. i struggle to be what i am expected to be, to go against the wilful carefree soul that is dreaming at an open podium or park, savouring the cool windy breeze that is caressing my face and tugging at my hair, enjoying the company of my own thoughts. answering to no one, answering for no one. i remember when i was 12, doing exactly that. alone by myself, with no one to keep me company and no one to talk to. i don't know if i have always been that way or if it started then. no one to take care of me and no one for me to take care of. nature or nurture. i became me.

the years creep by and responsibilities silently piled on, without warning or reason, not taking no for an answer. i am now an adult. people see me as an adult. and they expect me to behave as an adult. to some extent i guess motherly instinct does kick in when you have younger ones. you do think about the how, when, what, where of their well being. even then, it is a struggle sometimes. you do not nag, you do not remind, you do not lecture, you do not profess to have wisdom to impart on the next generation. it is not you. you believe that people should make their own choices and live with their mistakes. you think to each his own. yet you live the live as a mother. you strain your throat to articulate reminders and annoying communication, because it is your duty. because it is expected of you.

however, it is not an all-encompassing love. you do not have a sudden desire to feed all the children in the world or educate the next generation. you do not suddenly become a saint overnight. yet, without so much as a word of warning, or a question whether it is alright, i am suddenly thrusted with not one, not two but three pieces of baggages. the scream is stuck in my throat so hard that it makes me gag sometimes. that others have the right to trespass into your life, your lifestyle and you have no say in the matter. that your feelings have an even smaller play in the situation. that another did not want to spend their time educating, nurturing, accompanying and providing for their own, and so i now must, and my own will is irrelevant. the injustice, the infringement, the inconsideration.

i have no one standing beside me. no one that speaks for me. no one that considered about me. it makes me feel more insignificant than a fleck of dust in the massive cosmic space. perhaps even worse are the flimsy excuses and justifications; you don't have to do this for them or you don't have to do that for them. i cringe and i bite my tongue. i wouldn't if i don't have the baggages in the first place. but i do because you thought it was alright to pass them on to me. justifications, who doesn't have them.

thus is life. we don't ever live our lives the way we want to.

missing a page that was

i'm feeling very nostalgic today. took a very long walk down memory lane, until my calves are tired and my emotions whimsical. a book written so wonderfully, the words jump out of the pages and fondle your senses; it was what started me on this reminiscence. i remember someone who wrote so beautifully, someone who said that he wanted to use words to accurately capture and portray what a picture could, someone who could use the evolved symbols of our language system to paint emotions, situations, descriptions, location; just like an artist with his brush. i miss that so much. i miss reading the beautiful words of a writer, so vividly expressed that it touches. i miss the old blogger group too. i don't quite miss the scrutinising eyes of random strangers or the judgemental views of people who doesn't know or care on the pages of my life, but i miss the interaction, the lively banter, the laughter and the camaraderie. i miss the introspection.

i logged into facebook with my blogger profile and peeked into what everybody was doing. there are little changes in everybody's life; change is the only constant in the universe. even though we do not interact anymore in the blogosphere, as that world is so passe, but it makes my day to see everybody happy and healthy. she has moved on to other careers, he did not get the little patter of small feet that he was so looking forward to :(, the old one is still learning, still keeping up with trends, they wished my cobwebbed page happy birthday, she has deleted her account, he is still talking cock, her two kids are so big now, he has unfriended me (for goodness knows what reason!!!) and some i can no longer remember their blog or their avatar. the only congruity it will seem is that none of them blog anymore. i guess it is a given, after 10 years, that everybody has moved on, to try newer things, to go on with their lives, to do something different. only i remain, solitary, in this infinite colossal impalpable world, with my own thoughts, as it should be, introspective. i am reminded of why i have continued writing, for whom i am writing, and my love for the written language. i am reminded that i am an introvert.

i scrolled through my blogs, re-reading old posts and publishing old drafts. with the passage of time, many posts that were once 'sensitive' lost the power to hurt and i am now comfortable with posting it for all to see. things that i have forgotten, stories and settings that have been dismissed from my mind, i read them again. the only witness to the flipping of the pages of my life and my journey.