Resolutions

This Christmas and New Year have been the saddest and loneliest I have ever known. And it is of my singlehanded doing. I have been silly beyond my wildest imagination, and have ended up experiencing unprecedented levels of worthlessness and hopelessness.

In the New Year, I wish to start afresh. I wish to be completely self-reliant. I wish to be utterly selfish, and pursue my own happiness alone. I wish to despise any requests for my understanding, tolerance or accommodation. I wish to be me regardless of the circumstances, at everyone's expense.

Dedicated to You

IF
***

幸福　不是每一天都有
錯過以後要等很久很久
別讓你的快樂在我懷中變成泡沫
至少　我們依然是朋友
如果我不適合握你的手
帶著我的祝福好好的過

藏起心痛　我想我還能忍受
這點寂寞　用最沉默的溫柔
微笑對你揮揮手

IF YOU CRY　我會明白
IF YOU SMILE　我也會溫暖
走累了　IF YOU DON'T MIND
和我坐下來　看看天的藍
IF YOU CRY　還有我在
IF YOU TRY　陪你等待
你永遠不會孤單有個人
只為了你存在

I'm not sure I could say that the last line for me is true, but the rest of these lyrics of my favourite song at least are my heartfelt words to you. I promise you, I will learn to let go.

Beneath the Hush

I remember when I was young, I was one of those kids who had a pet belonging, like a tattered blanket or yellowed pillow case, that they lugged around wherever they went. It became dirty; I couldn't understand the concept and disregarded that fact. It developed a stench; I refused to part with it even for the short term. It became a hindrance to my activities; I forced the environment to accommodate. My mum threatened me; I was prepared to battle to my last breath. In the end, my mum threw it away behind my back and only confessed many years later.

And then I found something else to carry around. An article less cumbersome, and not easily detected by the unsuspecting passer-by. A secret. I figured I should be happy. Now that I got to pick up from where I was rudely knocked off, never to be deterred by anyone again.

And then I questioned the wisdom of creating this weight on my back. Perhaps that was why my mum had been so adamantly against that pet peeve of mine. Perhaps that was why, in the first place, society frowned upon that bad habit as though it were contagious. Sometimes, when all around me is quiet, and peaceful, the silence rings in my ears and gives me a turbulent headache.

And then I try to understand this puzzling urge to reveal myself, just to incur public judgment. I get wound back in time, imagining what it feels, to be able to hold on stubbornly to my disgrace, and to have the whole world embrace me for it.

Reason Versus Consolation

For some reason, on reading this, the proverb "A stitch in time saves nine" suddenly comes to mind.

On writing about runaway screen characters (at the wedding altar)...
"And if you have a nagging sensation that won't go away that a plot point is not quite right, there is a good chance it is fundamentally wrong. In that case, any attempt to patch it up will leave you with a structural problem. Consider throwing the plot point out entirely and replacing it with something more original and truer -- which is usually funnier as well.

This is also, incidentally, good advice about relationships..."

A sensible word in time, I hope, should surely save my life.

Except I long for a comforting word; for understanding; for placation; for indulgence. I'm a spoilt brat that keeps believing that someone will give.

An Empty Heart

When my heart is empty, my actions are crisp and disciplined. I wake up on time, I set off early, and my work gets completed. I speak and laugh about the little things in life, except this time they really are funny. I appreciate the voices around me; I am interested in their conversations. For the first time, music playing in the background imparts a soothing, comfortable sensation. I am happy.

When my life is happy, I look forward to my free time after work. I generate a list of possible evening activities that I could accomplish, and relish the challenge of completing that task list. The headiness that plagues me dissipates as only very few thoughts occupy my mind. The renewed clarity is an exciting prize that energizes me to finally lay off that procrastination bug and scale some new heights. I am hopeful.

When my future is hopeful, I feel young all over again. The kind of young that entitles me to careless recklessness and insolence. I do whatever I want; speak in whichever manner I fancy; write however I wish. There is freedom, but no understanding. I am lonely.

