It only takes a spark… to get the fire going

If I had to trace my love of writing back to the beginning, it would no doubt have started with a special person called Tom Iley, my first ever English teacher to have encouraged me to write with a fervency and passion that has lasted till today.

He was also the first Caucasian teacher I had ever had, since my first days at Morris Allen Study Centre, and the first time that I was exposed to the idea that weekends can as much be appreciated going to the theatre as staying at home and working on all that schoolwork. A native English speaker from England, he is one of the few teachers I remember so vividly; for his love for arts, life, and genuine sincerity.

Whilst clearing worksheets and books from many years ago, I came across once more the exercise book on which my Morris Allen masterpieces were documented. Flipping through the pages from almost 10 years ago, a nostalgic wave of emotions washes over the beach of my heart, as I take in the poems and prose I crafted during that very young age. What makes me smile is the little star stickers pasted next to the pieces, and short but always uplifting encouragements like “Wow! What wonderful expression. Great!”, or a small little arrow pointing to a face I had drawn as an outcry to having to do listening comprehension, followed by “I know how you feel!”

Looking back, I realise that it was such comments that spurred me to develop this outlet of expression and safe sanctuary that is writing. I’m undeniably astonished at what the exercise book revealed; each time I return in time to something that I had scribbled and poured out, not thinking about the future and how these current writings would have such a power to captivated me, I stay a little still, lost for just that slight moment.

A CANDLE… (by 14-year me)
I see a candle burning helplessly,
the flame flickering, beckoning
I think of one who has contracted leukemia
for the candle, like the patient, is dying.
It is crying ” Stop it, stop it!”
But I, the cruel master, refuses to agree.
It stops burning with determination,
but its flame seems weak, as if
it has resigned to its fate.
It creates an impression that
if is enjoying its last moments,
trying to live its best.
Its steady flame clams the room,
yet there is a melancholic air about it,
The candle is about to come to an end,
an end to its suffering,
but it still holds on,
with such fierce conviction,
as if it were a dying mother trying to smile for her sons.
The flame slows down and suddenly quivers,
trying desperately to catch its last breath.
It is saddening
for like a mother to her sons,
the candle is the light to the world.
It is dying out,
and with it will go the light.
Its flame returns to its steadiness,
as if knowing that its no use trying to fight
It is saying its last goodbyes to the world.
With an extremely sad, sad cry,
It dies.

The crinkle of their eyes

Today was special; unlike the past months of hectic saturdays, I came home after Spanish class, my grandparents already at my house. i love them. We spoke about alot of things; but above all, it was the crinkle of their eyes as we chatted, laughed and implored; that is what I love the most.

In a blink of an eye

No longer unaccustomed to the hasty turning of time, not any more distressed with the furious ferocity with which the minutes become hours that evolve into days and eventually months. I stumbled upon the realization that it was already October, the start to yet another amazing finish of a certainly wonderful year.

Reviewing the yellowed pages of my journal, the scribbles upon which details, events and emotions were set, I surprised myself by the peace and serenity with which I accepted that while time definitely flew by again, this year it was different. Since Germany in fact. Right in the beginning of this fresh new year, one bursting with promises of brilliant discoveries and bursts of spring joy, I made myself the promise to live life grasping each second and experiencing it, determined to stop letting the years slip by untouched, leaving me without first being able to absorb its essence.

I spent alot of time rebuilding relationships, listening to people as they listened to me; appreciating the beauty of persons put miraculously in my life, allowing the journey to be as important, if not more weighty than the outcome. I know my learning style is dictated by experiencial learning; and nothing makes me more convicted than having been through a circumstance, and enjoying the route no matter where the final destination leads to.

This time last year, my Grandfather was dreadfully ill, so sick that it scared me to my core as I had never seen him weak, nor so heavily reliant on others for even basic hygiene needs. Only being able to hear his voice, weakend by medicine and the pain, on the other end of a terrible telephone connection was heart wrenching. I remember being on the way to Hamburg just before his brain surgery, ashen-faced and trembling hands, telling him I loved him through the telephone, a first. Over the course of the next two weeks, I spend a large amount of my time sitting at my laptop, using VOIP to communicate with my family, and making sure i was kept updated about his latest condition. God was good, and still is good; He made possible what seemed so hard to believe; He made me be filled with faith and gratitude again. My grandfather recovered and within a month of having 2 major operations in a short span of a mere 11 days, he was up and walking by himself again, when just before his surgeries he was not even able to hold a proper conversation for more than 15 seconds.

This sudden change of events left me relieved; but so much more aware of the fragility of life, and my one deep desire– not to ever take anything for granted as I didn’t want any more regrets. Life was too short I knew. I didnt want to reach a place I thought I should be comfortable and happy with, only to find that the years that had elasped in between were just an empty vacumn devoid of molecules of emotion, joy and great memories of life and its impacts.

I started off 2008 so estatic and yet incredibly sad all at once. I was freshly in love; brimming with happiness, yet devastated at the fact that I might possibly never see him again. Yet it was a choice I had taken in November, and no amount of sadness at separation could have changed my mind; I knew I would repeat everything in a heartbeat. It was a side of me that I had never seen before; and I surprised myself, more than I surprised others. It felt like a huge gasp of fresh oxygen in a much polluted environment, and since then, I’ve been high on this
hunger to reach for this cosntant high of experiencing.

Coming back to home, I let that be my mantra; I stopped being so in need of fulfilling other peoples’ expectations of me; I let myself decide and because of that, realised I enjoyed life so much more, and that people around also ended up enjoying being around me more. I did cry alot over issues dear to my heart, but I also laughed alot, let loose so much more, and felt the vibe of this phenomenon called Life. I learned to separate peer pressure from my personal desires and aspirations; to prioritize the assets in my life in order of importance ( and not in any way did that come in terms of monetary values), and then to give these things which were and still are significant to me the attention and love they deserved.

I picked up alot more lessons of life along the way, from passersby who happened to be at the right place at the right time, from friends whose rubies of wisdom never fail to amaze me, and from family and the love of my life. My openness to experience and understand instead of judge and scorn allowed me greater understanding of life and its beautifully woven intricacies. It’s October, yes; 10 months have passed, yes; but I finally feel the power of Oprah’s phrase:

” Life is NOT a spectator sport.”

Live it. Breathe it. Love it.

The Oasis

in the desert. when you’ve found it, you know it, and you won’t let it go.