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.

Chances & Choices

I've been thinking a lot lately. It's hard to wrap my head around the idea of whether we have multiple chances at something that is best for us, or whether there are instances of which if we let slip through our fingers, we would never find again? Could some of the most precious things boil down to just one, single, precious chance?

Yes, I am aware that many people believe that there is always a second chance; that it is never too late to start working towards your dreams. But if you really think about it, does that notion truly resonate within you? Do we come up with such preconceptions as a way to console ourselves? Is all of this "meant to be" idea but a hoax? Are we just lying to ourselves?

I have to admit, that I used to be really sure that what's meant to be, will be. And I'm not saying that I no longer hold this belief. However, I do know that a belief has no meaning, no substance, if we never question it. That is merely blind belief. I want to be able to stand up and defend my beliefs, should such situations occur, or they are nothing but words in my head. Thus, here I am, musing over this complicated and convoluted topic.

Surely if something is "meant to be", it will be, for "being" would be the only thing that we see or
experience. But every choice we make, we are choosing to embark on a different path, however insignificant it may seem at first, I think that every decision contributes to who we will become; who we are. When you choose to procrastinate, you are choosing the path that will cause you more trouble and effort to achieve the same outcome as if you had be diligent from the start. When you decide to go for the heels instead of flats, you may have caused yourself unnecessary pain. But these situations can still be salvaged, just probably with a bit more of commitment and effort.

This then brings to mind of choices that might never be able to be altered; choices whose paths we undertake will never quite lead us back to where we began, however close we may strive to be. Just like an asymptote, really. Forever coming close, little by little, but never, ever, reaching the point they we desire to be in, or return to.

How many opportunities have I missed, for good, because I was too scared to take the leap out of my comfort zone? How much hurt have I caused with the words from my mouth? How many people have I unintentionally pushed aside? How many hearts I could have reached and touched, had I not been self-conscious or conceited? How many tears could I have saved, if I had been more sensitive, proactive, diligent, or self-less?

No, of course it's not too late to start now, but can we ever really be able to shed off our insecurities and the self-glorifying nature of mankind, and pursue what is best for us, or those we love, and those who love us? Will we ever be brave enough to step up and step out in faith alone?


These thoughts plague me incessantly, but in a good way. They keep me sane, even if they sound like the ramblings of an over-thinker, living in her own world of musings and hypothetical questions. But I love this, it helps me to think about what is truly important, and helps me to grow. One of the saddest things about "growing up" is losing our sense of childlike curiosity, with which we question everything and anything. So I guess I'll never stop wondering and questioning. Life is complicated, yes, but that's what make it all the more beautiful, isn't it? Not knowing everything, of what's ahead, is part of the fun.



p.s. what comes easy won't be as precious as what comes through storm and fire.

Love,           

          

eunice.

Thank You

*An appreciation post out of nowhere, but I do want to thank these beautiful girls, you know who you are :) *

At the start of high school, I reached a low point in my life. Having being split up from my old friends, I found myself in a sea of unfamiliar faces, all of whom seemed to be outgoing, fun and could get along very well among themselves. Although I used to be an extrovert, being thrown into an uncertain, new territory threw me off guard. I retreated into myself, burying myself into my books. Even my parents noted that I "wasn't being myself".

Though I excelled in my studies, I felt emotionally empty within, as I had lost my identity in this huge population of students whom I couldn't be myself around, no matter how hard I tried. One of my only old best friends also backstabbed me during this time of trial. It was hard, and I seriously thought about the possibility of never being able to truly be that happy, fun-loving, enthusiastic girl again.

However, that all changed when I joined the prefects' board, and met one of my high school best friends. She was one of the loud, fun, jokesters, and everyone loved hanging out with her as she had the exceptional talent of bring laughter wherever she goes. Somehow, we connected. And that triggered a catalyst, and suddenly, I was able to rekindle camaraderie with a few of my old friends, and forged new friendships.

Somehow, the eight of us clicked, and remained close all through high school. Today, despite having headed off in different directions and attending different colleges in eight different countries and states for more than a year, we are still somehow in each other's lives. And I am beyond thankful for that. These seven girls, all of who are blossoming into mesmerizing young women, will always be close to my heart, for we shared laughter, tears, adventures, worries, aspirations, troubles, arguments, secrets and dreams with each other.

This bond was forged to be strong, and strong, I believe, it will remain.


Thank you, my friends, or should I say, sisters.

You are blessings to me, and I hope that I had somehow been a blessing to all of you too.

Cheers. 

Love,             

eunice.

(or better known to my high school squad as: joxing :') )

The Seasons

Summer:

The smile in her eyes sparkles brighter than the sunlight glinting off the sea.

She sticks her toes into the warm sand, curling as she buries her face into your side.

Her laughter resounds with each curl of the white-frothed waves.

Her fingers strum the strings of the ukulele, strong, reassured. 

Beautiful.

Spring:

Flowers embellish her hair like jewels half-buried in rich earth.

She skips down the path, her skirts billowing, and she turns back just to throw you a smile; you, and only you.

The tangles in her ebony hair remain tangled in the breeze, curling along the curve of her lips.

Windows down, she pokes her head into the wind, carefree, innocent. 

Free.

Autumn:

The leaves start melding into one another, as do the indescribable feelings swirling within her heart.

Her fingers are entwined with the withering phone cord, waiting for your voice to speak up beside her ear.

Her hair has become a beautiful mess, mirrored by the confusion in her clouded eyes.

Lukewarm, the air has become, she invites them, shivers, sweat. 

Pain.

Winter:

The sweater, gray as the skies, hangs loose on her willowy frame.

Her teeth are chattering, yet she cannot stop them from uttering your name; each syllable over and over again.

Those dainty feet no longer dance with the crystalline snowflakes, and her tinkling chimes have ceased.

Her fingers are motionless in the chill, like her heart, shadowed, cold.

Numb.

Epilogue:

Thereafter, time stands still, the clock hands frozen, coated with frost.

Seasons have faded, and her song is a song that will sing no more.

p.s. Apologies if this may seem a little too gray to taste, but I wrote this purely for artistic expression, to play around with words across a theme. When inspiration strikes, I am not one to deny its rights.

Love,             

eunice.