No reservations

Watching her cry, I feel the weight of her family on her shoulders. A daughter’s anguish from watching her mother’s pain, manifested in a body connected to countless tubes in the Intensive Care Unit.

“Love one another,” she says, because you never know when they will not be there anymore. It is true, so true, and in a flashback of what happened two years ago, I remember so vividly the fear of not being able to say the things we have always felt but kept in our hearts, the traumatic thoughts of not having the chance to see those you love before they fall into unconsciousness, the fact the they do not have the knowledge that you love them so. Suddenly, the importance of work crumbles in the face of such adversity, worries about other people’s impressions and a façade to upkeep seem ridiculously silly, and all you hope for is to be able to hold their hands and tell them you love them.

Each week passes by, an oblivious rollercoaster ride of deadlines that fade into nothingness. Some days you look back at the past few months and wonder what happened during that period of time; the days seemed to have started and ended without any meaningful memories created in between. We spend hours hunched at our desk in the office, worrying about the wording of an email, which may not even be looked at for more than 10 seconds, and we stress over the promotion that might skip us by. Home becomes just a place for bed and breakfast and we don’t even realize how much has changed in the life of our loved ones. We count the pennies but miss the big bucks; we fight many wars and win them, but we lose the battle. Myopia seems to have overtaken many of us, literally and metaphorically, and short-sightedness has led to many forgetting the most important bigger picture of life, the things that matter more than those that don’t.

A conversation at the Cheesecake café with a great friend of mine kept me thinking, a thread of thoughts started not only recently. Decisions we make on a daily basis, based out of fear? Or boldness to try something new, just because we desire to? A year off work seems like a huge decision to make, just to pursue a dream, or longing, when that is the same amount of time since the start of my working life. Yet experience for me enlarges the spectrum of my understanding, makes me rooted but gives me the power to believe, and shorter-term gains diminish in light of these. Encouragement from friends who have always chased their dreams, persistent in their beliefs as well as mine, that makes me feel so much lighter.

It’s like that with so many things. Planning is great, it helps you have an idea of where you want to go; but the magic is in the boldness, of creation of doing, and of trying even if you don’t know if you might succeed. Baby steps make the journey, and building a foundation in our relationships doesn’t take place overnight on occasional birthday parties; the pretty card in the mail once every half a year doesn’t suffice if you want to be a part of their lives as much as they are a part of yours. I realize that making the effort consistently, not only when you feel like it, nor only when things crop up, is what builds the unshakable base which holds us even as we shake.

Tell them you love them, say it as often as you feel the need and want to, do it unabashedly, boldly, without reservation. Get up and do things you want to do, now, not tomorrow, not next year. Don’t hesitate anymore. In Nike’s famous household slogan – Just do it.

To never forget

“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.”
-Arundhati Roy

One of the signature quotes at the end of email messages, one of the quotes that always stun me in an absolutely refreshing way.

It is so easy to become immune to the violence and distress that once so thoroughly disturbed us during our daily news reading. It is so easy to frown and wrinkle our noses in disgust at the dirt-filled rat-infested conditions which the beggars live in, and then to walk on buy into the comfort of the five-star hotel, and out of sight, the poverty temporarily goes out of mind. It is so difficult to imagine and witness the pure joy on the faces of the little ones who spend their whole days playing with a simple ball, a game we take for granted, a game we are bored with, and it strikes us so hard to see these young children with more joy than us with all our expensive ostentatious goods. It is increasingly hard to appreciate beauty in what we do and have, when we have become shaped to complain without batting an eyelid, and to shout at what is not going well. We have became what we eat, and in this world of fast food, fast service, we have lost our patience for even the simplest things, we do not see anymore than we do not get nourished. It shocks us to see a woman with cancer encouraging her loved ones not to be upset, when really it should have been the other way round. We have become so accustomed to the grind of life which tells us money and status rule the world, that people high up on their pedestals should be treated like gods while poor people and those junior staff should be disregarded, ill-respected and not worthy of our time. We forget that sometimes certain things are just as they seem, and we spend precious amounts of time complicating two-dimensional matters when we should be spending more time solving and analyzing the world we live in. We become masks of insecurity mingling at events for the sake of networking, when actually we just want to spend some solitary time to gather our thoughts. What are we rushing to, where are we colliding headlong into? Why do we look away from that which is not pretty, nice or even just normal? Why do we forget so soon the things which have taken place? Why are we shocked when things which have been building up ages suddenly happen? What do we need before we can remember?

