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.