I continue to feel lonely.

My System of Love

It's a system set up for failure.

Where You Are

Moonlight.

The world drifts into a lull.
The soft rays so alluring, my mind forgets its busyness.

Shadows.

Another form of consciousness takes over.
The wind hums a soft melody, the darkness sashays.

Memories.

I think of you.
When my mind's a blank, it is not empty after all.

Letter to You

I've written something like this before, a letter with no address. To a certain someone dear to me then. Who eventually proved my devotion pointless.

Today, as I reflect on the words of my youth, it is with some nostalgia and much consolation that I pen my thoughts. It is an inexplicable warm, fuzzy feeling to be writing to a special someone once again. But what a far way I've come, and I take heart in the progress I've achieved. Perhaps it is because some things don't change that enabled me to advance. Whatever the case, I am truly grateful.

Back then, I had this to say:
"For a long time I have thought that I should never be the first to reveal my feelings; it would be considered a sign of weakness. I am terribly afraid of rejection...Now, all I want you to know is that I care. It doesn’t matter whether or not you reciprocate my feelings, or if you’d treat it lightly as if it were a joke. Those acts will not depress me again. It is only for those who choose to believe that they can live without love to feel pity for themselves."

These words still hold true. For without my knowing, it was this same conviction that led me to you. So that henceforth I find you to have and to hold, to love and to cherish.

My dearest, thank you for believing in the cause, perhaps even more so than I, and demonstrating exceptional valour throughout our pursuit. You know that the real test of time has only just begun, and things are only going to get tougher; that when hard times befall, I am only going to need you more. Pray be strong, for our happiness.

Inasmuch as I ask of your indulgence, I wish very much to do the same for you. So to you I write a letter with no address. You, who is so very dear to me now...Because I have no confidence that I would not prove your determination pointless.

I promise to try: to add a bit more cheer to your happy days, to chase the grey clouds away; to pamper the little boy that you are, to support the ambition in you; to maintain a household filled with warmth, so you'll always want to come home. Above all, I promise to be here.

Fruitful Life

Like many of my close friends, the transient nature of life has loomed large over our spirits recently. You begin to take the many pursuits you hold dear in perspective.

Sometimes I wonder how very trivial things like work and reputation and status are for us our very lives. Friends fit into the schedule dictated by work and bureaucratic responsibilities; family time revolves around this same center; not to mention personal milestones like marriage and children.

My idea of a fruitful life is primitive. I care not for leaving a legacy, making a difference in my world, having a good amount of followers. I simply think, to have made my friends feel like they've been my friends; to have been placed at a job or task and done my best; to have had children and groomed them well.

I'd say that at least 90% of my friends meet up only when I ask them to. That leaves about 5 people who actually enjoy my company. I'm not sure how good friends could be such if one never knew if the other were sick or well, happy or sad, doing right or wrong. Yet that's my relationship with many, many of my "good friends". Friends with whom you make an appointment many weeks in advance but almost always come up with a last minute reason to leave early; friends whose drastic plans you'd be the last to know about; friends for whom you invest time and effort just so you could hear them say you didn't know them so well after all.

I guess it's the negative connotations of having to turn to someone for help, or even feeling obliged to keep someone informed. We truly have become an individualistic society. So I have learnt to feel uneasy at approaching anyone I know for a favour at all. Or asking them to meet up more often than twice a year. Because following my logic depicted above, the only reason they're constantly trying to make time for me would be because their priority was never me.

Amidst a very broody weekend, God opened my eyes at service: "do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own?" (1 Corinthians 6:19) Might that be why I've always felt that something was so wrong about the amount of work we willingly get pushed into? Not that I'm absolved from any of the fault, really.

At the end of the day, some things have become truth for me: I have God, a few friends, and sometimes family. And because God is here, that's all I need. Thank God!