Like everyone else, I think, I am still living somewhere in the past, finding no noticeable distinction from the present. Roaming the dark tunnel of these past two years has made me lose my sense of time. More of the same everyday. And the next day, and the next. Is it today or is it still yesterday? Ah, it’s already tomorrow?
But again, summer is upon us. And not just any summer – a December summer.
Sticky days with a punitive, skin-burning sun and sultry nights that have you tossing and turning, unable to sleep from the heat, the airless atmosphere. Still, summer calls us to it, in spite of all its inclemencies. It is a summer that hides a lot of pain — not the summer of love or discovery, but the summer of time lost and adventures unhad. A summer of grieving all that could not happen, and all that did.
Still, and perhaps most cruelly, life goes on. On the remains of yesterday, the seed of the present grows.
Our other freedoms cut short, we partake in the remaining rituals of summer… We grab on to ripe mangoes of different varieties: some round and firm like apples, others mushy and fibrous, with that signature curve. Then, we hunt down laden branches of plump litchis at the best price, we pick sweet-smelling pineapples and haul heavy watermelons, the kind that have juice dribbling down your chin.
Here it is, another summer of hanging on, worse for wear.
And yet, and yet, we are lost if we do not believe.
If we do not believe that tomorrow will be better. That, like the summer, this darkness is a passing thing.
Beautiful days come if you believe in them, so believe.
Note: Merry Christmas to all those of you who celebrate and Happy Holidays! I’m going to stop saying I’m back to posting more regularly because I feel I’ve been jinxing it 😂 (And now I am going to pretend like me not writing is the result of some jinx and not, you know, me making excuses not to write 😬)
I want a little more time to feel these in-betweens. Why do they have to come in flashes? Why do they have to be windows of opportunity forever lost if you do not jump through them? Like twilight, why do these moments have to be fleeting? I want more time to decipher this melancholy, to unravel my feelings, to pick out my memories from the film roll of my life.
Yet it seems so selfish to ask for more time when I have already had so much of it. The clock has been kind to me this year, allowing me more moments of peace than I thought I could get. But as the decade draws to an end and the sun sets on another 10 years of my life, I need a moment to stomach it all: how far I’ve come, how far I’m meant to go.
I mean, at the other end of this coming decade, I could emerge as a 34 year old. At the beginning of this decade I am leaving behind, I was 14. My twenties feel like a whole moment in-between so far. A transition period, a world made of bridges I have to cross or build or repair.
So forgive me if I am holding onto time, begging it to stop for a little while for me, I just want to understand. I want to clearly understand the immensity of the ten years that have passed and the ten more to come, maybe.
Note: It’s not yet 2020 where I’m from and as I post this, but I hope you can take the best of this decade with you. I do not like to think that new years can bring anything, so to speak. My belief is that we are the ones who bring change. But it’s hard not to get swept up in the spirit of newness, to not feel a swelling of hope in spite of every evil thing we know exists in the world. So I wish that, wherever you are in the world, you can take some of that hope with you and hold onto it. Happy New Year, everyone ❤️
Already 3 weeks into the year — 49 more to go. Time has started moving again, slowly, like a frozen river which, under the golden warmth of the morning sun, trickles timidly to life. The holidays are over, and now even their spirit begins to fade. Do you also feel like the year’s only truly starting now? Like the first week of January is a mock week, a rehearsal for the real thing?
Speaking of which, my cold London adventures are slowly warming under the tropical sun. Soon, the chocolates I brought —already melty now— will run out. So will the shortbread, the doughnuts, and the new clothes will no longer be new. Everything will slowly acclimatise, losing that delicate, intriguing foreignness that is so dear to me. And Time will flow again. Warmth will surge from within the rivers, breaking through the thin, already fragile layer of ice and Time will gush again through February and March and April and all the rest.
I have no plans for any lulls in the flow of my Time, no pitstops planned. (Although my sister is getting married in April, which means I get to see many people I hold dear. And well, Time is sure to cut me some slack then). But until then and afterwards, I want to fill my year with little celebrations and small events; everyday adventures that bring meaning to life.
