giving, loving, death, life, dreams.

Haven't written in a while.

Since Christmas, I've seen a few things.

-One.

That I had taken for granted the aphorism, "It is better to give than to receive."

By actually doing Christmas shopping, and seeing the reactions of my family to the presents I gave them, I unintentionally made this the most powerful Christmas I've had in recollection. There is some truly remarkable joy, to taking time to find something special to give to those you love.


-Two.

That the more we learn to accept death, the more we learn to cherish life.

Just before the New Year, Isaac passed away. I wouldn't kid myself to say I was close to him, but he was definitely more than just an acquaintance. He was the kind of person I didn't have to talk to very much, yet I could still feel like the day was made better when I saw or talked to him. He started a fad amongst his friends, where they nicknamed me, "Golden Boy".

Such a frivolous and retarded thing it seemed to be. But it took his passing to make me think back and realise that even such a small thing made an impact on me - to know that even though it was somewhat in jest, he saw something special about me, molded it to his charming design, and used it to affect encouragement on me. I guess when you unfold even the most unassuming words and unfurl the simplest actions, you can find the most genuine desire to love.

His death sparked in me a desire to read all the cards I had ever got from people, to meet with people I hadn't met with in a while. And in re-remembering that death can come at any time, it helped me realise that the trick was not to live life as fast and as much as possible.

You can't see everything there is to see;
experience every experience there is to experience;
It is impossible. Whether you live to 20 or to 99.


I think that perhaps, many treasures come when you live life slow.


In taking the time to play with the dogs when I come back home.

In lying on the couch to see my thoughts as they float,
like a bunch of feathers from a height,
and watch them slowly
flutter down.

In meeting interesting people one-on-one,
rather than trying to catch up with many at a party.

In eating a meal alone, and looking out onto the garden.

In painting a memory, from a long, long time ago.

In resting, even when you're fully awake, with the one you love.

In writing a blog post, as slowly and intentionally as you want to, just because.

I'm still learning this, because by my nature, I fear being inefficient, and not living life to the best I can, and not doing things to the best I can. But I'm learning, and I'll keep learning.

This is the way I see it-

That the fear of death would have you living life, desperately, to the most that you can. To see all there is to see, to know all there is to know, to feel all there is to feel, and even, to love all the people there are to love. But you never will.

The recognition of death would have you living life.


-Three.

That most dreams are nothing but the indulgent musings of the spoilt and sheltered,
Of the very, very misled.

And I've been very, very misled.
By my own presumptions and flawed judgements.

How foolish I had been-
To crown myself with a declaration of self-awareness,
with a proclaimed boldness
to be daring
to be different
to take the path less travelled.

All around me all I saw was what I chose to see.

I did not see those that used to have the same drive as me-

That they had to smother their pursuits for bread on the table.

That they had to rein in their dreams for the support of loved ones.

And some, who never had the liberty or right to dream in the first place-

Who from young knew nothing but the sun on their cracked lips,
or their backs etched and carved from whips;
their eyes never dry from the remembrance of all that had been lost:
home, family, friends,
dignity, rights.

humanity.

and anything that word stood for
became a mockery, and a tight slap in the face
for what they now have to endure.

And here I am typing on my computer.
Painting in the making.
Drumset in the corner.

A roof over my head.
A family who loves me.
Friends who care.

How does one continue to live their life guiltlessly, in the awareness of such outrageous atrocity.
How to stay convicted to chase your dreams, when so many never had the chance.
How bloody, bloody, spoilt, sheltered, and lucky I am.

I always anchored myself by choosing to see those who seemed to take the safe path in life, and prided myself in believing I had been daring to choose differently, to "do what I love".

How naive an outlook it was.

Singapore and my family have sheltered me extensively.
I'm still half-desiring and half-reluctant to get out of my comfort zone, of my securities.
But it seems to be the only response possible, given my current circumstances.

Dreams are the sparks of our childhood, that I had been led to believe could turn into magnificent flames, if we only kept them from being extinguished. To light our own lives. But in a sick, sick world, there just doesn't seem to be space for such wishful egocentric thinking anymore.

Some have never seen such light in their life, let alone had the chance to keep a flame burning.

If we only brought our flames to these people,
Then maybe we could slowly start to say,

we can dream again.