Saturday, 30 January 2010
You deliberately put a coma before the miniscule, little dot. Is it too much to expect closure?
Click, then the beeping sound.
The blinding curtain of raindrops in front of your eyes, the daunting rush of water surrounding your ears - then a sharp intake of breath. What was usually a deep shade of amber was a clear shade of yellow. How freedom is defined was being sung, and teardrops fell.
No one was there to wipe them away.
When thinking was too much, we move on to glance. When glancing was too much, we move on to stare. When staring was too much, we shut it down altogether, cross our fingers, and wait for the speakers to emit a tiny sound: beep.
Ah, dear science, how you impede my life.
Friday, 29 January 2010
"You know, one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
How many sunsets does it take to make one feel content? Bursts of orange, a spectacle of pink. To appreciate the stunningly beautiful, to dwell in the breathtaking. How many counts does it take until you find your way home?
Exasperated. Excited. Overwhelmed. Oh, the anticipation.
Monday, 25 January 2010
Perfection should be the least of the world's concern.
In our attempt to ease the feeling of inferiority, we aim to be perfect. Of course, the applicability of my statement is in question, and exceptions do apply (for those of us who are blessed with such confidence and self-acceptance).
When you bow down, pick up the scattered pieces of papers, stand up, hug the newly-collected pile of crisp, white paper to your chest, and look around the room, does the fact that you're only half-way done bother you?
To be perfect, to be a robot.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
Can we be comfortable in silence?
As a dear friend once wrote, we have an odd relationship with words. As a writer say, words are the source of misunderstandings. Sitting in silence under a streetlamp (with the only noises being the scratches of our pens) made me wonder: where did all the wasted words go?
Into nothingness, I suppose.
(Melancholy was the perfect emotion for the end of the year.)