An Indian Intensity

There is an intensity about India that I cannot quite describe.

It hits you the moment you arrive at the airport, a thick dense smell hovering in the air you breathe, in the soot puffing out of the vehicles and the sea of dark shiny faces squashed closed together eagerly awaiting the arrival of their loved ones.

It has the power to momentarily stun you especially if you’re coming from a neat, organized society like Singapore, whether the buses and trains run mostly on time, where the air is fresh and clean and the streets are not just black tar covered in piles of trash. In India, roads belong to motorists and pedestrians alike, both taking unyielding claim on the public land, both declaring their possession with a undebiable mix of unconcern and right. Old men walk barefoot on land filthy with spit, faeces, rubbish overspilling from a dump, the smell rotting in your nose. A natural reflex is for me to wrinkle my nose and make a face at the horrifying indifference with which India’s people accept it as a norm in life. Well, it has become and always will be a norm in their lives, and while they wear suits and ties in the clean offices of the multi-national companies, the people blend so well together once on the streets, not standing out from the rest of the bustling of night markets of Pondy Bazaar, and Spencer’s Plaza.

Business men walk right next to beggars who look at you, hands outstretched for a coin or two. Crazy old men walk right in the middle of the street, weaving their way among the cars as they rant to themselves, lost in a world to which only they have access to. As you walk inches close to the ricks (or tuk-tuks like they call them in Thailand), its not hard to feel so much like an outsider, because everything seems so different and hard to accept. Restaurants have people walking barefoot in and out, old people sit and even lie stretched out on the pavements streaked with dirt, and eat with their blackened fingers, yet they have a peaceful look as they view their environment, contemplating their thoughts. It’s hard for me to imagine the lives they live, or more rightly put, I imagine them living boring mundane lives, each day living for the next, but what puzzles me is how they accept the fate they were born in. But I have to constantly remind myself that they can accept what they have because they never had the chance to choose something better. Then when I think that, I feel bad, for their lack of choice, which might also allow them to live contented lives, and I also feel a huge sense of relief that I was born in society where things work, where healthcare is easily though not cheaply available, and where education has lifted so many out of poverty and a fate of impoverishment.

The moment you step out of the cool air-conditioned shelter of the hotel, there is a humid, hot stickiness that envelopes you in the summer heat. The first time you walk into a bakery selling indian sweet delights, the overpowering smell of gee, flour and unventilated air makes you nauseous. If you have never been exposed to Indian cuisine before, the concoction of spices, oil, butter and curries may give you a stomach upset that is quite memorable, for more appropriately, you cannot quite forget. Indians are also famous for their punctuality (or lack there of) and their promises to deliver which usually are followed through only after a few times of prodding. 2 minutes of wait time actually translates into half an hour, and a half hour really means an hour. It gets frustrating when time is of the essence, but in other circumstances, I would say I am quite amused.

Yet while I gripe about many aspects because I have not gotten used to India, I must say there are certain things that impress me alot. The high standard of English here is impressive. Probably the only country where I can get everything done and settled without referring to a translator or having to learn the national language. I honestly am very impressed. Indians are also one of the friendliest peoples that I know. They are always polite, always ready to help (although help may take a while to come) and they always check with you if everything is alright. The indian hospitality is a big factor in my impression of India, and the calendar in my room has captured an Indian chef cooking with a huge grin on his face, and that is precisely the imprint in my mind, a mascot for his fellow countrymen. India is also rich in culture, history and spirituality, with altars everywhere possible, and temples a large feature of its landscape. Every picture you can find about India leaves its shadow in your memory, because nothing about India is forgettable.

India’s intensity is beyond words, its essence barely able to be captured in pictures. You have to be here to understand it, to experience their culture, to soak in the life that is displayed all around. India is a land of great inspiration, a great evoker of thoughts and wonderment. You need to see the beggar on the street eating from the trash while a white-collar office worker walks on by, totally oblivious to the dire state of health the beggar is in, in order to appreciate what you have. You need to see the women walking and performing everyday tasks in their beautifully woven traditional saris, with their bindis proudly on their foreheads, to feel a need to go back to understand tradition and the great longing people have attached to it. It is the land where over a billion form the world’s largest democracy, where Mahatma Gandhi united his people against foreignors and inspired hundreds of millions in his advocating of support of locally-produced goods. It is also where the planet’s cheapest car can be bought, and where the Bollywood industry was birthed and continues to flourish.

