My life in my 20s was largely performative, one that was not my own.
Thanking the strains of fate for lessons in life and the grace to say no to plenty – to disentangle from old narratives of being (although arguably, was one being if nearly all aspects of their life was again, performative?).
Battered, bruised, broken, hanging by a thread but barely, how does one begin to pick up the pieces and navigate the wreckage? Thus sings the anthem of the past few years.
I often find myself revisiting this little white space in times of particular pensive quiet and heaviness of head. It has been a wonderful friend and companion, one that has experienced so many different versions of me since I was but barely conscious of mind.
Life has been so strange, so wonderful, so terrifying, all at once. In its most cruel moments when it rears its head on you, if done in succession, stifles the light at the end of the tunnel. Why is the design of the universe incomprehensible? If we are fortunate, more than that light at the end of the tunnel, we arrive at a point where there is more than a silver living; one where we do not envision ourselves going back to the way things were, even if things may have been better, for we have found ourselves permanently changed, and with it, the endless possibilities of a multitude of new futures.
They say things happen for a reason, and in the obstinacy and blindness of youth, we often hang onto the futility of what we sometimes are not meant to always have because we are so, so human, and so beautifully messy. They also say that we often look at what was lost, but don’t look at the many lives to be lived ahead of us – as I loved, as I hurt, as I grieve, as I mourn the life that was, that could have been, as I begin to process my shellshock, as I learn to show myself grace, I understand now that mistakes and poor choices had to be made, for everything led up to this one singular moment that is infinite – the present.
After all, what are we but small, infinitesimal beings who are here for a brief amount of time to reel it all in, to participate in the messiness, the random chaos of it all?
We may not always have all the answers but that’s okay.
How does one even begin to tap into a sense of vulnerability, one that has been seemingly lost to the currents of reality over time? One that understood my immediate inclinations so well; far better than the architecture of the cold, concrete structures I had so built up in my mind over the years to navigate all that is happenstance, inadvertent and not?
Have I lost all sense of receptiveness, become too hardened by the harsh tones of the past few years? Have I, in the process of building unassailable fortresses to keep the disquieting out, ended up doing the opposite of what was truly intended, which was to shield myself from the very jadedness that I saw took hold of all who were my age right now, exactly a decade ago?
I find myself once again in tumultuous spaces that bubble to the surface when I am most idle, unable to take a step further most times, for I cannot determine my what bearings are as swimmingly as I used to, the worst type of ineptness at its finest, a consequence of having shut my truer self out from myself for so long.
Perhaps the real and only resolution this year, would be to once again traverse the deepest recesses of my own human condition.
It’s times like this, watching movies like Interstellar that I am rendered a field mouse once again. As human beings, why are we so incredibly proud? We lack the hindsight that more evolved beings out there have and therefore, having not experienced that capacity, we feel that the universe is ours for the taking. And perhaps that is a good thing. However, we are but infinitesimal dots in the face of the universe; and parallel universes have not even been taken into account. Brilliant, bold and beautiful infinitesimal dots, but infinitesimal dots nevertheless. We have come a long way since, and technology is growing exponentially; fast enough for stabilised interstellar travel one day perhaps, far too terrifyingly fast for the likes of those resistant to such changes for specific reasons, far too slow for the futurists.
In the terrifyingly (good kind of terrifying) vast and wide universe out there, truly, what are our place-markers? Have we always been meant to go out and explore? Move from planet to planet like colonies in search of better prospects when one source has completely been exhausted? Or are we as a race, doomed to die out, like the dinosaurs; and then perhaps, a cycle begins all over again, as though there has always been a timer to begin with?
Is our lack of knowledge about what lies out there due to the limits placed on our human capacity – for us to not know things beyond what we are supposed to? Or does that threshold exist to challenge us, to test us because we were always meant to know what’s out there and beyond, albeit over centuries? Will we even survive as a Type 0 civilisation, long enough, to shift to a Type 1 civilisation? All it takes is one reprehensible idea (for ideas grow like a seed) to reverse all technological advancements meant to take mankind to space by inciting a global thermonuclear or biological warfare.
The folly of mankind stemming from its pride has always been a common theme or rather, subject of mockery spanning through the years of science fiction. HG Wells mocked our pride in War of the Worlds in the 1800s and centuries later, Spielberg’s Independence Day put us in our place by reminding us that other civilisations exist out there.
In the context of “people fear what they do not know”, what if in our conquest to defeat ignorance, the “curiosity also kills the cat”? There are so many questions that are beyond our human capacity to currently answer. I suppose one can only tread carefully, and softly, but also only softly enough.
