rules of engagement

Humans are possibly the most difficult of creatures to navigate. 

This season of discovery has brought me light to intricacies I would have never thought I had to consider. Being a good human has always seemed to me to mean considering what it is to conduct oneself in the realm of egos and unknown hurts... in hopes to not cause any more pain in another. And yet, who is there to help with the pain one holds within whilst trying to ensure the world is at peace. 

The void seems vast tonight.

Is it worse to choose hope?

Where are you?

Living and dying

I guess this is my secret cove of sorts - a place I come to when life gets too hard.
When things are just too overwhelming and I truly have no one.
A place where I pretend no one reads, and yet utter a prayer that even in the silence there may be a stranger who actually cares.

There is a life that no one knows.
A life that perhaps no one knows but me.

Perhaps a life wasted with an unwise definition of what being filial, or "a good human", is. A life lent to another from everything from mundane tasks to that of building their dreams whilst I forsake my own. A life destined to be a living, and eventually dying, testimony of all five regrets of the dying. 

And yet the pain is kept hidden. Hidden for peace, for someone else's joy, for someone else's approval... for all except my own. Perhaps this is the very essence of why the internally calculated value of my life is dismal - for it is simply used to feed another. There is no real life here - and if there be any left, I have chosen to allow the parasites to feed. Perhaps their smiles have been enough to keep me quiet as I bleed dry. At some point of time, there was no more pain...or perhaps it became so unbearable that the heart and mind chose to numb. I'm unsure if it's unfortunate that at times a singe does surface. I'm unsure if it's a friendly reminder that I am still alive with some sort of hope of agency. And yet, here I am, drowning the sear.

I have to tell myself, "It's just one of those days."
As it always has been.

Post note: (also a kind public service announcement):
I am brutally honest with myself here. Writing helps me...and perhaps, hopefully, to some extent, heals me.  I never want to cause anyone discouragement or harm. And neither would I want my writing to. So if you do stumble upon here, do know that I also have happy moments and I do find sparks of joy ever so often... it's just that this space is where I process life through words when the real world just seems too noisy. 

If you're reading this because somehow the world (and perhaps algorithm) has brought you here to empathise with melancholy in return, I do recommend to turn it into light instead. If you need help, seek help. As much as I often feel alone in this world, I am also aware that there are pinnacles of light in the darkness. May you find those beacons of light in your world too.

Be Free

It's 6am in London and although I can feel that the storm in me is still more gloomy than the weather, I'm grateful to be here. It has been a long time since I woke up peacefully at 5am. And even longer that I've woken up and opted to write.

I guess being in a timezone so different from "normal life" back in Singapore helps some. I am still concerned for the kitchens and bakeries back home, but I will just have to find a way to balance out my goals for coming here (whatever they may be) as well as my responsibilities back home. 

The flight here was wonderful. I sat next to an lady in her 80s who was born during the time of the second World War. And it was so refreshing to speak to her about politics, and life in general. The conversation was natural and easy. 

I wrote some on the plane and thought to store it here...

I dont know if anyone still reads here, but if you do, tell me what you think?

"Be Free"

(Written on a plane from Singapore to London, 15 May 2024）

There are days far worse than these.

Even though life is parched in the desert, and the darkness of the void is tangible.

These days where the noise is deafening, and even the quiet blares.

There are days far worse than these.

There are days far worse than these.

Where the lines between good and evil are blurred by the pride of intellect or the charm of emotions.

And decisions are made with and above the analytical mind whilst the chained heart watches and wanes.

There are days far worse than these.

There are days far worse than these.

Where the screams for hope, for light, in the darkness are met with blindness and hallucinations of silver linings concoted by the darkness itself.

And yet they believe - it is not so bad after all.

Surely there are days far worse than these.

What good is there in believing that there are worse days?

'I am parched, but I will give life to survive."

"The darkness has befallen, but at least it has not consumed me whole."

The end has not yet come, but it is approaching.

What good is there in believing that there are worse days?

Run.

Run from these days, and the days far worse than these - for they are coming after you.

Leave them to consume themselves, and let them devour their own.

They do not belong to you, nor you to them.

Crashing cymbals, blaring horns, they rally you as a warcry to stay with the darkness.

Empty blows. A swipe at the wind.

You are not free. You are but a puppet and prisoner.

And one day you will tire and give in.

Run.

Take a deep breath and move like the wind.

Go to the places they never want to go.

They will chase you, but their strength will wane as their grip of you fails.

There is little time left, but there is still breath.

Break into the light, they cannot touch you there.

Be Free.