There is something inherently comforting about observing movement.
A little bit of knowing that you are alive. –
The movement of the conveyor belt
The staff as they prepare the food
The steam as it rises off your cup.
The movement of sound in your ears as music transports you to a psychologically different place.
In the density of the urban jungle,
I suppose this -a sushi belt- is my substitute stream.
The world moves on, even if we don’t understand
or feel our place in it.
22 Feb 2017; 4.30pm. penned
Ruminations during lunch.
Sushi conveyor belts are oddly comforting.
years we spend,
learning to exert the force of our existence
on the outside world,
lest we perish from caving in.
a lifetime counted
in the bricks of courage
we daily lay
to fortify our hearts.
13th Jan 2017, 10.22am, penned
perhaps it would be apt to consider if our existence is defined by whether we choose to equalise our internal pressure with surrounding societal one, or whether we choose exert pressure on our surroundings instead.
The world keeps asking for energy we do not have, energy we cannot give.
I wish to tell you my dear friends,
How much I miss you;
Your company, your cheer, your laughter.
Yet i wonder if the time elapsed in the periods of which I come up for air grow too long.
That yours are ships that have sailed beyond horizons I cannot hope to reach.
Some horizons that I cannot see.
That by the time you are making a return journey or that I have caught up,
that you would have grown accustomed to a foreign land -learnt to speak their tongue, and adopted their customs. Adapted to a new way of life.
And that we would be strangers once more.
Inside the ship’s galleys,
I keep shelved tokens of our friendships
-of memories I cannot forget.
And I sit and wonder if somewhere,
you keep your own copies bottled and shelved too.
I fear you will not accept the ways in which
deep currents have changed me.
Sometimes I regret that we could not have met now after they have changed me instead.
Perhaps you would have found that I am stronger in compassion. That treading in open waters do not scare me as they once did.
Perhaps you would find me better company, and that perhaps messages between us would become more frequent than what they now are.
I cannot tell if you think I no longer care when your travels have landed you with bountiful blessings. Nor care to mourn your losses with you.
I fear you cannot tell that in murky waters I would like nothing more than to be with you, but the weariness that beseachs me is more than I can bear.
Who would want to struggle out of the water and call a friend, only to have them mistake your struggling attempts with your last vestiges of strength, as half-hearted concern?
I fear that I am an island.
And that perhaps you may have no more wish to return.
Bury my ashes in a graveyard of phoenixes, so I might be reborn once more.
Let my head rest on a pillow,
and let the world pass me by.
Let me get lost in the dreams I buried,
in the rest that never took flight.
Let me sleep in the hollows of acceptance,
that what has been done has been enough.
Let me rest in the knowledge
that the world seeks of me no more.
Let me breathe out in weary sighs,
and let the pillows take my weight.
Let the warriness fall off,
like leaves on Autumn ground.
May my dreamings be of good things,
that recharge a weary soul.
May the outcomes of this slumber
bring peace to a tired mind.
penned. (I only write this so i can retrieve it later by searchword, in case anyone’s ever wondered) 23:52pm, 5th October 2016.
We all want sleep.
Can’t have it, but i can yearn and write about it, eh
I want to feel solace in the city,
See in a dewdrop, a stream.
I want to fill my lungs with hope,
Amidst concrete walls.
I want to soar with the wind
that finds its way through the cracks.
I want to live knowing
I am not confined by physical walls.
penned. 5th Sept 2016. clearing out the stickynotes
I wonder if feelings live in a time and space that is entirely their own.
Forging out their own existence without care for whether their owners have moved on.
That every time we are reminded of things that once were, or could have been, those feelings exist again;
Dulled, stilled, quietened, but no less alive.
penned. 4:08pm 28th August 2016
I wonder if landmarks in our memories can be likened to large buildings that we can look at in the backseat of a car while it drives away.
That while the distance from that memory grows, the inconsequential size and nature of the trees and scenery that rapidly fade into the distance seem to make the landmarks in the distance behind them grow ever slightly larger by sheer comparison.
That landmarks in our mental lives grow more distant in the passing of time, but grow ever slightly more prominent as we compare them to the trivial things that happen henceforth, even as in totality, all our memories communally fade.
24th July 21:08pm. penned