Sunday, November 27, 2011

somewhere we belong.

  I really want to write. I haven't really written anything for so long, especially for myself; and with all of that cooped up inside, they played some kind of games to pass their time. I'm not happy with them.

  I don't really know how time passes these days. They have seemed to run together into an infinite ball of wool, which hits against the wall and bounces back and I just stare at it and wonder what kind of ball is that in the world. That thing is soft -purposeless; it's scratchy like the wool it looks like -unruly and common.
  I want to get the diamond back.

Well, I'm not sure if that had been what I had set out to write, but I am wondering where my love has strayed to. My insides are clenched, I realise that maybe it's me closing myself in, and wonder why. I breathe deeply to remind myself that I'm alive.

  Let's talk about places, for you've heard me speak of my passion a million and ten times before -although I will always somehow go back to them, for they are what keeps me here. I have travelled afar, by my own will. And now, enough time has passed for me to be able to look back and wonder.

  I remember her. She was younger than me, definitely; and unquestionably, had much less experience than what I have now. But she had a big heart full of dreams and courage to see them through, and I hope that she has brought that along to this time she once called the future. I love her dearly, and now I remind her to love herself in case she had took that off her mind and forgotten to put it back in. For that is the love she needs the most. When she could not get any from any other place, this was the one which she could still have as well as satisfy her the most.

  I have brought myself far to see my dreams before my eyes, and life brought me home, to remind me of all I am grateful for, before sending me off again at the airport.
  I've met various new people, turned some into wonderful friends and then said goodbyes. But more come in and even when I think I'm tired, we make each other laugh and I realise that this is what we are supposed to do -we don't stop. We never should.

  Then there are they whose homes are just a bus or train's trip away. For me, honestly, I don't really know what to feel about that. I somehow can never bring myself to envy them, for even though at peak times of my laziness when I just don't feel like bringing myself to cook, I puzzle over how they do not seem to mind living at the same pin-prick of the earth. Looking back, looking forward and in any direction of my life, I simply cannot imagine myself doing that. Not running out of those boundaries created by seas and oceans, to explore, but more importantly perhaps, just to see. Witness with our own bare naked eyes how beautiful this earth is...
  I had made my decisions and whether I had consciously or subconsciously realised the sacrifices that I would be making, I do not regret this life. Never have, never will. I stand grateful.

ps. It felt great writing. Just letting stuff out, constructing sentences and watching them fit. Just running the fingers of my mind along the strings of sentences. I feel at home.

*I found that picture above from somewhere I have now forgotten. :P

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