The weekends is almost gone again.
I haven't really gotten much done.
I still have a lit essay to do but I'm in one of my reflective moods again, where I just start questioning the whole meaning of existentialism and of life itself.
Going to my grandma's yesterday prompted me to just think so in a way, this post may get a little deep and philosophical, so much so that only I will be able to understand it fully.
(I think I enjoy being an unsolvable and ambiguous mystery too much)
My grandma was pretty happy to finally see me after so long, even though she couldn't really remember who I am.
I don't fault her though cos god knows, she has too many grandchildren and she's getting old.
She's already 79 actually.
And the older she gets, the more afraid I become, especially when her very fragility slaps me in the face.
I'm just so terrified she'll get taken away before I get a chance to spend hours, minutes and seconds, just being next to her and hearing her breathe, which I can only afford to do after this hellish A level ride is over.
I don't think I'm prepared to handle her loss, but then again, when is anyone ever prepared to handle loss?
And as a side effect of being a grown up (at least in the eyes of my parents, aunts and uncle) I can now fully participate and voice my opinions in family conversations.
Which is good in a way, but now, I've come to know of even more family secrets.
The kind that's been buried under the floorboards for so long that it's starting to rot.
I feel overwhelmed sometimes, not by the things I now know, but by the sheer impact and weight of all of them.
My whole perspective is twisted and I find myself having to set it out straight again, even though its literally futile cos I'll never see things the same way again.
It just goes to show that if you change the viewpoint, the perspective completely changes.
Sometimes, I can't help but wish that I'm a kid again, protected from all the ugly side of human nature and from all the ugly truths, waiting to surface and choke you.
I miss being cocooned in that protective bubble, living life by counting the number of tiles lining the living room floor and by how many heartbeats it takes to match the number of times that my mum tells me she loves me.
Along the way, somehow, that protective bubble burst and this is who I am now.
It's so true that we only ever become the people we are today, because of the experiences we go through, the pain our hearts are carved with, the tears we shed, and the moments of elation, exhilaration and pure joy we've reached.
I count myself as extremely lucky to have gone through the most lowest of moments, when even reaching for the sun is impossible, to the most elevating of moments, when all that matters is living the moment itself.
And every day, I change a little more,
because ultimately, life is a journey that leads you to be the person you are destined to be.
It doesn't matter how long it takes to get there, and how much you have to suffer and lose in the process.
Cos you'll get there anyway, and if getting there means your whole world has to turn upside down, and all your perspectives and beliefs have to change, then so be it.
It helps me feel better to remember that life itself, is an art that cannot be measured by the number of breaths you take or by the number of people you meet,
but by the number of moments that takes your breath away and by the number of people that tattoo their names on the insides of your heart.
I haven't really gotten much done.
I still have a lit essay to do but I'm in one of my reflective moods again, where I just start questioning the whole meaning of existentialism and of life itself.
Going to my grandma's yesterday prompted me to just think so in a way, this post may get a little deep and philosophical, so much so that only I will be able to understand it fully.
(I think I enjoy being an unsolvable and ambiguous mystery too much)
My grandma was pretty happy to finally see me after so long, even though she couldn't really remember who I am.
I don't fault her though cos god knows, she has too many grandchildren and she's getting old.
She's already 79 actually.
And the older she gets, the more afraid I become, especially when her very fragility slaps me in the face.
I'm just so terrified she'll get taken away before I get a chance to spend hours, minutes and seconds, just being next to her and hearing her breathe, which I can only afford to do after this hellish A level ride is over.
I don't think I'm prepared to handle her loss, but then again, when is anyone ever prepared to handle loss?
And as a side effect of being a grown up (at least in the eyes of my parents, aunts and uncle) I can now fully participate and voice my opinions in family conversations.
Which is good in a way, but now, I've come to know of even more family secrets.
The kind that's been buried under the floorboards for so long that it's starting to rot.
I feel overwhelmed sometimes, not by the things I now know, but by the sheer impact and weight of all of them.
My whole perspective is twisted and I find myself having to set it out straight again, even though its literally futile cos I'll never see things the same way again.
It just goes to show that if you change the viewpoint, the perspective completely changes.
Sometimes, I can't help but wish that I'm a kid again, protected from all the ugly side of human nature and from all the ugly truths, waiting to surface and choke you.
I miss being cocooned in that protective bubble, living life by counting the number of tiles lining the living room floor and by how many heartbeats it takes to match the number of times that my mum tells me she loves me.
Along the way, somehow, that protective bubble burst and this is who I am now.
It's so true that we only ever become the people we are today, because of the experiences we go through, the pain our hearts are carved with, the tears we shed, and the moments of elation, exhilaration and pure joy we've reached.
I count myself as extremely lucky to have gone through the most lowest of moments, when even reaching for the sun is impossible, to the most elevating of moments, when all that matters is living the moment itself.
And every day, I change a little more,
because ultimately, life is a journey that leads you to be the person you are destined to be.
It doesn't matter how long it takes to get there, and how much you have to suffer and lose in the process.
Cos you'll get there anyway, and if getting there means your whole world has to turn upside down, and all your perspectives and beliefs have to change, then so be it.
It helps me feel better to remember that life itself, is an art that cannot be measured by the number of breaths you take or by the number of people you meet,
but by the number of moments that takes your breath away and by the number of people that tattoo their names on the insides of your heart.
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