An Open Ended Letter, Perhaps to Myself: A Letter #5

* A Letter is a heartfelt series of self-expression in the form of messages, written through the outpouring of emotions, feelings, experiences, and things that the writer cares about, but with an added twist and some creative exploration of each theme or topic. Though it may not mean that they are completely one hundred percent the truth, they are one hundred percent what the writer wishes to convey; and that makes them truer than any other versions of the truth, don't you think? *

---

That nagging whisper graces its chipped fingernails down the side of a tensed neck of muscle fibres trembling to the point of snapping. It hisses, and growls.


"You know what's going on; what's going through that mind. You can't believe what those lips form - you know this: the crude fact that every being under the umbrella of homo sapien is inherently self-centred.  Everyone does what they want to do for themselves, when it is most convenient for them. 


Some want to be the one in the spotlight; others want to be called humble and down-to-earth and charitable - a grotesque sleight of hands to boost themselves - perhaps albeit unconsciously - for all your readings in psychological cases have exposed the blatant, gruesome truth: there is no true altruism."

----

My heart breaks. Does yours too?

Somewhere along the lines of frustration and disappointment, a seed of vexation has dug its roots and claimed its territory. The very notion behind that spiteful whisper is none other than the exercise of "self" that it so brutally slanders. The irony burns ice-cold. What more could one say? Is it not true that every person is, to an extent - regardless of whether they are conscious of it - out and fighting for themselves and their place in the name of finding oneself?

Is it not bleak, if humanity exists only to scorn the other strands of its existence for its own glory; its personal spotlight to shimmer in the sun? Dare I ask, what leads from this? Perhaps we could regard society as a construct, a scheme of principles laid down by beings above and beyond our time on earth, to facilitate individuals in a means that will accomplish this underlying - or may i say, overarching - desire of triumph? Of peace? Of community? Do we, could we, buy into this? But, ultimately, if we are aiming for this supposed 'common good', who are we doing it for? For our community? Family? Humanity? Ourselves? 

Or perhaps, it could be for something greater. Something beyond what the universe could begin to encapsulate; to comprehend.

----

"Keep your heart soft, always, then only will you truly be strong."

Another whisper, this one gentler, warmer; loving. A whisper of truth, of grace, of acceptance; that we are not lone wanderers, we are not but brittle bones; we will not always be kind and gentle and joyous and generous and modest and patient - and that's okay. It's okay because I don't have to rely on my own strength. It's okay because love has and is and will ever be first and foremost: rubbing my numb fingers; kissing my snow-topped nose, cushioning my fall. But only if this heart - this rose soul breathing within is willing. And it is. It regards its own inequities its own. It accepts its failings its own. And yet, it knows there will always be more to turn to, more to seek refuge in, more to believe and entrust faith upon. More, so much more. It overflows and grows and reaches places no eye has seen, no ear has heard.

Yes, this rose soul may be cracked and frayed on the edges, but, oh it beats; stronger than ever. For it has found its identity in the light, and no darkness within or without may pierce that ever-encompassing glow. Of joy, of hope, and of love - more and evermore.

Bravery is a tapestry woven, each thread that of love. The ineluctable grapple with purple bruises the chipped away bits of strength let slip. Courageous, honest, soul; rise and conquer, not as yourself but as a being built through the amalgamation of lessons of love. Stumbling toes, straining shins, one foot before the other.

Be brave, rose souls - be so brave that we will no longer be afraid of the murk; be so brave that we will choose to keep our hearts soft in this shore of rocks of hearts.

Be brave, be soft; and be strong.


---

** a moment **

Despite the asterisked disclaimer/introduction to this post, I felt warranted to say more. This was a difficult piece to write. It started from that moment of thought which brought unwanted attention to a side of human nature that people rarely acknowledge, must less speak about. It felt, at that moment, as if the world may be as gray and in despair as they have always warned about. Frankly, a good friend once suggested for me to enjoy my general, youthful optimism towards life and people and things - before growing up makes me jaded too. But honestly? I have never been one ignorant of the bruised corners of life. As a matter of fact, I think I credit my illogical sense of optimism to having known that in spite of the ragged edges, life is more than what is happening right then, right there. Right here. A sense of peace that is indescribable in knowing there is more to the story than the facts before us pushes through the most treacherous places. At the expense of coming across as demeaning or dismissive, take to heart that I am in no sense of the word proposing that I understand the world any better than another, nor that I do not have my failings (I do, so so many of them), but more of an expression of gratitude in acknowledging how tiny and minuscule I am in this universe, and yet there is so much beauty and joy and friendship and love and dreams around, with, and beyond this life - a gratefulness that I can never find the words to fully convey. 

