Is this what life is? You get all excited about things and you live in this bubble dream. You grow to fulfill this dream. Some know it as "mission". You live this ENTIRE good, quality YEARS making the lego-works connect and churn! Then you grow tired. Burnt out. But this indigenous fire keeps you going, kind of like how ants live to build, maintain and sustain the colony. It is not a thought. It IS. JUST it.
The time comes, or is the word, arrive? For all things to take stock for this continuum switches on the blades of time. You evolve as you propel towards finality and TRUE clarity of what it IS. Much has been achieved. Thank God for that. You wonder on the "what-if"s and the "why-not"s. This never ends because cyclically speaking, that is how the laws are bound. Though secrecy is not the code, pain belongs to this equation.
Death hovers when Time bids farewell. It feels like you have been robbed. No ills. Just bills and bills and bills. Bills for overworking. Bills for overstretching. Bills for missing the "never-did"s. Perhaps if given a new lease, you would take this very same route because that is how you have been wired for this thrill of a lifetime.
The sky never looked the same. Its colour more faded. At times the clouds cling onto the backdrops for fear cracks be revealed with clues to past-years; of peals of laughter so forgotten and wanton lies that corrode what is original, pure. I see contamination every where. The land. The sea. The very air we breathe!
Is the an illusion or am I delusional because depression can warp all vision? Why does a perfect day end like this? Where and what happened to all that excitement? A is for awesome. A is also for awful. Whichever it is, it spells a day. Where was I again? I hardly remember. I do not know. Grind on. That is all there is to it, isn't it? L.I.F.E. stands for live it for experience. My closet. My take. What's yours?
I am sitting on the porch watching the sunrise once again. Beautiful. The cock crowed three times this morning. Grandma will be up again to do her usual routine, swinging or rotating both her wobbly, flabby arms. After which, she would offer three joss sticks to the gods of the heavens, "Tee Gong".
The roasted coffee aroma permeates the kitchen I have grown to love. It is simply alluring. These sights remain vivid in my little mind like photographs at the gallery of my life.
Strangely enough, despondence transmits me back to these happy moments; so needful for me as I re-navigate and sieve through debilitating times. I still remember Grandma lovingly well, her smile, her laughter and her signature nuances. Oh I miss her so. Why do we even have to grow up, and so quickly at that? Grandma's ubiquitous influence can be felt throughout each turning point of my life.
Kindred spirits? What are they? Some folks simply piss us off for no apparent reason. Other times you meet another you have no qualms laying your life down for. Mystical, is it not? I believe our happiest moments are hidden somewhere in our innermost being, waiting to fulfill their ardent purpose. Must say the first six years with Grandma have not only ignited my truest self but she had illuminated what-so-ever counts.
Walking these streets in Shibuya today have brought back glimpses of little me running along the streets. I capture images of my happy-self like snapshots of some obssessive photographer hungry for Kodak moments. Without a doubt, I need to uplift "me". I cannot let myself down. Tokyo will always be special to me. Mythical in many ways because this is my very first visit to Japan.
As I daily struggle between the cracks of two worlds, I am still that jolly little girl who used to chase yellow butterflies in Grandma's sweet little Eden. I don't think have ever left Kovan Eden. I remain forever eight. It was the happiest year of my life.