2017

2017

Tuesday, 27 June 2017

Dear Diary: Good-bye Berkeley

I'm walking to Peet's Coffee knowing that today morning would be one of the last times I would taste the bitter roast that I have so come to appreciate. The quiet "city" of Berkeley has grown on me, a city that stands in stark contrast to bustling Singapore and New York, where people don't stop to ask "hey, how's it going?" unless are waiters working for a tip. Where people seem too busy smiling at their iPhones than at the person next to them on that busy subway. 

Dear Berkeley, I cannot imagine living here forever, but the months that I have spent in your heart has left me memories that I will never forget. I will never forget the first few steps I took on your streets, marvelling at the fascinating graffiti illegal back home. I will never forget my first steps on campus, wondering who I was going to meet in this foreign place I had to call home. I will never forget the nights of laughter, with strangers I today proudly call my friends. I will never forget the nights drenched in tears, where I would miss my world from thousand miles away. The view from the balcony, where I would watch the sunset as I pen my journal, and the stars that fill the sky when night falls on your streets. Oh Berkeley, how could I ever forget?

Here I have loved, and here I have lost, but here I have come to learn so very much.I don't regret a single bit of it. 

Good-bye Berkeley, it's been hella real. 


(Edit: was going to post this one day before I flew back to Singapore, but things got hectic and so here it is anyway, a month tardy but just as real)

Tuesday, 2 May 2017

Muse: Do you remember me?

It is rather curious 
The odd moments 
In which we find ourselves 
Doing things 
We never thought we would do. 

Do you remember me?
For in absence of presence 
And in habits not my own
I find the little things 
My heart holds fondest. 

Because I do
I do remember you.



Dear Diary: I haven't gotten it all together

I have come to realize that I am the sort of person who seems to be perpetually under a certain degree of pressure --mostly of the self-imposed sort. There is something inherent within me that urges my being to be more than I can be, that compels me to think that at any moment in time one could always be more than one currently is. I have always been persuaded to consider such a state of being healthy, for it drives an individual from within, even when the external world crumbles apart, out of control.

Of late, however, I have been met with modes that have not been within my own jurisdiction, occurring with a frequency admittedly beyond my liking (rather dismal, really). It is lamentable to have understood this only all these years later, but I cannot deny that I feel at many points the besetting need to have life situations within my own control, so much so that when reality presents itself otherwise I almost always seem to fall into a state of consternation. The mechanism I employ in turn seems completely to abnegate the state of being I am in, and then redirect all my energy into an outlet of productivity, such as work. I suppose this is not the worst senario one could derive, particularly when compared to the devices I had employed half a decade ago, as a late teenager. 

There has recently been a sort of strain that I cannot quite construe. It has a fixed relation to the realisation that senior year of college is fast approaching --the thought of entering the corporate world throws me off slightly, and always has. It is rather outlandish, to think that I have not an inkling where I would be working in the next year. I have always been ready to move, for I never felt a genuine sense of belonging or attachment to any particular country, having spent my formative and developmental years in several. Life has always been an adventure, and the unknown a drug that brings me a certain "joie de vivre", although almost always intermingled with some anxiety. 

What is dispiriting on occasion is the fact that people seem to assume that I would end up "just fine". I cannot deny that if lucky stars exist, I have been the recipient of one too many, having chanced upon golden opportunities and blessed with experiences I would not trade for any material thing. However, I have not the confidence in this moment to say that I would be all right. For in reality, what of the future? One is never certain, and in this moment, I do not think I have ever been more uncertain. I have not gotten it all together, not like people think.


Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Muse: Blue skies

I oft thought I might not see, 
blue skies as it was told to me.

Clouds by the plenty, 
were but distraction mighty

Grey clouds abounded, 
bright skies eluded

Wanting, waiting
Would I ever see?

Dear Diary: Thoughts from a café

I start every entry with a cliche resignation that more time has transpired then I should like it to have since my last writing. That is not entirely true, however --I have in recent days taken to the old-fashioned way of writing, and have been updating rather frequently in my black leather Moleskine. As I sit here with a cup of hazelnut latte, I am no longer in the sunny island of Singapore --the weather is in fact rather melancholic, often filled with dark skies and sporadic rainfall, although I have also witnessed the rays of sunlight that peeks ever so often. In fact, the beautiful Tokyo and New York City have been lovely experiences that I have so had the privilege of experiencing before I arrived here in California. The San Francisco bay is rather representative of me, I often say  --it does not know quite what it wants. One could walk out in a tank top and return with a wool coat (no doubt a pain) but I have grown fond of it. It rather attracts me, with its odd temperament and quirks.

So much has taken its place in my life since I last wrote, that it appears to me almost akin a movie, or a film of some sort. There are some things that just do not present themselves in the reality of everyday life --or do they? I am convicted that life courses are constructed, by the social structure in which we inevitably reside, but not without individual agency. And I chose to go on an adventure --for what of life without it? The fear, the danger that I could potentially touch almost excite me, for what is the worst that could happen that I have not seen? I wonder. Taking a leap over a boulder meant one is presented with a chance of survival, although the possibility of death remains ever present. Had I not so chosen,I would be left only with the latter option, and I did not (and I do not) want to live live as such.

I have grown braver, I think. 



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