And I’m staring at this mouldy ceiling, wondering whether any story will start outside of the room. The paint was ripping and the dust was settling in but you found art in all of the flaws, made meaning from all of its brokenness. I wonder whether that was why you saw something in me, because when you found me, you saw how I could be put together.
Maybe that was why I kept you near. Maybe that was why when time came, you didn’t leave like Winter but you left like a spring.
It’s not the same. Something has changed. There’s a glow, a wash of warmth that I didn’t remember seeing before.
I guess this is the face of freedom.
It’s frosty today.
Fog clings onto the glass of the bus and the blur of colours sweep by outside, shades of green, white and the occasional hue of opposing cars.
Who would’ve thought that fond memories could be relived here, that the hint of love could be exchanged on a pane of frosted glass?
The space between us was going to grow, that much I knew; so much so that even if we were to sit next to one another, we’d just feel miles apart. Words would flutter between the empty space, taking roundabout ways to reach the ear. By then it’d be distorted into things we’d rather believe.
Only now do I realise the absurdity. Believing in your own independence when your daily dose of happiness was hooked to them… You don’t depend on anyone. Smell the scent of florals from the breath of your own making.
I hold comfort in these words, finally trusting that it was the right choice and the right time to throw in the towel.
Sometimes glimpses are just enough to stir something inside of you.
There’s a beast we try to tame inside all of us and moments like these ignite its repressed desire to be let loose. Afterall a cage was never fit for any beast, least of not, the beast that quietly resides within us.
You’d told me before that one decision could completely change our lives. One step off the pavement could lead to a fantasy come true, all you needed to do was to make that step. With you shining the light in the crack, I felt it once again; I felt the enormous power of potential and the lurch of a moving heart. It makes you think that if only you wished it, one day you could really have it all.
Writing became like the book that you regrettably returned to the shelf. You have intentions to pursue it at a later date but that day slowly pushes itself farther and farther out until quite by accident you meet your trigger and you’re quickly drawn back.
I’ve missed it sorely but now that I am done with work, I’m back on track, my personal freedom feeling like the weight of gold in my hands.
In the last few months, life shifted gears and the hours in my day became a slow, standardised routine. Not the disciplined kind, but the boring kind; the kind frankly not worth writing about.
But several weeks of sleep later, I find myself in awe under the busy lights of Shanghai, taking a stand against their infamously icy temperatures amidst warm Christmas cheer. Armed with a furry coat, tall boots and most importantly gloves, the city I so eagerly wanted to take on is really starting to feel like home.
I believe people can’t be summarised down into several words. I dislike labels and I never believed how one acts or thinks is lasting. It’s all dependent on circumstance.
Isn’t it interesting that we can paint these pictures of others, interact with people through lenses that we place before them? I understand that to make sense of our world, we make mental profiles of people but with these lenses, we also have the responsibility to update them as people change. The assumption that someone’s life is a concrete entity is dismissive and an unfair distillation of the essence of a person.
Life changes people and in time one won’t be the same as they were before.
And they don’t stop calling her that.
Even when she’s tainted, closed off or on the brinks of an inevitable end. Because the moment she bloomed was the moment she’d be remembered for, forever.