So thank you, for reading this trailing, very probably incomprehensible piece; and thank You, that regardless of my failings, I rest assured that I am loved for You are Love. 

---

p.s. don't worry, i do believe in altruism; the two 'whispers' are meant to convey two different perspectives, and it is the second one that i choose to believe in. also, this is mainly a stern self-reprimand of times i'm not proud of myself for / when i failed to take things and people into consideration / for not thinking the best of people at times - hence the title. 

p.p.s. was really hesitant in writing this as it could be taken in so many ways, especially since it's in quite a disembodied state due to the fact that it was written sporadically across the space of a month or even two. so thank you. thank you for sticking with me even to here. and most of all, thank you for reading my babbling xx

A Whisper: A Letter #4

* A Letter is a heartfelt series of self-expression in the form of messages, written through the outpouring of emotions, feelings, experiences, and things that the writer cares about, but with an added twist and some creative exploration of each theme or topic. Though it may not mean that they are completely one hundred percent the truth, they are one hundred percent what the writer wishes to convey; and that makes them truer than any other versions of the truth, don't you think? *

Humans, we're curious creatures, aren't we? 

It is so easy to small-talk and banter our way through the day, but what we say is seldom the words that we most want to express. We connect with others by learning their beats, and while that is a beautiful thing about us, we often keep our own melodies trapped between the five lines: fear of judgement, self-consciousness, paranoia of rejection, tainted experiences and fluctuating self-esteem. 

We thank those who we are merely acquaintances with, but don't relay our gratitude towards those who are closest to us. We spend time with the people we see five days a week, but our fingers falter upon the name on the screen of our phones, the name of the person whom we may not see again in months, perhaps even years. We chat up old friends we've never bothered talking to until we bump into them randomly in a cafe after ten years, but can't muster up the courage to strike a conversation with those who fill us with a warmth like no other. We voice our honest opinions and passions before a crowd of strangers, but never get around to tell the truth to those who most deserve to hear them. We hug people we meet for the first time, but let people who live in our thoughts day and night to leave without so much as a timid 'goodbye'. 

The facade we fabricate glitters in broad daylight, while the truth we hold is shoved beyond reach of a single beam.

So, allow me to ask this: why do we do this? Why do we not do what we should do, what we want to? Why do we leave things unsaid, misunderstandings unexplained, feelings unexpressed, mess untangled, and choices undecided until it is too late? Why do we let fear take the reins of our actions? What really holds us back?

Why do we leave till we're out of time to do what we should have been doing all along?

Consider this: if you only had three months left to live, what would you do? Will you make sure your family and friends know how much you appreciate them? Will you finally set out to chase your dreams and pursue your passions before time runs out? Will you tell the people you care for how you truly feel? Will you decide to stop going with the flow and to take things into your own hands? Will you set things right, once and for all?

Will you stop surviving, and start living?

If the answer bubbling in you is 'yes', then, the next question to ponder will be: why? Why will we only be brave enough to do the things we really want to do when the finishing line to our lives is in sight? Why are we not able to do it now, without the threat of oblivion hanging over us?
Should we? Do we? Will we?

If there's a whisper from deep inside you at this moment, if I may humbly offer my opinion, please listen to it. The answer in your heart is the right one. Follow it. Believe in your own heart's cry. 

Don't allow yourself excuses, nor regrets.

You got this.

Best regards,                 

A girl whose advice may not be sound, 

but has your best interests at heart. 

That Night

It's still etched in my mind. That chilly night. The first of many. Toes freezing, legs wobbly, blood pulsing. As we glided over the glazed surface in the middle of a park in south ken, I clearly remember the twinkling christmas lights, the sweeping music and the dazzlingly colourful lights that made the ice rink seem as if it had been lit from within. But miscellaneous details aside, one segment of that perfect memory hooked itself upon me and had not yet let go. I wonder if you can recall as I still vividly do, that moment right before the clock chimed eleven, I was run into by a little girl, her cheeks rosy from the skate but ruby lips tinged purple, shivering from the cold. You laughed as you pulled me back onto my feet, ruffling her ebony head, telling her that she need not worry for the big sister will be okay and that I've got you to protect me. That precious little girl gave you a bashful smile, charmed, gave us both a little curtsy, peeking shyly at me through her curtain of hair, eyes sparkling brighter than any star I've ever seen, then vanished into the swirling crowd.

