Writing and Rewriting... Hopefully.

There's something weird about the past time of writing really. I've only realized it recently. And it was one of the main reason I kept veering away from it. But in certain nights it pulls me back in again.

And when it does, you feel a certain kind of "joy", I suppose, that you get to engage your own inner Plato or Socrates. Trying to figure out problems in your life maybe, in your office, relationships, your history, your community or maybe among the more ambitious of us, even your country.

All of these usually happens within the comfort of your desk and room, with coffee by your side, and more importantly, with you alone in the room.

Well, I suppose you're waiting for the weird part: can't really explain it though, but I'll try my best. It feels strange to have the "privilege" to run your brain all the way and put the results of your thoughts in writings or formulas, or even drawings.

You feel the "privilege" doesn't stop even when you step out of the room and go out of the house to engage the real world. You smell the roses but sometimes you end up just "thinking" about smelling the roses, you know what I mean? You have a good laugh with a buddy but in actuality you're "thinking" about the laugh with your buddy. And this process continues everywhere.

Always processing. Formulating. Assessing. Concluding.

Judging.

And at some point, everything gets too overbearing and you have to drop it. And finally, you embrace something new to make you sane again: faith.

Or trust, whichever you prefer.

Because at some point, you finally realize that no one can know everything. And not even the ideal "everything". Maybe just everything of a single thing. No one knows that.

But the ego... Man, the ego does funny shit to you. Especially if you're a cerebral type like me.

You start to love your personal Plato more than loving the taste of coffee in front of you. You start to love your personal Plato more than enjoying the conversation at hand itself. And before you know it, you realize that you're walking amongst the crowds, in a shopping mall, or a park, looking at people and other things, and you realize everything you see is only yourself.

All the while, you were only taking a walk inside your head. And I can tell you it is not healthy.

So there you have it, I've decided to drop everything at the moment; writing, drawing, blogging. It's probably nothing definite I hope, but at least I wanna taste everything there is out there in the real world, especially the things I missed. I know that I have to learn to switch off the cerebral mode more often and this is the only way I know how to do it.

So goodbye to writing? I don't know really. Perhaps I will return when I have absorbed a great deal of outside experience beforehand. Because I know enough to know what happens when you use a sponge with the same bucket of water for a long time; it can get real dirty.

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.