Of writing, nostalgia and fear.

We used to write with such childlike freedom. No restrictions. No rigid formats to follow. No detailed instructions on the “how” and “what”. We wrote because it was our second nature, like artists drew and singers sang. Words poured out onto the page, running after our train of thought that was often a mixed up mess of thoughts and ideas crowding our brain at once. We wrote because nothing brings us joy like seeing words come together under our little hand, to form sentences that sometimes make sense to only ourselves. Each piece of writing was like the favourite toy we owned since we were little. It might not be in perfect condition, chipped or even broken in some parts, but we held it dear to our heart and burst into tears whenever someone attempted to take it away. Sometimes we wrote just so we could laugh at our own writing later on. Because as we laughed, we also could see how and how much we had grown. Writing was our way of speaking. Because we were the awkward kids who found it so much easier to slip a piece of paper into someone’s  hand and run away than to talk to them.

We used to write to express, not impress.

Musings...

People keep talking about living extraordinary, about breaking rules and following dreams, about having a life that is far from perfect but you would not change any bit of it even given the chance. After all, what is life without a bit of adventures, a bit of ups and downs? Inspiring words, indeed. But at the same time, it makes my life seem too plain in comparison for it is too faultless that there is hardly anything worth noticing. I have always been a good girl, living a good life. I rarely disobey my parents. My grades at school are never disappointing. I am blessed with almost everything I need in life. I went to a good school, selected to be in a top class, graduated with a score envied by many, was awarded a scholarship to study in Singapore and continued to do well enough to do every one else proud. Everyone except for myself. It is not that I am not proud of what I have achieved, but the feeling that something is lacking in this seemingly perfect life keeps growing more intense each day. The desire to stray from the perfectly straight path just to see where it may lead to is always lurking at the back of my head.

Well, you may accuse me of being silly, not knowing to be thankful for how fortunate I am to be leading such a life. But don’t they say that you fall so that you can learn? If that is true then have I truly learnt anything in my whole life when I have never actually stumbled? Ten, twenty years from now when I look back at my life now, there will be no “shoulda, coulda”, no mistakes to learn from. It will just be a story with no climax that no one wants to hear. When will I stop being a pampered child living in a shell, protected from all dangers, looking at the world through a pair of rose-tinted spectacles?

I am approaching my 20’s. On my way to become an adult. Time is running out, my youth running away. I will soon be considered too old for the sort of crazy, impulsive things only young people can do. But where is that one exciting, mind-blowing adventure I have been waiting for? Will it ever come at all? Or is this all my life is going to be?

Summer magic

So I finally did. Have a mind-blowing experience, that is. It was not a promise to myself, nor was it an expectation. It was simply a passing wish I made, not quite believing that it would truly happen. So when it did yesterday, it was to me nothing less than a miracle.

Summer is here!

 June has rolled around, bringing with it scorching hot sun and sporadic morning drizzles, marking the beginning of summer. The hottest season of the year probably started a month or two ago for many. Yet, to a JC student who has gone through an intense and stressful period of time, juggling academic work, CCAs and preparations for competitions since April, the sweet taste of summer has only now arrived.

My life in ten years

 
I often wonder how my life will be in ten or twenty years. What job will I be taking? Will I have married? Will I be able to lead the "perfect life" I have always dreamt of?

When I was little, my idea of a perfect life always involved success and wealth. A glamorous life in a big city, a well paid job, a top position in the social hierarchy.

Lately, though, that idea has somehow lost its appeal to me. Instead, I have found myself dreaming of, longing for a life so drastically different from anything I ever imagined, one that months ago I would have ridiculed for how dull it seemed.


A life in the countryside.

Intruder of my own memories

Childhood is, to me at least, the most special time in a person’s life. Childhood is the innocence we once possessed but lost somewhere along the road as we grew older. Childhood is being carefree, being loved unconditionally, and being as unreasonably demanding as we could without anyone having the heart to refuse. Childhood is when we had the most beautiful memories of our lives.

With such sentiments attached to it, childhood always has the power to evoke overwhelming feelings from me every time it crosses my mind. This evening was one of those instances.

More than a victory.

        Last night, Spain won their fifth Davis Cup in history with Rafael Nadal’s phenomenal victory against Juan Martin Del Potro. For me, however, the utmost highlight of the evening was not the splendid performance both players delivered, but rather, what took place both on the spectator bleachers throughout the 4-hour match as well as on the court during the award ceremony.