Tag: reality

And All’s Well Again

December 26, 2004 — a great Tsunami wrecked everything in and around the Indian Ocean. The calm sea rose above crashing into the lives of those who revered the ocean as their god.

2005 dawned unwelcome as millions mourned the loss of their love, life, and lifestyle. And yet, 12 years later, the sea shows no sign of the monstrous face it displayed then. It looks as calm as ever, unthreatening and loveable.

I wonder if there’s anything as resilient as the sea. It transcends its limits, transforming into a fierce beast, only to go back to its calm and unassuming state.

the-sea

Blast From the Past

He walked down the empty corridor looking at the pictures that lined the walls. Old youngsters laughed back at him, their arms around each other, huddling behind a rusty trophy.

He read the description. “Dr. Charlie memorial soccer tournament. Class of 1935.”

Charlie’s eyes unfocused for a second before focusing again. 1935 was a long time ago. More than sixty years after he had gone. He tried to calculate when he had died, but soon remembered he’d never cleared a single mathematics examination. Giving up, he walked on.

A little further, he stopped at another picture. It was a portrait of a woman clad in graduation robes, smiling wide in joy and pride. The picture looked newer. And the woman familiar. He squinted at the description that read, “Mrs. Charlie Yaxley. Senior Professor, Mathematics.”

Realisation shot through him like current. He staggered forward, reaching out. Just as he reached his arm to caress her cheek, a stern voice rang through the corridor.

“Charlie!”

It was Tracy, his maths teacher. “This is a huge museum, stick with the group or you’ll get lost.”

After a Year

I’ve spent the last year publishing a post every day. Today, it feels like a huge achievement, at least for me. When I started this blog, my brother — my sole supporter at that time — encouraged me to write a post every day. Whether I was sick or had an exam, I had to have a post out no matter what.

I couldn’t because I didn’t know what to write half the time. And when I took up the task in 2016, it was no different. Often, I’d have no topic sentence, no conflicting opinions, and no interest, whatsoever, in inflicting myself and others with bashful political stances. I couldn’t think what else I’d write about.

Some days, I forced myself to write something — a thought, a quote, or anything — because I had to keep going. Those were tough days; days I had to battle the block and doubt my abilities at the same time. So many days I wondered the purpose of my writing, and if people would bother at all to read. But when morning dawned, I came back to my computer and wrote. Because I just couldn’t do without.

However, for all the struggling, I didn’t write glorious pieces of prose. I just wrote a lot of crap, instead. I couldn’t help it. I even thought the bad writing was a result of forced writing, but I couldn’t help but write on. After three or four months of writing a post a day, it became a habit and I ached when I didn’t write anything in the morning. By midday, I panicked.

It pained me to put myself through what I knew was an ordeal that I didn’t have to. I knew people would understand if I just told them I’d had a bad day and don’t feel like doing a blog tonight. And yet, I’m glad I pushed myself. Today, looking back at the way I’ve blogged throughout the year, it feels rewarding. My blog has become a part of my being. It’s become my nature — my thing — to write something every morning. Even my colleagues know I come into work early just to write.

It came with a cost, though. Writing every day was taxing, and I had to give up a lot of other stuff. Like Facebook, for instance. I didn’t have the time to post pictures of myself pouting in front of punch bowls. I didn’t have the time to post quirky 140 characters, and my Instagram posts became so rare that my followers got notifications: “Your friend has posted something for the first time in a long time.” But none of that worried me too much. Sure, I would’ve liked a few likes, but I had made a choice to focus on my writing.

I wrote a lot of opinions. I figured out I had opinions over matters I thought I didn’t have opinions over. And since I knew people wanted to read what I wrote, I wanted to give them some sequence. I learnt to warp the chaos within to bring order — even if only for one post at a time.

The results were satisfying. I managed to hit a milestone of 500 followers. I know it’s a small number for someone who’s been in the blogosphere for a while. Despite that, though, I’m happy I’ve got a few people who I know want to read my blog. After a year of blogging, I’ve found myself out and I’ve found out how much I love my blog.