Perhaps she knew what was to come.

For you see, our story had been written at that moment, up to the very last word. It ended the way it started, but no, not in a literal sense, but let me spell it out to you why everything leads back to this. 

You never only charmed one girl at a time. To be fair, not only girls were under your spell; parents, teachers, classmates, toddlers, the bus driver, the lady we walked pass as we left the coffee shop back in westminster. That little girl on the ice rink. You were simply one of the brightest souls whose glow anyone could spot from a universe away. Your admirers would circle the milky way if they waited in line, and dare I say, try as I might, I would never come close to pushing my way to the very front of the line for there will always be someone stronger, someone taller, someone... more. But somehow, I was. For some reason, I hadn't needed to elbow others to get to where I got to. Not right in front of the line, but the only one no longer in line.

You said that night that I needn't worry for I've got you to protect me. You're right. A thousand times over. You weren't a knight in shinning armour; you were the whisper that chased away bad dreams; you were the flame that consumed the darkness; you were the hand that brought back warmth to numb fingers. But just as you ruffled that little girl's hair, you ruffled mine. I was someone for you to protect, in fact, someone you had to protect because you felt that you had to. Like how you feel that you have to protect every innocent and pure or broken and hurt person you find. No, I am by no means discrediting your love. I know you meant it when you told me that night, and many other times after. I know what you meant, and you knew that I knew. And for both of us, that is enough. 

When the day finally came for you to go along with the swirling lights, something way harder than a six year old hit me. I fell and thought that I would stay down because you were no longer there to pick me up and press a kiss to my forehead. But I was as wrong as that first night had been right. I got to my feet again. And yes, you were the one who helped me to my feet, though not physically. I think you know that. Actually, I would swear that you had made sure before you left that I would be able to pick up my own broken pieces. For when you were with me, you had changed my perspective of life. You showed me the colours in the wind and the beauty in the darkness. You taught me of love that doesn't settle on rates and scales and the light living within us and faith that is more beautiful than any music to be found away from our true home.

This is how on this christmas night, I purse my purple lips and blink up at the tree alight with splashes of colour that wink in and out of existence through the hair that covers half my face ever since time went on after you. And when eleven strikes sound from the tower I close my eyes and let a little smile brave the world. It will be sometime yet until I will laugh as you did that first night, but I know with certainty that the day is coming, and I have no qualms about when it should come, for you were right: the big sister will be okay and colour will return to her cheeks and twinkles will dance in her eyes and after that maybe, just maybe, butterflies will wake her heart up for a skate again.

I will be okay. And I know you are better than okay. 

Christmas was the beginning of the greatest gifts in life, and one of them, was you.

Everyone Changes: A Letter #3

* A Letter is a heartfelt series of self-expression in the form of messages, written through the outpouring of emotions, feelings, experiences, and things that the writer cares about, but with an added twist and some creative exploration of each theme or topic. Though it may not mean that they are completely one hundred percent the truth, they are one hundred percent what the writer wishes to convey; and that makes them truer than any other versions of the truth, don't you think? *

We hear it all the time, that one single phrase that never seems to be far from a broken promise, a devastated outcry, a shattered heart. 

"You've changed."

The longer I look at those two measly words, the more fearful I become, because of the truth behind them, the untold stories and unseen struggles they darken with their shadows. Is it not true? One of the scariest things in life is how every person has the right to change, in whatever way they were to do so, at any time; without a warning, without so much as a thought.

The point of the argument often isn't the two people holding either ends of the accusation, it's how both of them had arrived at this point. It could well be that the accused had changed, but it could also mean that the one accusing was actually the one who is no longer the same. And while we're at it, it's not too far of a stretch in the logical plane that it is highly possible that both had changed too, albeit to different extents. And is that so wrong? Is it a crime to change? To no longer fully hold onto who you once were? To avert a gaze, entertain an ambition, reshuffle priorities? Who were we once, and who have we become?

No, change isn't necessarily a bad thing. It is more than desirable in some cases, but more often then not, the core issue arising is that people are simply afraid. Our weaknesses and fears and insecurities prey on us. We change because we fear something: fear loss, fear failure, fear judgment, fear of not being true to ourselves and our deepest desires that we may or may not have kept hidden, tucked hastily in a shadowed corner of out hearts.

