Sunday, 29 December 2019

The walk home

Twelve minutes.
Just give me twelve minutes a day
from the train station back home to

not be okay.
tear up when nobody's watching.
ruminate about the mistakes I've made.
be in touch with my soul,
my sad little soul

so that I may

brave the rest of the one thousand, four hundred and twenty eight minutes.
be the responsible human being I ought to be.
chase my dreams.
eat, drink and be merry.
realise that I'm actually
okay. Okay?

Thursday, 19 December 2019

Maturity or bleakness?

My little sister collected her examination results today and didn't do as well as she had expected. I brought her out for dinner and for the entire evening, she couldn't stop talking about how disappointed she felt. She shared about how she brawled her eyes out the moment she saw her grades (although we are all very proud of her nonetheless).

The very first thought that came to mind was that this girl sure hasn't experienced what true disappointment really is. And then, I remembered that she was only sixteen. And I remembered that I, even when I was eighteen receiving my A Level results, couldn't stop crying for two days straight.

I remembered aiming for straight As.
I remembered holding on to the hope that I would meet the academic conditions of my scholarship, in spite of knowing that I messed up my History and Economics papers.
I remembered feeling like the world had collapsed on me, that God that given up on me, when I saw what was written on the results slip.

Those feelings feel so foreign to the 25-year-old me today. The 25-year-old me wouldn't let myself dream of achieving something that seems so improbable. The 25-year-old me isn't too sure if "waiting upon the Lord" to "soar on wings like eagles" is the right thing to do. The 25-year-old me knows what disappointment feels like, but chooses to approach it with an "oh, again?" attitude rather than an it's-the-end-of-the-world attitude. The 25-year-old me is too tired to cry my heart out (perhaps except when I've had a bit too much to drink). The 25-year-old me wouldn't - no, couldn't - hopelessly fall in love with someone. The 25-year-old me is too lethargic to invest in friendships that I foresee cannot go very far. The 25-year-old me lives life day by day. The 25-year-old me just hopes to make the best out of my current situation. The 25-year-old me understands that a penny saved is a penny earned, and that good things don't come by to those who sit around and wait hope.

The question then is, have I become more mature? Or have I just become bleaker in my outlook of life?

Or maybe, the slow death of that (irrational) positivity that we all had as kids is just a part of growing up. Or perhaps, adulting involves some form of cowardice.

Sunday, 24 November 2019

Love at different stages of life

12 years old: Omg she’s looking at me. Does she like me? I wonder what it’s like to hold her hands. She’s so pretty. She’s prettier than any girl I’ve ever seen. Should I text her tonight? I really want to know if she likes me!

15 years old: She’s such a sweet girl. Should I ask her out for a movie? What if it’s awkward? Maybe I should ask my friends along too…

18 years old: Damn she’s hot. I’m gonna make her my girl. How do I get her to notice me? Should I start heading to the gym?

 21 years old: She is one special girl. She’s beautiful, she has such a kind heart and she understands me. I’m going to make sure she feels special and gets all the love she deserves.

23 years old: I think she is the one. She is the one I’m going to marry; the one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. I have to start thinking about how we are going to save up and start a family…

28 years old: She’s not too bad. I mean, there are smarter and prettier girls out there but I could settle with this. I think I’ll be happy…

30 years old: I’m so fortunate to have such an amazing woman as my wife. She puts up with all my flaws and supports me when things get tough. I’m sure she’s going to be a great mother to our children.

35 years old: How can she be so annoying and unappreciative at times? But I guess after all, she’s the mother of my kids. She has been through so much for the family. I should learn to treasure her more.

40 years old: We’ve been together for so long that we barely have anything new to talk about. There’s no excitement in our relationship anymore. But we’re family, and I guess family don’t give up on each other even in the driest of seasons.

50 years old: Our kids are almost all grown up. I can’t believe we raised them up to become who they are today. I’m so proud of us. I’m so proud of her.

65 years old: It has been a long and arduous journey together. Our kids have their own families to take care of now. I should start thinking about how to make the rest of our lives meaningful for the both of us. For her.

80 years old: Thank you for staying by my side since the day we met, through the ups and downs, and through the exciting and boring times. I love you, my beloved.
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