My life is a collection of playful episodes.
I feel this urge to write this down. Often times i just drift in and out of reality. I know I am present. But this constant lack is there. A lack of happiness. I guess He knows. But Father waits. In His patience. Am I intelligent? This used to bug me. But not anymore than it should. Flashes of class 2C. And I see Andrea. A young, happy and spirited child. I know and recognize potential. The same I saw in Vanessa. I believe in them. And yet, I still don't think I love the job. These little 'pages' aren't enough. I seek deeper and deeper. I am simply not keen to do something else but rather, probe deeper into my craft.
We are all influenced by who we read. Virginia (1) has caught my eye. I was 21. I made nothing out of her messages. Then at 33, it did. But not everything. Now at 53 I think she makes a lot more sense because my much-starved self is slowly emerging from the coccoon of life. The experiences I don't repel the informing script that pricks hard at my skin. I crave to know. It is my innate thirst to always know. That suddenly enlightened my tiny self within to see; yes! Motivation! I have always had this natural curiosity to uncover truths behind the curtains of obstruction. Along the way, the winds of time and tide shook my confidence a little. I am blessed. Indeed. Going through her life's words have been adventurous enough. I feel higher education has been a privilege. I am gleaming in this pool of satisfaction because I received the card of life. Through the dealer's craftful hands I was dealt one joker card. I have chosen playfully indeed. Not a thought as I trudge on each day. Where am I heading? I don't bother. Somehow I am not remorseful or regretful. I am who I am. My references to my 8th year are not without proof. Proof that I knew, and still do, that I want to live! I need to know what's up that tree! The trails of red ants that taunt me then never stopped me. I explored the yard, the backyard, the field...such immense joy! I get this same joy, elated, when I work. Sadly, not this job. But little old me refuses to see the shadows of impending loom. This whirpool shall NOT be the end of me because I know I have to get there. So what then?
I carve my life. Always have. I know not what begins this journey of "insignificance". I cannot apologise. I feel this way. I never chose life. But I begin to fancy it a little after being thrown overboard this heartless ship. Beguiled. Betrayed. The wounded soul so tortured for lack of better phrases since I have not read for ages. I will not abandon my mission but I do feel choked, like a clogged up a pipe that connects to a sink from the mindless prick. A sink that longs to exist and do its task of cleansing the dirty dishes of grime.Existing. I refuse. To merely exist. It is painful. I lie down. I grieve. I resist. I CURSE. I need to lie down. Much unhappiness lies within. I rebel against forces that dictate my very own actions. Nah. I don't once think it is influenced by the chapters of the deaf movie (2) but parallels. This wonder if things could have gotten better. No. By random selection, all things are. A complaining 'swinee', if I may say, will somehow choose this thought. So there. This much there is to pen. What IS happiness?
Footnote:
1. Virginia Woolf
2. History of the British Deaf Association
filmed by the Union of European Film
Festival at the National Gallery of
Singapore