So now, I have a growing “To-Watch” list, which includes Studio Ghibli movies I have not watched, a re-watching of “Her” by Spike Jonze, “Lost in Translation”, “A Star is Born”, Wes Anderson movies, “Silence of the Lambs” (Curve ball!), “Loving Vincent”, a re-watching of “Before Sunrise” and all the Agatha Christie’s Poirot I can get my hands on. And add to that a “To-Read” list that is much more varied.
Because I am making this year count. Not just in the big days, but in the many, many small ones too. I am endeavouring to not waste this barely noticeable, difficultly remembered string of everydays that makes up the bulk of an average life. So this way I can look back at the year with a warm, nebulous feeling, not knowing how to explain why these innocuous days I cannot pinpoint on a calendar ( What was I doing March 30th ? And August 10? And…) make me feel so whole.
I really believe that the days I am hoping to be blessed with are going to be good. Because I am setting out with intent, channelling what good there is in me. No matter what happens, it will be good. Somehow, somehow.
“We’ve lived through moments when we thought we couldn’t make it. Nights when it felt there would be no dawn. Times when we wished the world would end, but the mornings instead dawned cheerful and bright, burning our retinas. And we picked ourselves up the best we could and made it through another day. And then another, and another until the days weren’t so bad anymore. We’ve made it through everything we thought we could never survive. We’ve outlasted our sadness, outlived every envy. We’ve traveled from summer to winter, through spring and fall. “
And here we are, all of us. We’ve almost made it to the end of another year.
We’ve lived through moments when we thought we couldn’t make it. Nights when it felt there would be no dawn. Times when we wished the world would end, but the mornings instead dawned cheerful and bright, burning our retinas. And we picked ourselves up the best we could and made it through another day. And then another, and another until the days weren’t so bad anymore. We’ve made it through everything we thought we could never survive. We’ve outlasted our sadness, outlived every envy. We’ve traveled from summer to winter, through spring and fall. We have been journeying around the sun, and within ourselves. And it’s hard to tell exactly which distance takes the longest to cover. But I think I know now. It takes the earth 365 or 366 days to complete a rotation around the sun. But the journey inward is infinite. I hope you have had a beautiful one, this year.
To be honest, I wanted to post this some time ago. On some date with some form of symbolism. On the last day of the week (To emphasise finality) or the first (Because ends are beginnings). But I realised that it meant relinquishing too much power to Time. Giving it the ability to dictate my life choices and decisions. There might be a right time for everything, but there is also never a wrong time.
So I’ve started to do now everything I wanted to do next year. Because in the end, isn’t now all we truly have? I am already making (somewhat big) plans for next year, but who’s to say I will be alive then to see them come to fruition? So I don’t want to let Time control me. It has enough of a hold on all our lives already.
Even so, I can’t deny that it is the end of a journey. I hope that, even now, even if your year hasn’t gone as you wanted it to, you can find something in it that has value to you. And if you can’t, then I hope you can find it in yourself to be grateful that the past year has provided a bridge between the past and the future. If it hadn’t been for this year, you would never be able to live through the next. And I hope you can forgive yourself for the times when you weren’t as good as you wanted to be. When you hurt someone or didn’t live up to your expectations.
It’s a new year ahead. Heck, it’s a new day ahead tomorrow. It’s a new life ahead now. Seize the day. Do what you fear doing most. Do what you want to do most. Do what you need to do most. Tomorrow is promised to no one. All we have is now.
And yet we live in hopes of seeing many more tomorrows. It’s a delightful little paradox.
I do not think wishes alone are enough to make dreams come true. But I believe they can help along the way. Help us not lose hope. Help us believe that our dreams can manifest into reality with enough hard work.
So, if I may, here are my wishes to you for the coming year. And because I’ve said so much already, I will only say this: This year, I hope you bloom. And if you have already, then I hope you continue to blossom throughout all of the seasons. And even if you don’t, that’s fine. That’s alright. You will bloom again.
