Year 6

Today marks Year 6.

I never write obituaries, because how does one put into words the hollowness of picking up a phone, mind reeling with news only to hear an answering dull tone. And then remember. How does one encapsulate with just 26 alphabets the awkward silences as we skirt around your empty seat at gatherings, and how that makes your non-presence, more present.

For a time, words were my shield. Like a tapestry weaved of my own non-acceptance, I hid in the non-realities they wielded, blanketing my consciousness in the comfort of oblivion. But words, though a salving balm, made a flimsy fortress against time.

So I decided to live in action. Recovery started in little ways. A smile at a child, and then one day I surprised myself when a laugh escaped, and that grew and grew and we slowly learnt how to spread that around. For years now, I made a conscious decision to do all the things you never will, never had the chance to. I went out and did silly things, crazy things, stupid things, things people told me were impossible. I made mistakes, lots of them, I made them for you. I challenged my boundaries, I pushed my limits, I got rewarded, I got hurt. But boy did I live.

Soon, I’ll reach your forever age, and as I age, so perhaps will the memory of you. Perhaps that is why I keep writing, because to cut into these healing wounds, I am reminded of my deepest fear : of how each year, the scars hurt less. And dreams of you become flimsy threads connecting our very existence to your previous one. Is it not an irony that in the effort to forget, one has to remember what there is to be forgotten in the first.

Today marks Year 6. And I’m still learning to forget remembering. 

Which of these two is better only God knows

Letter to self :

The choices that Death makes when he chooses his victims are most often beyond comprehension. He doesn’t have a place of preference, or a favoured time, neither is he influenced by beauty, or youth, or wealth, or health. He sneaks about, and stealthily taps into his next victim’s subconscious. Sometimes he gives them time to say their last goodbyes, but most cruelly, he decides to make a quick cut because what is Death, without his cloak of surprise.

Yes, you lament, rant, kick and scream at the injustice on the young souls Death sets his sights on. Whilst you may curse, throw tantrums, and mourn in stupefied silence, the reality remains that no mortal outruns Death.

But Life, oh Life is an entirely different playing field. Life is malleable, she flows and flourishes, her contours are resilient, she gives back more than you give. Life though, is not tolerant of wastrels. Spend more time with the people who matter, and worry less about those who don’t bother. Make little changes, stamp lasting memories so you linger in the fond thoughts of those who remain. Forgive, move on, stress less, laugh more. Be passionate because Life is a passionate lover.

You may not be able to cheat when the curtain drops, but you can choose to play the game of Life right. If this moment and the moments after these are going to be the fragile threads between now and eternity, make every precious filament count. We’re only given that many after all.

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways. I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows. – Socrates 

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Letters to self : Hearty Matters

Dear mind,

I know these days you’ve been listening to a host of voices. Each with their own opinion and persuasion. I know how inclined you are towards logic but before you act on those logical reasonings, listen to the beating insistence of this heart.

Remember that there is no such thing as the perfect partner, and that all succesful relationships were built on a foundation of understanding and trust. Trust that when you lay your soul bare, this other person will be willing to fill in the gaps and crevices of your inadequacies with the jagged pieces of his own.

Remember that it is always easier to lay blame at the door of another person but it takes courage to address your own shortcomings. Even if you’re not entirely to blame, remember the importance of fighting for the things you really want, because one fine day, you might need someone to fight for you.

When things get ugly, remember the beauty that sparked it all. Youthful arrogance might delude you into thinking the best of yourself, but don’t forget that moment, however fleeting when it meant everything for that someone to accept the worst of you before seeing the best in you. 

When the slopes get too slippery, and holding on hurts, remember that the last peak is always the steepest. When the going gets tough and you’d like nothing better than drowning your sorrows in cocktails and wasteful indulgence, remember that it takes a cocktail of tugging and letting go to make it work. And right before you light the last fire to start burning those bridges, remember why you built them in the first place.

Heart

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The art of forgetting

Today's smile-inducer : Remembering to forget. Years ago, a very wise person told me about the choices you make every morning. If you start the day with a conscious effort to see the rainbows after each storm, rainbows you WILL see. 

It'll take some time to erase these thoughts but I'll cling on to the hope that one day this too shall pass. 

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One who speaks fair words feeds you with an empty spoon - Italian proverb 

Hey you,

I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to write. It’s exactly a year now since the day you left. Wow, time sure flies huh?

It took me a while to accept the reality that you were gone. That you were no longer a text message away. That I could no longer tease you before I sleep.

In the span of a year, I realize you’ve never really left. I see you in every doting brother, I hear you tapping to your favourite songs every time they go on air, I sense you in the camaraderie of family gatherings, I remember you in your favourite foods and your favourite places.

It no longer stabs me in the heart when you come back to me in these little things … well, at least not as badly. It’s comforting to know that I bring along a part of you with me everyday, the same way you took a part of me with you when you left.

Anniversaries are to be observed (if only to escape the wrath of your other half); birthdays are to be celebrated (you missed my 21^st by the way… I painted the town a shade of purple for you), achievements to be toasted, festivals to be shared with special someones, but goodbyes … I refuse to believe they exist. There’s only till we meet again.

I’m offering you a prayer today. A prayer that peace will be yours to have at last. That you’d find fulfillment, contentment and the happiness that eluded you here.

I wish you’d stuck around longer to hear what I have to say now. I love you. We all do. But I think you knew that right? Till we meet again, promise you’ll tell me all about touring the galaxy and the milky way.

P/s : Say hi to poh poh and grandma for me will you?

Lots of love,

Jo

“Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.” - Eskimo Proverb

Love Letter

My darling,

I remember the first time I was introduced to you, I learnt that 1 apple plus 2 apples equals 3 apples. 17 years have passed since that day and it's been 17 years since we've walked hand in hand. As the years passed and as my maturity ripened, you introduced me to more of your friends, in hopes that we would form a closer more intimate relationship.

As much as you matter in my life, I sometimes wonder how deep is my love for you. I would say it borders on superficial, for as much as you make me think things I would otherwise never have dreamt of, you also annoy and irritate me to no end. I really have a problem with your friends you see. Right now, I don't really care what Newton or Raphson have to say about iterative methods, neither do I light up when Leibnitz shows me his magic approach to differentiating integrals. As much as Cauchy has to share about simplyfying complex solutions, having him double team with Reimann doesn't exactly make my day nor does it lighten my workload. The men have TOO much to share really.

As interesting as maximizing capacity sounds, my head spins when Lagrange chooses to share his Multiplying methods. You see, the only thing I would love to multiply right now is time and of course, my bank account. Although the Power method is phenomenal, I think you should talk to my lovely friend the computer instead because he has a more powerful brain as compared to the likes of me.

I'm really just a shallow, vapid girl parading in the glamourous robes of a scholar. I care naught for important vector theories since the only curl I'm familiar with is to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea and the only gradient that piques my interest is the slope of my high heels. Stoke's theorems should really stoke the dying embers of my flame of passion but like Green's theorems, they turn me an unsightly shade of green.

As honoured as I am to be mingling with bigheads and wiseheads who have dedicated their lives to making addition and subtraction much more complex than the type my kindergarten teacher deluded me with, I am FATIGUED. I apologize profusely for my clandestine affair with the TV and my many books, but for the sake of our 17 years together please do not fail me this May. I still do keep your words and teachings in mind everday. That is, when it pertains to store discounts on my shoes, movies and books.

P.s : This is a love letter. It really is! It's your friends I have a problem with.

Lots of love,

Your 'biggest, greatest' fan