Fear, for better or for worse, changes everything.

But we have to also realise that at the end of the day, fear is still just a feeling. Fear is a choice. We make that choice for ourselves, and only ourselves. We could use it to harden our hearts, or we could use it to lift our souls.

Remember: Everyone changes. The real question is, how?

Best wishes,

A girl who wonders about the things people fear to speak of, 

and desires to bring courage, 

to herself, 

and to others.

Ready For Love: A Letter #2

* A Letter is a heartfelt series of self-expression in the form of messages, written through the outpouring of emotions, feelings, experiences, and things that the writer cares about, but with an added twist and some creative exploration of each theme or topic. Though it may not mean that they are completely one hundred percent the truth, they are one hundred percent what the writer wishes to convey; and that makes them truer than any other versions of the truth, don't you think? *

Movies and books and dramas and media these days set impossibly high standards for us to scale for the sake of what we perceive to be love. Looking around at my friends, especially lately, when the number of couples forming is increasing exponentially in positive correlation with the number of our years, I confess that I do, at one point or another, feel a sense of loneliness. No, this doesn't mean that I am truly lonely. Not at all. It lies at the opposite end of the spectrum. Actually, coming to think of it, it's not even on the same spectrum. I have people whom I care about, and some of which who, for some mind-boggling reason, care for me too. 

But still, seeing your friends holding hands and hugging their boyfriends, or even watching the impossibly suave, pale, tall, and good-looking Korean actor go to great lengths for the girl he loves (so much so that we cry, either from happiness or heartbreak at why they won't get together already), is sometimes harder than you would think. It's the kind of loneliness that has nothing to do with family or friends or faith. It is simply a part of me that has been conditioned to seek for the sort of companionship that can only be found in a relationship.

I'm not saying that I'm craving any sort of relationship, but I am attempting to convey the peculiar mix of feelings turbulent in my heart. Sometimes, I feel more than happy to be alive and free and perfectly single: everything that I enjoy is about friends and family and I, myself. It's a celebration of my life and a journey of growth. 

On the other hand, there are definitely days when I feel more than a little under the weather, wondering whether it's possible for a person whom I could potentially love in the future to fall for me too. I don't have a specific list of 'dream guy characteristics', but I do have a set of ground rules that aren't easy by any means. Sometimes I wonder if I'm setting up myself for something beyond my league, but the voice inside my head always tells me that in God, there are no such 'leagues'. I know that He had already chosen the one for me, and that I shouldn't worry, but worrying is a fundamental part of us and is quite difficult to banish, especially when you're on the verge of something. Nonetheless, regardless of the doubts that flit through my mind once in a while, I know deep down that I will not compromise on what I'm looking for in a partner and as well as what I want in a relationship. 

So I guess that this is my longwinded way of saying I'm ready but not needy. I will not cut corners, nor will I actively seek out potential guys. I believe that sometimes the best things come when you least anticipate it. But I will wait, and while I wait I want to be focused on other things first. The greatest gift in my possession, at this moment, is time. 

Dear future boyfriend, here's my pledge to the both of us: 

I am waiting for you. And while you're at whatever you're doing right now, and while we may not know each other's favorite ice cream flavours or even the other's name, I will use this time to grow, to experience, to care, to learn, and to explore. I will ask God to mould me into the woman that He had created me to be, blemished and broken but saved by grace. And then, one day, I will meet you, and I promise that I will give you my attention and my time. Then let us grow together, both into love and into faith. Let us take the time to become a matured couple that is still silly and childish, but anyone else could see our love and the love we have for our God. And for now, let us be the best versions of ourselves as life allows us to be, and let us keep striving and working and living and loving. So stay strong and stay close to God's heart, as will I. 

Hope to see you soon. 

Love,

Your future girlfriend, who is silly, 

but will do her best 

to keep that smile on your face 

and that light in your eyes.

Goodbye: A Letter #1

* A Letter is a heartfelt series of self-expression in the form of messages, written through the outpouring of emotions, feelings, experiences, and things that the writer cares about, but with an added twist and some creative exploration of each theme or topic. Though it may not mean that they are completely one hundred percent the truth, they are one hundred percent what the writer wishes to convey; and that makes them truer than any other versions of the truth, don't you think? *

I'm sorry it came down to this: a broken word, an unspoken grudge, a wilted petal. But you gave me no choice. Every other time I tried, and I swear I've tried one too many times, you never gave me a chance. You only see what you want to see; you only hear what you want to hear; you only feel what you want to feel. 