November greeted me with filtered photos reminiscent of the desperate graffiti-laced alleys of darker Hong Kong and an air of suspense emanating from its various attempts to accomplish some form of abstruse symmetry with splats of paint. Late night strolls in Kuching tell a different story, but those alone bring me back to the depths of Tsim Sha Shui, staring beyond its pensive night lights into its very soul, figuring out the secrets that lie within its walls despite being a brief acquaintance. But enough of my wistful tendencies stemming from wanderlust, which I feel more often than I would like to admit, the past couple of weeks have been an absolute blur. While most people would attempt to fight what seems to be the beginning of a descent into a caffeine-induced state of vigilance eventually culminating into the coffee person, some of us have digestive systems which are simply deprived of (or rather, bestowed with because yay great for my kidneys) the ability to react to caffeine to keep us awake. This means that while most people flurry the night away booming with productivity, with sleep as a deficient factor aided by caffeine, my immunity towards caffeine results in a less sharper me in the mornings, with such huge sausages underneath my eyes that I now begin to comprehend the necessity of inserting an emergency concealer into my bag daily. Otherwise, my neural system is discernibly slowed down as it takes slightly longer than usual for my auditory perception to transmit something to my brain for interpretation and the memo intended for the rest of my body seems to arrive much later or occasionally, when it is irrelevant. Frisbee days are when this is visibly dangerous as I barely evade the onslaughts of tosses from all ends.
I am also currently juggling eighteen to twenty books at a time, all of which I am uncertain as to which point in time I will finish, a consequence of a bad habit I have unrealisingly developed as I entered college, where I would often jump from one imaginarium to another without any form of attachment as my attempts to pull myself away from the real world have time and time again, failed miserably. I would read one chapter of a book then jump to a new book, return to the second chapter of the former book only to jump back to the temporarily abandoned page of the latter, rinse and repeat with books three to eighteen or twenty and this is seemingly one vicious unending cycle. Also, the erratic weather lately is perhaps a personification of my current reading habits. Unfortunately, this does not bode well for the shift in my daily regime. I have always been a rainy day person, ardently staring at the windows on such days despite my occasional frustration when it rains in the evenings, interfering with my planned runs to liberate the unease of the day (one issue in particular is really plaguing me at the moment and I can’t quite seem to brush it off). Ironic isn’t it? Rain both liberates and interferes with my other plans of the same nature. It has currently shifted to the latter as I slowly incorporate frisbee into my life and playing frisbee in the rain, albeit refreshing having the raindrops stream down your face, proves to be an annoyance when you can’t get a proper grip on the disc.
Currently in persistent denial that the year jumped from January right to November and taking self-comfort in the fact that Christmas is almost here! If there’s any consolation for every year, Christmas will always remain at the top of my list, along with my annual tradition of taking inappropriate shots of Christmas baubles.
The final days of September went away with hints of gloominess in its pensive evening skies and the shadows of the impending Borneo HAT looming over my inability to throw a proper forehand. But it also left a small sense of fulfillment lingering in my spirit, drawing forth inclinations of my former days. These inclinations have in turn come to alter my very demeanour, and hopefully all the people I am to cross. It made me realise that the crack that once surfaced was only covered up with loose pieces of the present which were so desperately trying to layer one on top of the other. I had often misunderstood its temper so it was only inherent that with this new spirit I have finally understood its conditions! And with that it has intently welcomed preoccupations long forgotten, bringing back former curiosities. It has also reminded me of why my certain things hold higher regard in my heart than most and will always remain my favourites.
So today the print of Fairmount Park in Japan replaces New Zealand on the very calendar which sits on my desk, bidding goodbye to September and hopefully higher spirits in October.
🙂
September is drawing to an end and in the final days of this often misunderstood month I find an unexpected guest entering my present, upending certain things that for a brief period of time, hung in the balance. Or perhaps they never really did. Despite the gratification of a fruitful month, there is unwelcome commotion surfacing, latching on to the forefront of my mind. I have stopped hustling and bustling only to find myself (almost) knee-deep in a pit between two precipices I was unsuspectingly sinking into. There was some elation in the initial reverie of it all but like all else, it fades and loses its grandeur and you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place. It started from what was but the beginning of a spiral into the strangest miscellany of push meets pull where every fragment is a shrouded mist. Perhaps the flaw lies with not having seemly expectations. I have also unknowingly allowed this turbulence in my conscious mind to tip over to my reality, influencing it and all the people whom I have come to cross. While I have not overestimated my current capacity, I find myself going off my usual bearings, slightly jarred by my few brazen stunts of the past couple of days. But that turbulence has also brought forth a shift in my disposition, which had a negative constant that remained despite having grown so much for so long. It expelled that constant, creating a positive spirit which I was worried would never be mine again.
As of now, I can only hope that in the coming weeks, I will be able to climb out of that hard place between those two precipices.
There is this quiet place. It is where I am able to isolate the discords of the present and the past, where the past so adamantly tries to dissolve into fragments of the present. It is in this place where I often tear them apart, despite how hard they try to well up to the present together, time and time again, because they must never meet. But sometimes a little bit of the unconstrained past bubbles up to the surface, and a new version of the old chaos comes knocking at my door. Is this of my own accord? Is it because I have allowed the past to manifest in the present, an awkward legacy of my inability to keep it locked behind bars for all eternity? Then as I begin to accept my shortcomings, the universe begins to play its thirds set of cards on me.
