The British daffodils I bought for 0.99p are dead. They’ve shrunk and withered and yet, they’re still sitting on my windowsill and every time I walk towards the apartment, I look up in search of my window with the dead daffodils. After all this time, I should probably throw them out but it’s just like me to cling to dead things and hope that they’ll come back to life.
(more…)Tag: Thoughts
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Wild Horses
There is no denying the wild horse in us, said Virgina Woolf. There’s more to the quote but that’s the part I like best. Essentially, the quote is about passion which means it’s about feeling things deeply which means it’s about having a heart. Most of the time, I don’t think people feel things to their full extent and I blame that on a lot of things, mainly fear. We are afraid of being vulnerable, and of being too much. Also, we forget how to feel things. Like many things growing up, the permission to experience true emotion is trampled out of us from a young age. It’s hardly appropriate to be fully governed by emotions after the age of two.
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Whisky, Whisky, Whisky
In sophisticated settings, people are always drinking whisky. It’s a real grown up drink: the classy men and the alluring Anna Kareninas of this world drink whisky. So do larger than life people, and people who are falling in love, and young and stupid people. It’s the type of drink I imagine writers drink, the bohemian ones who smoke a lot of cigarettes and never sleep during the night.
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A Man Painting a Sign
On today’s walk, I saw a man painting a sign. He was old, maybe in his fifties or sixties, and he wore the typical white pants as he stood on a ladder with a paintbrush in his hand. For half a second, I was insanely jealous of him. I thought nobody in the world could have a more noble job than painting signs and making the world a little brighter. Nobody else in the world could be as happy or fulfilled as that man. He is the person I want to be. He climbs down the ladder, goes home, and probably drinks a beer, and doesn’t care what anybody else thinks about him.
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You Can’t Run from Mozart
There is a running joke in my family that if I were a composer, I’d be Mozart. Even as an inside joke, there isn’t actually anything funny about it but we laugh like it is the most hilarious thing we ever made up. The reason behind it is that I always had to play Mozart because my hands weren’t big enough to play Beethoven. I couldn’t reach the chords without double-hitting notes and I definitely couldn’t play them with the power and energy that they demanded.
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Monday
Just like that, it’s Monday again. It’s funny how that happens, every single week, and each time it takes me by surprise. At least there’s no longer a dread associated with it. There’s no longer any feeling of panic, or urge to stop time, or at least, slow it down. Now, there is a calmness that comes with Monday. A sigh of relief that here we are again, we made it. There is a comfort in this routine I’ve built for myself; there is safety in the regularity. I wake up in the same bed, I look out the same window, I read, I drink tea, I work, I write, I eat dinner, I go to bed. And then I do it all again the next day.
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Missing Pointless Things
I’ve decided that I miss talking to people about pointless things. I miss hearing their boring stories about what they didn’t do on the weekend. I miss being told their opinion of a restaurant they went to last night even though I never asked. I miss hearing about their kid’s birthday party, and about how the bus was late again, and about the new pair of shoes they bought on sale.
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No Salsa, but Something More
I keep wanting to write a post about tv shows I watched recently that made me cry (spoiler alert: all of them) but when it comes down to the moment of setting pen to paper, I can’t bring myself to do it. This time it’s because I have a headache and I don’t have the energy to be emotional right now, but I think it’s also because I am a little bit frightened about knowingly putting myself through the ordeal of feeling things intensely. I guess that’s why they say facing your feelings takes courage.
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The People who Hurt You
The absolute two worst things in life are hurting other people and being hurt by other people. Both change you in their own way, shattering some innate innocence that lives inside you. When you hurt other people, you think badly of yourself. And when other people hurt you, you may also think badly of yourself but you may also think badly about humanity.
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Things I Learned Growing Up 