Tag: looking back

Rediscovering Wheels

Remember the time when the Internet was loaded with teasers like, ‘when are you going to start living?’ and ‘when was the last time you did something for the first time?’ ?(love that, by the way)

Well, today I did something for the first time — in about 10 years. It’s not as noteworthy as ‘I broke my brother’s toy car and ran before he could catch me,’ or anything fancy like ‘I paraglided without hugging on to the back of an instructor,’ — but mine is pretty special too.

I rode a bike.

Or as I’d rather say, I rediscovered wheels! Oh, and the joy of it! It was an unforgetable thrill to ride on as the wind pushed me opposite the direction in which I pedaled. Still, it felt so good to experience the rush of adrenaline through my veins and the sweat tracing my forehead.

I hadn’t got on a bike for ages. And I was a little worried about making a fool of myself. That’s why I chose the early morning to try it out — when there would be fewer people to see me picking up the bike from the ground.

Anyway, after a couple of falls and plenty of curvy and insecure twists, I managed to look straight and align my arms with the bike’s handle bars.

And then there was no looking back. I went round and round. I realized my love for riding. And I didn’t want to stop. My mouth opened in laughter — in spite of myself. The people around spoke to themselves, some smiled and some even waved. And I managed to wave back without falling!

Now this is a day worth remembering. Or capturing!

rediscovering wheels

What Westlife is Doing to Your Beliefs

I didn’t realize this at first, but Westlife is more than just entertaining me.

Westlife was a popular Irish boy band who disbanded in 2012 after 14 years of music. And most of their great songs are love stories.

That is the problem. I love Westlife. But I can’t help but wonder what their music is doing to me.

I have my own ideas about love and relationships. And Westlife is changing my perception. When it comes to love, a lot of musicians sing of perfect, flawless love. I picked Westlife because their words are so simple.

There’s an angel standing next to me, reaching for my heart

Ah! Young love! Nothing like that, huh? See what I mean? Westlife makes you yearn, they make your heart ache and change your beliefs.

What happens when someone who doesn’t believe in love, perfect or not, listens to these songs? Imagine the conflict!

We know perfection isn’t true. No one loves as truly as these songs claim. Perhaps a few exceptions, but in the real world, we know it’s all fiction.

But you can’t help fantasizing. Because? It makes you feel good. And we humans do have this annoying tendency to gravitate towards what makes us miserable. That’s the way we work. It’s what makes us tick.

Not to mention all the wasted time. And the worst thing is, you can’t just forget these songs. “I don’t wanna forget you, I don’t even wanna try” They are too good.

That’s what I mean.

There’s no one like you, to speak to my heart

Now you see.

#CLT “Us against the world.” What can you say? I can’t help it.

Reworking

reworking

We think much and scrutinize on details. We’re always poring over our work with such intense repetition, until we often get lost in it.

It’s satisfying – to turn over and look at your own work, with pride swelling within your chest. It’s gratifying — to know that your work is worthy of recognition.

But to get there, we need to peer at our work. Sometimes we ask others to look into it, all the while pondering on that word choice or the particular shade of blue. Something stronger? Bold, perhaps?

It’s natural. We’re engineered that way — to rework and to reconsider. To recycle, rewrite, to recommission. And recommend.

But that thirst for precision, that repetitive craving to improve could also become our downfall. Because the longer we work on something, the more accustomed to it we get. Repetition breeds expertise. At the expense of a mundane life.

Remember the thrill of learning crocheting? The details! The scrutiny, the absolution at every twist of the fingers — everything about it filled you with excitement and anticipation. It was the perfect summer course.

But then, imagine having to do that everyday for the rest of your life.

We’d still be looking for that precision, but now it’ll be pronounced. We’d be so used to redoing that we’d be redoing just for the sake of redoing and not for the thrill that it once was.

And therein lies the risk of repetition.

The Good O’l Days

good old days

Oh, I miss those days,

when all that mattered

was the next class —

carrying a bulky book,

and caressing with a love

that none understood.

*

I miss that thrill —

of having the book open,

of reading a piece of prose —

or a poem — yes,

I’d like that — a poem.

*

A war poem, perhaps,

with a touch of sarcasm

and plenty pathos

oh, I’d love that; reading

analyzing, and discussing

the figures of speech and

reading between the lines —

decoding puzzling poetry.

*

I miss being awed

by the ceaseless Caesar,

and Brutus back stabbing;

the hair that be wires;

and the stunned disbelief

when love’s not love.

*

I miss those days —

of classroom revelations,

of shared appreciations

and new born respect —

oh, for god’s sake,

I meant for literature.