I love you even though you are almost always late to our dates, prolonging my agony to not have more time with you as every drop of the minutes we have is precious.
I love you even though you are sensitive, because that’s where your charm lies. Your sensitivity towards me and others makes you such an understanding man.
I love you even though our paths are not always smooth, even when we go through bumpy rides. Somehow, we always make it through.
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There are too many minds in life. Too many opinions, too many comments, too many should dos and what ifs and could haves.
Not all of them matter.
There are too many people trying to be smart. There are too many people, acting as if they know it all. There are too many people, telling you how to live your lives.
Not all of them matter.
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You make me so, so happy.
So happy.
Even when you woke me up from my power nap as I was sitting in the MRT because you saw an elderly who required a seat. Yes, you didn’t exactly make me happy back then – my feet were crying in agony as it had been a long day. But all in all, I am happy. I have a boyfriend who genuinely cares about others.
For three weeks, there wasn’t a single time when you didn’t send me home, despite the fact that I live one and a half hour away from your place. You make total sure that I am back home safe and sound before you head to your long journey home.
And I am so, so happy.
Read more →I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money... I suppose it’s possible I’ll lie on my deathbed regretting that I didn’t work harder and say everything I had to say, but I think what I’ll really wish is that I could have one more beer with Chris, another long talk with Megan, one last good hard laugh with Boyd. Life is too short to be busy.
Tim Kreider
Dear Present,
I wish you could talk to your siblings Past and Future and tell me exactly what’s going on and what will be going on later in life. I wish you have that ability.
Everytime I ask you a question, you just smile empathically while throwing back all the choices to me. I can’t read your face. The only thing I know is you repeatedly assuring me that it’s not your place to decide. I will have to pick my own battles and key in my own hours. There’s no shortcut.
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If I have to choose between picking up a phone and sending an email, I will definitely send an email.
It’s less invasive, and more detailed. Of course, things can get lost in translation and you can totally misunderstand what the other party means (for this, face to face interaction is still the best). But you don’t need to spell your name (especially if you’re an asian living in a western country). You don’t need to come up with an answer on the spot. You don’t need to decide things quickly.
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Facebook is telling me that he has an awesome job at such a young age, she has the dream job, they are successful like crazy and making tons of money. Instagram is telling me that everyone’s photography skills are much, much better than mine, and that everyone is living such better lives. Coffee. Good book. Beach. Traveling. Photos from overseas. Catching up with friends. Getting a scholarship. Getting an award. Getting published. Having the cutest dog in the world. Having the ‘awwwwww’est cat in the world.
And my profile? They look so bleak. So ordinary. In spite of my determination to live ordinary lives, it’s kind of hard when it seems that everyone is living an extraordinary one.
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When you write on paper, you don’t write to get published. When you write on the keyboard, most often, you do.
Perhaps I’m still a little bit old school. Even after the ownership of Mac, iPhone, and iPad, I still regularly consult my journal for pen and paper activities. Few things can beat the feeling of writing in one’s journal. There’s a sense of happiness, and perhaps wholeness to the experience.
Read more →To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
You made a mistake? Good. Move on.
Because if you don’t, that one mistake will eat you alive, possibly wrecking every single thing that will come your way.
So you slipped. You made a mistake and perhaps even a grave one. You did the unspeakable. You acknowledged it. You accepted it. You sought forgiveness.
But it’s just not enough, isn’t it? Some nights you’re lying on bed and all you can think of is how hypocritical you are – pretending to be a good person and all. After all, that mistake is still recorded there on your life history. It’s still going to be there, despite all those time spent trying to pay for it. Ignoring it is ignorance, right?
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