Plowing Forward

I have been reminded again how I am behind my peers. Though the console of a friend  of mine during an evening tea time was helpful, it still takes some effort to shake off the insecurities that distracts me from my current mission.

The journey will be daunting since the horizon still appears to be menacingly far away but in reality I am almost at the end. There is a temptation to compensate my lack of distance by focusing on other "successes" but I must not falter.

A swimming advice comes to me at this moment, given by someone I know from long ago. An advice particularly on swimming in open seas:

"Do not focus on your destination. The sea will fool you into thinking that you have not moved an inch. Most people will react by swimming harder and faster. And you will get tired quicker. And drown. Be patient. And keep stroking."

And so,

I will.

City Boy

If there is a theme song to my life as of right now, this would be it.

Dark, ambient and noir jazz. Just hits the spot.

The Infinite

Just a memory from long ago. Peering from the sides of the boat, into the ever blue. Ever waving.

I've read from somewhere that waves act as carriers. That the reason waves exist is because energies are being transferred through them, moving from molecule to molecule.
Sorta like a whispering game but no one messes up.

These endless waves that I keep staring at for hours. As if timeless. To be more poetic, since time immemorial I suppose.
Can't help but imagine how much a powerhouse the planet is to create such constant waves, day in, day out.

Such a constant flow of energy. Such an infinite flow of energy.

Where does it come from?
 

The Family's Guard Dog

Today my over-protective side came over me when one of my sisters failed to report of their whereabouts, nearing the wee hours.

My casual, irresponsible and freewheeling self was suddenly engulfed by the fires of conviction, duty and extreme xenophobia.
A feeling that was quite rare for me these days.

The whole issue was resolved quickly, surprisingly. And thankfully.
Thought that I may even have overreacted.
Which is again, something that I very rarely go through.

Despite my ever deadening self, it is reassuring to know there is still life within me.
That I still care.

Feeling Old

One of the best pleasures in life is to retreat to the quiet little town of Cyberjaya and have your nicotine fix undisturbed. And watch the smoke and time fly away.

My pleasures in life, at least. Don't have a lot of them left.

Feeling older than I did yesterday. No particular reason though. No birthdays were celebrated. No awards were given.

It is just that aspirations do not aspire like they did before. Dreams do not inspire like they did before. Good will does not give you a sense that the world is on track as it is supposed to be. Not anymore.

And "love" has already become another cliche. 

Maybe this is what old people are supposed to feel like.

On a roll

5:37am and not sleeping yet. Though I am supposed to study for my paper this week, no special reason why I needed to stay up. Could have just slept early just now and start fresh the next day. Or maybe it has been a while since I enjoyed the night without needing to have reasons.

With everyone sleeping and the weather is just right, it feels as if the night is yours. As if time stops and you have all the comfort and time in the world to contemplate on the what-might-have-been and what-would-be. Quite a selfish thought really, but I think once a while it helps. A temporary license to be irresponsible.

Returning from hiatus. Part 2.

With the booming of social networking sites everywhere, I wonder if people still blog. And speaking of which, why am I here again?

A fellow blogger of mine recently sat down with me and shared her thoughts on rekindling her love for writing and blogging. "Blogging?" my inner impulse went, "In this day and age? When people can simply express their feelings in bite-size form on Facebook statuses and twitter pages? Preposterous!".

And yet, a tiny little spark suddenly appeared in me as well.

Yes. Blogging. Writing. It used to mean something to me. Something more than fishing followers to my page. Something more than the boasts of rare vocabulary and weird sentence structures.

But for some reason, I moved on. Out of boredom? Disappointment? I can't remember. It is like trying to focus in a fake and cheap gypsy ritual to conjure an image of my past life.

But enough of reasons. Would I write again?

...Why not?

Just because.