This idea of a meddling hand in my life passes by me, unnoticed, quietly, the first time. A distinguishable pattern begins to form the second time, and presenting a set of cards more abusive than its predecessor. I came out less unscathed, but like the disbeliever, I am still skeptical. The third time presents itself in a less subtler way. Perhaps it is tired of quavering in anonymity, demanding that its name be up in neon lights. It plays its first hand in the third set. Once again, it is out to reduce me into nothingness. This time, I am more prudent. But my shortcomings may still be the bane of me. It is times like this that I am once again uncertain. The solace of realisations and the comfort of assurance is liberating. But it seems that I am back to square one. Is the universe toying with me? Or does it have plans that are parallel to me? Which is it? Or perhaps this is a figment of my imagination. Perhaps this is me, compensating my failings by creating a villain that only exists in the deepest recesses of my mind.
But lightning does not hit the same spot thrice.
I often struggle with how much I should unveil to the world in this play of words and how much I should not. That alone has many times eventuated in this barren, abandoned, unmoved space of white. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, fragments of my unattended reality manifest as illusive truths. I am awoken promptly on my own accord, obscured, trying to separate figments of truth from masterfully woven fabrications. And it is at times like this that I am the most disquieted from that tumultuous war I am constantly fighting with myself. But it is also when I am the most eloquent. It is when I fluently translate the unsettling disorder into legible expositions, immortalising the contending elements that have floated to the surface in that undulating sea of chaos. But I am also met with inscrutable reserve. How much should I bare to the world? How long can I persevere in this perpetual dance of masks? How much of me can I adequately ration out without being rendered completely disclosed in this often treacherous, unreliable world, where your esteem hangs precariously on a thread?
And then I retreat back into my little shell, ever so ungenerous with my words.
1. Some of us just don’t get better at saying some goodbyes.
2. People leave. Be it impermanent or for good. Then between two people, sometimes one will stop trying to hold together the bond. In the hustle and bustle of their own chaos, living a life parallel to yours, sometimes they forget. Or you forget, in the same circumstances. It does not mean that one should stop holding on to what was once tethered, just because another lets go. Keep trying. Keep holding it together.
3. Somehow, you always fall back to your high school mates. From the day you had your first crush up till the day you realised how foolish you were in high school, they are the ones who watched you grow. Especially the ones close at heart. They saw how embarrassing and how moronic you can be, and they accepted that.
4. I am still selfish with the things I love. This list is by far but not limited to undiscovered artistes or the struggling ones on Bandcamp, stores that carry rare collector’s items or fandom merchandise.
5. Hope is an anchor. It does not always give you something to look forward to, sometimes it weighs you down with your unmet expectations. Learn to not give in to hope completely always.
6. Be humble. Or rather, be open. Just because some people aren’t as weird as your friends, or don’t understand your ‘weird’, it does not mean that you should cast them aside. People are always in your life for a reason. Like the falling of small stones that start an avalanche, people who enter your life may influence it one way or the other be it in the near or far future. So be nice.
7. Your past never really leaves you. There are days when you wake up on the right side of the bed but somehow, your ghosts of Christmas past still return to haunt you. Just because you have accepted all that has happened it does not mean that you forget. There are some days when you still feel utterly morbid when your recollections hit you like a ton of bricks. But in spite of all that, life goes on. Use it as a reminder to think before you act.
8. Life never really makes sense. Some of us are constantly at war with ourselves, some are perfectly contented with their lives. For those of us who are constantly at war with ourselves, we try to do the best we can. Motivational books are not always right, sometimes we continue to be at war with ourselves until a hammer hits us, that is, something happens to teach us a lesson in life. Then some of the bits and pieces will make sense. The resolve can take decades. But at the end of the day, it is still resolved.
9. Stop trying to prove yourself beyond your boundaries. Some things are not meant for you, and it is because you are you. Different. Some people are meant to achieve some things you are not meant to, and you are meant to achieve some things they are not meant to. Together we form a great tapestry that is a part of a much bigger mystery. Someday, it will all be unveiled and every stitch that seems to be wrong will make sense.
10. Humanity gets you down sometimes, and you detach yourself from human emotions. But it isn’t always about you. The world doesn’t revolve around you. There’s the universe out there. Otherwise, there are other people. You need to learn to co-exist with other people. Don’t fall into the trap of hating/disliking mankind. Some of them never had the opportunities you had, or the upbringing. There are broken families, misguided families, well, struggling families. Learn to look beyond their flaws by understanding what made them like this in the first place. Remember, had they known a different kind of life, they would not choose to live in a turtle shell. What if you were in their shoe instead? Someone else would be saying the same about you. Try to remember that when people get you down.
11. You never really forget your first love. Why? Because you learned to love. You learnt that beyond compromise, it’s all about giving, giving, giving unconditionally and that in the end, all that matters is that they are happy and healthy. The rest are all sprinkles on the sidewalk.
12. Don’t be afraid to resolve some differences. If you keep it pent-up, all that conflict and internalised hate with turn your relationship or friendship sour. Resolve the differences nicely (if possible) with mutual understanding before it develops irreparable scars from falling too far apart. It is bad for your mental health as well as the other person’s.
13. Don’t sleep late, lest you wake up feeling like a zombie in class. 13 is such an unlucky number.
CO 