India fascinates anyone, everyone who is willing to open their eyes and see the world. It certainly has opened mine.

Pitstop along the journey

What does it take to achieve what you should be doing?

This is a question which has been invading my conversations, my thoughts, my dreams. What is that stirring in the heart that tells me I need something more than a day job, more than an occupation, more than a monetary obligation? What is that which keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning in my bed, causing my mind to tick non-stop, in search of an answer, to find that which would consume me with passion and purpose and drive? That is what has been driving me to question people and their motivations for their search for the ultimate goal (what is that goal, by the way?) and why they have chosen that as the final destination. It is also that which makes me ponder in deep desire of knowing, why others don’t seem bothered by a mundane and unmeaningful contribution as much as I am, if even at all. Why does the final goal have to be some place high up in the ladder, no matter which ladder you are climbing, and why do you even need to climb a ladder in the first place?

One year of work has passed, and if not for anything else, it has made me understand myself just slightly better, and each day I find the lack of purpose and significance more and more replaced by the push and urgency of a need to do something which contributes and adds value, more than just through counting of millions and the impact on a region, a division or even an entire corporation. Lehman is the best proof that an entity once hailed as an infallible god can overnight turn into shambles, its employees displaced from their previously enviable jobs. In just a few days, it turned from leader in the forefront to name in history, all for the wrong reasons. An organization whose power and might diminished and forgotten, is now substituted by other companies who have, because of the way things have fallen in place, happen to be at the right place at the right time. Corporations come and go, and employees, are similar to cogs in the machines, replaceable and easily disposed of. I don’t see myself as an employee; the word is too short-term to be of any deep significance to the people around. I have always wanted to be a value-adder, a contributor, but not just work-wise, but in all aspects, especially in the area of relations. I want to leave impacts which are lasting, and respected.

Maybe for some, this seems like a lofty notion, idealistic like a schoolgirl, silly and impressionisic. A year ago, some people told me very blankly that I am like that because I come from a pretty well-off family and did not have financial worries to tie me firmly planted on the ground, and so think and feel that notions like these are most important in a job. They said that one year later, when I had worked longer and interacted more with people who have worked for a long time already, I would withdraw my fluffy and frivolous ideals and realize my place in the practical ground, and stay there firmly rooted. I said that I hoped I would never become like that. They said let’s see. A year later, more questions pop up in my head, and instead of feeling more at home with my job and being satisfied with what I do (despite enjoying some of the tasks I have), I have gravitated more towards an immense desire to rethink and draw a new direction in my life. Technically speaking, there is one more year to think through what I would like to do, which path I would prefer to take, among the many. Yet I have a feeling leaving the pondering till a year later will be unbearable; I have already begun to consider many options that might make me feel more able to impact and influence people, in the ways that would count and last.

There are about 4 more months left of the year, and knowing how time flies, I dont suppose it will slow down anytime soon. The last 12 months have taught me a couple a things. That some people are friends right from the start, friends who encourage you and give you advice willingly, and there are some that will always remain colleagues and nothing more. And I was fortunate to have a manager who was also a friend, at least for once. Thankfully, when she changed jobs to be just a colleague, I lost a great manager, but I still have a great friend. I also learnt that most bosses do not stand up for you nor praise you when you have done something well, but that if you ever have the great chance to work for a boss worthy of your respect, you will praise him or her and their reputation will far exceed their areas of responsibility. I also realised that alot of times the limelight doesnt shine on people who have worked so hard to enable things to run smoothly, and that hard workers aren’t necessarily the most appreciated, but these are the unsung heroes who everyone else hail in their hearts and minds. I have also discovered that while many people do not personally impact your life in the long run, we take their impressions and thoughts of us much too seriously that they deserve to be taken; but the worst thing is that we realise that their opinions do not count, because in the first place they did not care two hoots while making the comments that bother you for ages. It has taught me to think carefully first about who honestly matters, not just because they give you your performance ratings, but more because they shape your life and it’s values, and because they truly put in effort and thought into what they do and say to you. And I know for sure that if you treat others with sincerity and respect, they usually reciprocate.

I still haven’t figured out a whole lot of things; I think the journey thus far has showed me I need to impact and influence people, but I am still wiping the mist off the windscreen in order to see clearly. If anything, the last 12 months have not been a waste of time, although I still am unsure about the career path I would like to take. The path less travelled, it may be, but till I can decipher the direction of my inner compass, I will try to appreciate the best of any situation I am put in. And the best are the lessons learnt.

