Filed under: L.ove, Life's fragile recollections, Rhyme & Riddle | Tags: brain, feelings, life, operation, poem, recovery, reflections, rhyme, surgery, thoughts
A hot air balloon emerging from the mist,
Perhaps this is what reality looks like under all that morphine.
For months I’ve buried the stirrings of an emotional connect beneath the daily grind,
Only for a fatal incident to open my eyes to the love from friends and others close to my heart I nearly left behind,
Through morphine and painkillers those memories are fleeting, but real,
As they etched themselves into my heart to remember, to heal.
My friends, you came and chatted, how I hung on to those conversations,
They remind me of our shared laughter and enjoyable moments,
How we’ve grown and paved our path to future destinations;
These I’ve neglected, all in the name of blinded pursuits for success and accomplishments,
And to close a chapter on love and all other emotions.
The days at home can be long and empty,
Filled with images and thoughts but alas they are so damn flighty;
You came by and spent the hours with me when I’m stuck at home and my brain so laggy,
Not my best state, with the world through my eyes turning topsy-turvy.
Touched – I was, a quiet peace that accompanied your presence,
You saw my before and aftermath, never again;
Eight lives I’ve gambled, granted with one – to love, to cherish, to put a smile on others’ faces,
To tell the stories the world ought to hear, and know somewhere, somehow I’ve made a tiny difference.
Stay if you plan to stay, don’t come and go,
The body’s battered, there leaves only the soul.
The former I can play, the latter I keep within,
Bit by bit revealed, through encounters thick and thin.
The recovery path might have seemed easy and nice;
Masked through optimism, character and moments I fantasize;
There have been minutes of frustration, worry and agony,
The fear of losing myself – intelligence, pace and musicality,
The tremble in my veins, not seeing my past wordsmith and ideas surface…
The mind could draw a blank just like that,
I find myself searching my memory banks as though I’ve misplaced the catalogue for them,
Like a confused librarian who has nothing on her hand,
I leave my search to prayers and hope,
While I re-teach myself to think the way I did again.
Filed under: Rhyme & Riddle, Two Cents' Worth | Tags: new year, reflections, thoughts
6 months later, I’m back dusting off cobwebs off my blog.
6 months later, I’m home wiping off the dust that has settled on my shelves.
6 months later, I’m at another cross-junction
Reconsidering; thinking; weighing options; hesitating at the leap forward.
It is the new year, 12 years past the millenium. Every year is a reflection, of my achievements and my life’s milestones. Too often time has flown by without my knowledge, when I was too busy running the rat race to fully appreciate what I can offer to myself. Where’s the music, the prose, the words that spin the yarn of life? Where’s my time, my soul, my hideout where inspiration flows?
So what’s 2012? A planned year, a charted path. An unexplored territory within the depths of my heart. The usual routine, challenges and hurdles, some wonderful memories, some painful ones. A dive into cold spring waters, penning my own chapter, riding my own wave.
In the midst of clearing my mailbox, I received one of those inspirational powerpoints forwarded by my aunt, one of those many mailers one often sees about living a better life, cherishing those around you and stop by to smell the roses. The sort that makes you reflect a second, and continue your chase for the forbidden carrot in life. The kinds that make you tear a moment, but you quickly forget about them.
It was titled, “When my time comes.” In summary, it spoke of time that flew by while we lived our lives built on success, milestones, and celebrations. It questioned the constant rat race we find ourselves running, and at one’s final breath, asked: was it all worth it?
So, they said: to have felt love, to travel, to bask in the warmth of friendship and family ties, to look at nature’s wonders, to see the great marvels of the world and it’s history…that’s living a fulfilling life. When my time comes, I will be surrounded by loved ones on my deathbed, probably flying off to heaven in the midst of doing my favourite thing, or drift off to eternal sleep with my loved one in my arms, right?
There is no need to reflect when “my time comes” for me to go. This is my time, for each minute, each day I spend breathing and living.
This is my time – when I do what I love, and I heed not the rest who think I ought to be earning more money.
This is my time – when I love and discover I am loved in return. I am now transformed into a woman so mushy it makes my hair stand; I spend a great deal of happy times with the man in my life.
For what other time there is, but the chance to travel when you have the means to (not in luxury, but enough) and fit enough to conquer the mountains and ride the waves? What better time for me is there while I still have the energy to walk for hours and enjoy the body of a 25-year old, complete with a tan I can boast of, legs strong enough to carry me through the boulevards of Europe. the ruins of Asia and stuff my seemingly bottomless stomach with the spoils of nature?
I have not lived my entire life with such gusto, charged with emotions and optimism every day of the year. There are disappointments, frustrations and incessant whinings, of which most of those beside me will dearly have loved to strangle my neck for.
This is my time – of long term plans and finding the sunshine in the darkest hours of my life;
This is my time – of decisions I want not to have regrets;
This is my time – (to be completed every other day)
Because “When my time comes” is too damn far away.