Scatteredfafa

Came across a picture book with remarkable illustrations. I don't remember the name, just that it was about a tiger and its smile. I don't know what other people think when they flip through the pages of jungles and arrive on the last page showing the imaginative, unrealistic grin of a tiger, but here's what popped into my mind: I am going to learn how to draw. I highly suspect that the main reason why I have barely accomplished anything with my life has to do with the fact that I want to do too many things, be too many Mes, and of course another reason could quite easily be that I have a genetic disease of procrastinating. I want to learn so many things and sometimes I wish I could rewind time and redo life.  I think a lot of things, but mostly I dream. I dream about all the possibilities, all the versions of me. A cartoonist, a film director, a writer, a pilot, a chef, a tree... Yes, a tree, with barks and leaves. Then I overthink and ruffle myself up to a state of melanc...

My favourite store at the moment. Puzzle Planet.  ​Solving a puzzle is not typically considered fun. To be honest, I'd agree. It's not easy, it's definitely at times frustrating, but I mostly love it for the art and the psychological effect.  Puzzles requires patience. To see the big picture, puzzles trains one to have faith that everything will come together. To put each piece one by one, believing you will see something beautiful soon. Solving a puzzle reminds me life is like that too. Sometimes we can't see the big picture, we can't imagine how things will get better, but we just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and slowly we will see how everything falls into place.  Solving a puzzle angrily is somehow impossible. We have to be calm. It reminds me we need to take breaks so that we can tackle every knot and tangle we face as we weave through life.  Solving a puzzle is not just a hobby. It's catharsis, it's therapy. It's a safe place...

I consider myself a very secretive person. I admit, I'm not good at hiding my feelings and emotions. Annoying Karens can see the roll of my eyes behind my forced smile, and my crushes can detect the blush hiding underneath my expressionless face. The whole world (actually just people who read my blog or makes an effort to know me) knows that I'm both happy and sad, an embodiment of summer and winter, a still heat or a wrecking torpedo, only the extremes, no in betweens. I'm not good at hiding my emotions, and I don't intend to. I'm very vain despite the bouts of insecurities; the sky needs to know I'm in a bad mood and thus should rain accordingly, the sun needs to know that I'm happy and so should dim its light as I will be bright enough.  But I only ever reveal that much. I don't tell people the reasons behind the absent-minded smile or the sudden burst of tears. I feel the urge to keep this to myself, these reasons. Why? Because if people don't kn...

It has been a while since I've written anything. I guess no one reading what I have to say has discouraged me from writing. The truth is, no one wants to perform in the dark for their whole lives, no one wants to sing to only deaf people, and I don't want to write letters only to myself.  But I realised, I believe one day people will read my work. I should keep on writing like Van Gogh who kept on painting even though no one appreciated his work and even mocked him. I will write as if no one is reading.

I'm back. It's 2am. And I have things I want to say to everyone. I'd probably regret it, I mean regretting being vulnerable, not the things I am going to say. But who's going to read this anyways? My blog is like my diary, which I secretly hope someone would read but no one will.  I've missed writing. I didn't realise this until tonight. What have I been doing? So preoccupied to the point I've negected what sets my soul on fire. I'm disappointed in myself, but I've just learned a new word:  "Amor fati", it means love of one's fate, and I intend to practise this stoic way of life. It's Nietzche by the way. Is it fate that I didn't write? Is it fate that it just so happened that I had time to write but didn't feel inspired to? I don't know, it clearly stems directly from my choice to not write, but I'd like to blame it on fate.  I should probably write a little something each night. Maybe I should write stories.  Okay ...

The world is vast beneath me. The awareness that I'm just a speck in the universe hightens yet I feel much more alive and seen than I've ever felt. I stretch my wings wide as the fast wind ruffles through my feathers, urging me to leap off the tallest building in the world and trust my wings will carry me somewhere and my heart will soar. Do I trust the wind? Do I trust my wings? Do I trust the place I'm going? Would trust be enough? I turn my head around and squint my small eyes against the torrent of the wind, just enough time for courage to dissipate and self doubts barges in. Do I really need to do this now? What if I can't do it? What if I fall? Suddenly I can't breathe. My heart's drumming in more fear with each deafening beat.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to push the fear down. It is now or never. I will always be afraid, it will still be scary the next time, but each time I survive the jump, I will be braver and stronger. I lift one le...