Life’s little surprises

I often remember Mannheim days with extreme fondness, with plenty of love and happy thoughts. One day I remember especially well is the day Faye brought back a cake and I saw her walking home with it, with me sitting on the number 60 bus. Somehow I knew the cake was for me. I remember being so happy when she really did surprise me in the room with it!! And to my greater surprise, she told me that Shawn my wonderful cousin had actually contacted her via facebook to coordinate the surprise for me!

I remember skyping with Shawn as I ate the bday cake, very very happy that he had actually bothered to do all that. I can still remember the exact cake, it was chocolate coated and there was a banana on the top. I loved it.

I also remember how on the eve of my birthday I was skyping with Shawn before the dinner Faye had booked me for, and she was telling me that it was just the two of us but that I should dress up cos it was my birthday. Then when I arrived at the restaurant, I got a huge shock when I saw 20+ guests gathered at the Istanbul restaurant all beaming at me! And then later at night where half the party adjourned at my hostel to celebrate and party even more.

I think it doesn’t take a lot to make me happy, just some simple gesture and kind words and I treasure the friendship/ thought for life. Faye did the same for me last year when she brought a bouquet of flowers for me for my bday, taking me completely by surprise.

I think life is beautiful, when you are surrounded by friends and family who care and share so much.

I still remember the first day in Mannheim, our first lunch as we walked through the Turkish quarters, eating at DBO doner, as we bought a sim card for communication in Mannheim. I remember drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, smelling the freshness of summer’s end ushering in autumn’s majestic entrance, the sunshine spilling though Crystal and Jengyin’s sky windows in Hafenstrasse, and their kind offers of biscuits and chocolate.

I have a sudden longing to return and see Mannheim again, to walk next to the Schloss and its large white-framed Baroque windows. To tread down the cobbled streets along the Hauptbahnhoft, and dance in Zapattos. I want to sit down behind Hafenstrasse on the grass, in the heat of summer, lying on nothing but a mat and eating butter pretzels, drinking beer and listening to music blasting from Aaron’s laptop. Watching him cook the weisswurst in the hot water and giving us an introductory course on slicing the German sausages.

I want to return to Mannheim, and replay all the memories, so many made, and especially those with you.

Life’s little surprises, are so beautiful.

Mannheim was one of them.

My sky and yours together

Have you ever felt that you missed some people so much, you felt your heart wasn’t with you, but with them, in some far off corner of the world?

I want to be somewhere else, living a different life, knowing I am with the person that I love, away from separation. Maybe I have never felt happy living a boring but secured life, stable yet lacking in passion, doing what is expected all the time. The longing to live out a dream, soaking in brilliant bubbles of happiness and joy, has constantly been my companion for as long as I can remember.

I want to be where the people laugh and live with every molecule of their beings. I yearn for a life, where like a drawing board I can start from scratch, creating the design of my life the exact way i like it. To be able to make a dashboard of all the elements that I want to keep, and throw away those that I abhore.

I imagine building a life with beauty, a deep sense of belonging, a knowledge of belief, faith and trust. Where people burst into song and dance, where love enshrouds everything. Where practicality doesnt even register in the first few priorities; and worries of the future are but just dots in the sky.

Growing up through the years, I’ve seen birthdays and anniversaries, weddings and friendships blossoming. And among all of these, I wonder how many are but just customary, and how many else are blooming out of true radiant joy.

I want to live in a world, where my sky combines with yours, where the sun never sets, the rays of delirious sunlight stay like crystals protecting us, where my day is yours as well. I want to build a life with you, a paint the picture both of us are in, walking hand in hand. I want to hear the birds chirping instead of cars zooming by; I want to see rivers and lakes and swimming fish, instead of neatly printed roads and factory buidings. I want to be finally at home…and home is where the heart is.

The European continental story.

As often as the mind wanders to a time past and memories cased in silver, the heart stumbles upon the road winding into the garden of life, love and beauty. The frosty winter night, waiting for the tram to bring them home; the lights twinkling in the chilly dark, the jingling of the bells announcing the arrival of Christmas, they hold the keys to her heart. Gluhwein in the sunny afternoon, next to the church on the street bursting with life; the river enshrouded in the season’s mist, the cobbled streets, strong and sturdy under their feet.