You pushed me over the breaking point, and boy, I wish you knew how violently the petals shredded under your weight. For a fleeting moment we were a vibrant spread of colours, but soon I realised it was all a mere mirage. Desperation and frustration are dangerous, dangerous things. But self-righteousness, that was were the true crime lay. 

I would walk up to you and say sorry if I'd meant it, but even after all of this I still don't believe that anyone deserves to be lied to their faces. Nevertheless, I don't think you would even have noticed what I'd said even if I spat it into your face. Putting it frankly, you were, and still are, very much disillusioned, and there is no way that I can say it to you unless I opt to be honest. Brutally. So here it is: I'm sorry for not being sorry. I hope one day you will open your eyes and see the world beyond your outrageously clouded bubble and become a person who will uncurl furled petals; a man and not a boy. I am nowhere near where I would want myself to be either, but that's where our differences lie. You see, we were similar at one point. but like two lines perpendicular to each other, we headed off towards drastically different directions, and there is no way for us to go back to that one point again. 

So this is it. This is where I gather up my crushed petals, blow them into the wind for one last flight, and say my goodbyes. If we are to ever cross paths again, one of us would have to bend into a spine-crushing curve, and I wish that on neither of us. Perhaps there is nothing wrong in either directions we have embarked on. Perhaps I am wrong. But what I do know now is this is my final letter to you, for a long, long time. 

And maybe, just maybe, 

forever.

Yours sincerely,

A stranger with memories, but wishes to forget them all.

The Beginning of The End, or The End of The Beginning?

What defines the "end"?

This question plagues me incessantly. More so, in this season of scheduled farewells and ambiguous new chapters, the rhetorical question that inspired the title of today often pirouette in my head across the twirling mathematics formulas, alpha-helix structures and osmoregulation steps.

Is this the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning?

I am entirely aware of the possible interpretations you may derive from the overused phrase: "the beginning of the end". Just to clarify, I do not mean it as "the point where something starts to gradually get worse", though it could be part of it; but rather, the start of the ending chapter of this phase of my life.

It's scary, yet exciting, to think about the future. Up to this point, it's still really hard to wrap my mind around the idea that in less than two months, I will be officially done with my program, and in another couple of months, I'll be leaving my loved ones, my friends, my hometown, and trying to live in a foreign country. So, won't it be the end of the beginning (my life up till that moment), then?

But what if, what if it is actually the beginning of the end? I'm on the cusp of change, in my last year as a teen. What if this is the last stretch to sprint, before I find myself suddenly thrown into the uncharted waters of true adulthood? Will this be the last song before youth becomes overrated? What if I lose my spontaneity, my passion-driven impulses, my mess of thoughts, my nonchalantness? Or would I not? I really can't say for sure, as much as I want to.

However, this topic of endings and beginnings led my train of thought off the tangent, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realisation of how often we cherish the "firsts", but neglect the "lasts". The first step, the first word, the first time you won an award, the first time you managed to make a perfect backflip.

But what about the last time you sat in your father's lap? The last time you had a tickle war with your siblings. The last flower you plucked from the garden and gave it to your mother. The last conversation you had with someone. The last hug. The last look. The last smile.

Perhaps we take things too much for granted. We are prone to assume that what we have would always be there, be it a skill, friendship, family or routine. We remember the first hug, but after fifty hugs, or even just ten, the novelty of it eventually wears off. Why? Why can't we ever cherish something, every time, every moment? It's hard to remember the instance of when the last time you did something was like. That's because when we were doing it for the last time, we didn't think that it would actually be the last time. Perhaps we assumed there would be a next time, or we never thought that it was even worth noting.

At this point of life, I think that this realisation is worth more than finding the answer to the original question itself. But without "lasts" there would be a closing-off of avenues that may lead to bigger and brighter "firsts", "firsts" that are as dazzling as they are colourful. So, I will not fear the "lasts", at least, no more than I fear the "firsts".

Cherish each moment like it's the last, and there will be no regrets.

"In the end, we only regret the chances we didn't take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make." - Lewis Carroll

Love,

Eunice.