Insides hallowed out
as dent in a volcano
barren, you left me
I’m travelling for work, and so for the next few days, I’ll be posting haikus from places I stumble on.
Holey
Tag: people
Going home
“Come hither!”
She beckons,
arms wide, lips curling
twisting, my soul with it.
Thunder echoes,
whispering hope in ears
rustling as autumn leaves
brushing against
my callous frame.
Worn by weather,
marred by wear,
my eyelids droop—
crinkles catch up,
I let go.
She bundles me—
warm scoop and ice cream,
melts the cold away,
carries me home.
Outside
Bright green leaves nodded, agreeing with the wind whispering in their ears. Like a million marbles rolling under the sun, in yellow and pink and white and blue, flowers shone in her face, showing off their sheen, manicured petals pollinated just in time, having lent shoulders to younglings experimenting wings.
They rest a while, but in the end they always take off. For blue skies beckoned them, casting their puffs of cloudy distractions aside, bringing sunlight to the spotlight, inviting explorers, the adventurous blood-eyed magpies and chirping berry eaters.
What a shame to be indoors, Hope wondered rolling her wheelchair out.
A muse on human nature
Ever since I moved to Canberra, I’ve spent every day cherishing my reality. I enjoy every aspect of this weird town that’s big enough to have everything you imagine you’ll need, but is still small enough so you run into the same person twice or thrice a week.
It’s a satisfactory blend of big and small. When, on a Sunday afternoon, I walk down the city paths, I’m amazed at the lack of people running into each other. It feels as if the city’s almost too big for the people it houses. Then as soon as I enter the shopping mall, I’m washed over by excited wailing children, babbling adults, and snippets of he-said-she-said gossips.
Afterwards, I walk around the lake or along a park, and I’m mesmerised by the vast greenness that spreads before my eyes. Of course, there’re grasslands that’ve seen better days, now dry and parched without much fodder for the grazing cows. But I’m sure, as spring rolls over, rains will pour down and lusciousness will tumble on.
Every aspect of Canberra makes me hopeful. I can’t imagine anyone feeling depressed to live here.
But—
I’ve heard friends moan at the very thought. It’s home, but it’s still alien to them. For quite a while, I couldn’t comprehend why such a beautiful valley of a town was so disturbing for a lot of people.
Today I learnt why. A friend explained: growing up in this small town meant that every street corner has a memory. Each time they walk past the fountain in the city or step over the fence in a park, it triggers past experiences—both good and bad.
That’s when I realised: no two people ever see the same thing. As a recent migrant, I can’t fathom what a local sees when they look at a building. I see architecture and unknown history, and they see experiences, losses, and lessons.
That got me thinking. It’s not just about Canberra. It’s the same with every place.
My distaste for the city I lived in for six years stems from the bad times I had there. When it comes up in a conversation, I tend to focus on the negatives because they’re predominant in my mind. And that blinds me to the good side of the city. Clouded in my opinions, every suggestion I offer to a third person is marred and false even.
Even though we don’t often recognise it, our minds are always biased. It prevents us from weighing options with a level head, to accept even the possibility of a reality we’re unaccustomed to. We’re so entrenched in our own thoughts that we’re oblivious to the external perspective.
But that’s human nature. We can shrug it off and move on, or we can understand that we all come from a personal point of view—an understanding that’s crucial for us to grow as emotionally intelligent people.
*muse over*
Mentality
Lights blind my eyes as an onslaught of motorists zoom past, unaware of the lanky thirty-year-old in tank top and teared jeans, dragging feet along with ice coffee in hand.
Unaware… or uncaring.
It takes me a while to recover, but I don’t stop walking. There was no reason to halt in my tracks, shuffle to a corner, and lean by the railing as a boat or two bellowed from the river running below.
I’m used to it.
Chicago never sleeps, and neither do the millions of ants that crawl its streets night and day, heels tap dancing on metal bridges, tongues clicking in response to a muffled voice on the phone, and laughter echoing, reverberating along every alley.
I take another sip from my crush-after-use cup, the weight of which was slowly crushing the earth. I can’t afford to care anymore. I am no longer the save-the-planet idealist I used to be.
That mentality dissolved with my business, my income.
Seven-Eleven has the best ice coffee. It’s so good that you can sense it trickling all the way down your throat, before plopping on the surface of your empty belly and filling it right to the brim.
Refreshing.