So many events, so many friends, through chance encounters or similar timetables, sitting on the bus ride home, chatting, bonding, breaking the ice between the massive differences in cultures. The route to school was always new, each day bore forth a separate adventure, a different path, a unique encounter. It was the summer’s end which began the story, the scorching sun on the grand schloss’ windows. The first glimpse of Mannheim, the flowers singing in their pretty blooming heads, it was hope, and a journey whose twists were anticipated, and savored.

Bags packed and doors opened, train tickets and the travelers sauntered, into the voyage they dreamed up of; through nights and days of endless planning. Finally, the earth seemed ready, for their exploration and eager souls. The sculptures, the great stone structures, next to carefree artists; yet again spilling their love of art from the magnificent sunset onto canvas. The ancient bridge, sturdy as a rock; and there they sat, glued, to the glory of nature’s masterpiece. Rivers and canals and squares and quaint shops, they dotted the self-explored map of their adventures. The mountains and landscapes unraveled the lost history from where Mozart was birthed. It was a stunning beginning; a blindingly magnetic draw, to continue in the continent which separated two ends of the earth.

Settling down in a town now home, for months to come; the classes began, a system different yet strangely familiar. It was their first time away from home so long, so brilliant and beaming with dreams and experience. You take some time to adjust they always say, but once you have, and have found their little nook and cranny in the mould of your heart, you feel less homesick and more alive. That summer ended; and autumn took its place on stage, a gorgeous rehearsal of auburn reds and rose-burn shades. Leaves which lined the pathways and cascaded in the smooth cool breeze, landed on the ground, tracing the doorways of their hearts. Friendships blossomed and reciprocated acts of kindness brought forth the surge of confidence to do what they would never have done before. A walk by the sea in Lisbon, city of seven hills, and trudging in the sunshine. It was time of indulgence and feeling the vibes of wherever they were.

It was the winter, however, whose early chill and soon-settled nights made them more aware of life and love, of desires and longing, of a need to be met. Sitting at the stairwell, the night of the party itself, fears dissolved and will suddenly so strong, it took just that moment, after endless persuasion, to make one crucial decision. Just days before a temporary separation, that not known then, but it was a decision to stake it all and feel, the need to love and chance, to try and dare without looking back. Fighting back all tears and fears, it was in another city, where having been etched in their hearts as the seabed of their bittersweet memories, where an exchange of pieces of their different lives was made.

A jigsaw puzzle pieced carefully together, a beautiful picture, stunning and finally completed.

There is electricity in the air

What a terribly exciting month; so many things have happened in just the span of the last 5 days; the first African-American to have pushed the Americans into a land brimming with the promise on which the hopes of their forefathers banked on; candidacy that was never expeced to run among the leading; least of all to win. Yet all over the world, there has been a sigh of relief; the Asian stock markets abounded with a new life; perhaps there is hope for the economy and world politics at large?

Blame it on my lack of interest in politics in previous US elections, or blame it on my youth; but this isto me definitely a point of history in the making. Never before has globalization bonded continents across in the anticipation of one common outcome, for a country that isn’t even theirs. Africa’s heartbeat can be heard across the news wires; their celelbrations for their much supported representative Obama evident so blatant and stark; bulls reserved specially for feasting upon when Obama would eventually clear the tiles and declare a landslide victory; this was a magic moment; the one which Martin Luther King would have been so proud of he would cry tears of joy; the day of fulfilment of his dream “that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’” and “that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

There is an excitement in the air; his youthful energy and charisma seems to have charmed voters and observers in the USA as well as across the shining seas. America’s economy may be down in the dumps, and may have chain-dragged everyone else (participants and passers-by) worldwide, but the extent of the ripple effect of this historic elections has proven one thing– that America is still so tremendously important that we are all banking that we made the right decision in supporting a young, inexperienced senator with what currently seems like little more than many theories and assured calmness that he will not only weather through the stormy ride but emerge victorious. In this present time; he is a symbol of hope that many are deep down praying will not be a mirage.

Further away from the political scene, November is also a month where I rejoice for my friends around. I can’t say it till I hear it for myself, but I believe wedding bells will be ringing soon; a joyous occasion is bursting to arrive. There is a spirit of festivity in the air; an electricity to light up the world that just a little while ago seemed stale and depressed. Trust me, the world is currently less preoccupied with crazy christmas shopping that will eventually manifest towards the month’s end; right now, there are more and greater things that are happening, and all I can say is, life is for the living.

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.

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.