Thank you to everyone who has been reading this blog this year, or the year before. You’ve all made the journey worthwhile. I’ve enjoyed reading you all, too. And I hope to see you all in excellent health next year for another trip around the sun.
I hope you all have the best end of year, filled with warmth and family.
See you all next year (Which is to say, in less than a week!)
Yours,
A.
.
.
I did get my symbolism after all, by the way! Today’s first post was a repost of something I’d written a year back, representing the past. The second one represented the present. And this, the future. Haha, okay, I’m done rambling.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J.R.R. Tolkien
Art by: Marc Simonetti (Cover for the french version of ‘The Name of the Wind’)
“Hush,” he whispered to his mare, the gentle and now weary Céleste. “Easy now, Céleste.”
He brushed through her mane soothingly and in an easy movement slipped off her.
Night surrounded them on top of the hill they had climbed, millions of small stars blinking down at them. Céleste gave a proud grunt. She liked the night, it looked just like her coat of black speckled with white all over.
The sound of something being fired pierced through the silence and soon, bright sparks of red and gold formed patterns in the sky.
The small town below them was illuminated far more than normal towns usually were and in the distance, it seemed to him like an ant colony: busy, bustling, full of energy. Another few rockets exploded in the night, showering the town in streaks of pink and green lights.
“So it is already that time,” he murmured to himself “Already a year…searching, seeking out the road that promises no destination.”
“A year spent wandering,” he mused, “and what for?…Purpose? Meaning?” He sighed and looked back down the way from which he had emerged.
His eyes and voice were wistful as he spoke to no one in particular.
“But there is no place for me there. Not anymore; perhaps there never was. And so now to the road do I belong, and Time,” he looked at the bursting fireworks more intently now “does not matter here. Only the road matters. I will either reach the stars above or die on the road. I am on a journey that has perhaps no end, and yet I cannot stop. I cannot stop because it is better to wander unknowingly than to stay somewhere you do not belong.”
He stood still, watching the displays of lights and sounds with a profound sadness that only grew deeper at the sounds of loud cheers and lively music.
He remained like this a long while.
And then, as though he’d had enough, he pulled the ample hood of his long cloak back on, and Céleste’s reins in hand, marched forth into the darkness.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J.R.R. Tolkien
Art by: Marc Simonetti (Cover for the french version of ‘The Name of the Wind’)
“Hush,” he whispered to his mare, the gentle and now weary Céleste. “Easy now, Céleste.”
He brushed through her mane soothingly and in an easy movement slipped off her.
Night surrounded them on top of the hill they had climbed, millions of small stars blinking down at them. Céleste gave a proud grunt. She liked the night, it looked just like her coat of black speckled with white all over.
The sound of something being fired pierced through the silence and soon, bright sparks of red and gold formed patterns in the sky.
The small town below them was illuminated far more than normal towns usually were and in the distance, it seemed to him like an ant colony: busy, bustling, full of energy. Another few rockets exploded in the night, showering the town in streaks of pink and green lights.
“So it is already that time,” he murmured to himself “Already a year…searching, seeking out the road that promises no destination.”
“A year spent wandering,” he mused, “and what for?…Purpose? Meaning?” He sighed and looked back down the way from which he had emerged.
His eyes and voice were wistful as he spoke to no one in particular.
“But there is no place for me there. Not anymore; perhaps there never was. And so now to the road do I belong, and Time,” he looked at the bursting fireworks more intently now “does not matter here. Only the road matters. I will either reach the stars above or die on the road. I am on a journey that has perhaps no end, and yet I cannot stop. I cannot stop because it is better to wander unknowingly than to stay somewhere you do not belong.”
He stood still, watching the displays of lights and sounds with a profound sadness that only grew deeper at the sounds of loud cheers and lively music.
He remained like this a long while.
And then, as though he’d had enough, he pulled the ample hood of his long cloak back on, and Céleste’s reins in hand, marched forth into the darkness.
Young Adult, Old Soul 