Wanderer of the world,
waiting for nothing, for no one.
You said this was the only way:
to break away by choice,
to speak in winter’s coldest voice.
A million leaps of muted faith you took,
deaf to my footsteps pursuing trails
of your evaporated breaths.
You lost your sight
in your own wretched fog.
Visions of a grand future
dissipating before your eyes,
and I tried to make you see
the million other paths
waiting to be paved,
the million miracles
waiting to be noticed,
the million warm embraces
waiting to be accepted.
You didn’t see, you didn’t listen.
So now I’m on my knees,
and I’m begging you:
wanderer of the world,
please wait for something,
please wait for me.
There’s a monster laid within my head who’s
ripping springs and chewing strings,
unravelling cords that bind my broken heart within.
Such a sneaky set of teeth it must possess!
to have the superpower
to so simply tear apart my strands of
and gnaw away the knots of fear
that’s fastened tight around my throat.
You’re not an ‘it’, I realise, but a paradox
of beauty in disaster; a breath in breathlessness –
unusual piece of messy art whose every bitten laugh is
drawn upon my messy mind,
eating up my every thought – except the one that wonders why
so eagerly you swallow all my bitter tears,
embrace my pain with yours; why you
reach beyond my chest and into tangled mess,
viewing all the cracks and crevices with a gentleness that
every other eye neglects?
Tell me why you lay so close when I am all but warm –
other creatures run away, why do you choose to stay?
But you bare your teeth at questions from my doubtful lips, and
enclose your arms about my frosty chest, till I’m melting
little by little, till I’m bare and warm and
ocean wide – unbound by ropes, and sailing into
vastness, away from narrow visions washed ashore.
Entranced I am by flaws that make you not monstrous but
daringly human – daring to love, daring to be loved.
Wind on skin,
I’m whizzing down a wild slope
on skateboard wheels,
and surfing over sticks and stones,
I’m thinking: ha! no broken bones –
then I’m jerked a-forth
and thrown off by a giant patch of grass.
2. Dancing in the rain
World is blurring,
Lights are dimming,
Shoes are sinking,
I am dancing.
3. Another’s laughter
From down the stairs,
I hear their precious laughter,
and not a quarrel in my ear.
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What are three things that made you smile this week?
This is me in my boredom, attempting to use skateboards as a metaphor for life. Inspired by the act of staring at my sister’s new skateboard. Enjoy 🙂
*** *** ***
Life is a little like riding on a skateboard – we’re constantly trying to find a balance between one end of the spectrum and the other, hoping that we won’t tip over and fall down and scrap our knees. Yet just as no one can ride a skateboard perfectly on their first go, we cannot instantly find a perfect balance in life; we cannot expect a smooth ride the whole way through. There will always be bumps on the road that trip us over, there will always be fallen branches along the way that barricade us from our final destinations. Life is the messy bits, and it isn’t really life if we never overbalance and trip over and fall down and injure ourselves.
So what’s important is that each time we do fall down, we remember to pull ourselves back up again. Keep getting back up onto that skateboard. If there’s a bump in the road, go slower. If there’s a fallen branch, leap over it. In life, we will fail a thousand times over, but the worst failure is choosing not to give it all another try. It’s only when we give up that we are truly defeated.
Embrace your scabs and scars; embrace your failures, and let them be lessons that teach you how to do better next time. Just try and try and try and don’t stop trying, and one day, you’ll realise that your biggest success wasn’t succeeding to ride on that skateboard with ease, but succeeding to find the strength to keep on riding even in times of great failure and unease.
I’ve always been an introvert kind of person, and while I’ve been trying to improve my conversing skills, I still find that it takes me several deep breaths and internal pep talks (somewhere along the lines of ‘Come on Katherine, you can do this, no one’s gonna judge even if you do stumble through all your words and momentarily forget how to speak the English language.’) before I’m able to go up to the stranger and say ‘hi’. Part of me fears the prospect of me making an absolute fool out of myself; the other part of me fears the possibilities this two-letter word could open me up to – in particular, the possibility of having to reveal a part of myself in order to maintain the conversation and stop it from dwindling into the much-dreaded awkward silence. This might sound silly, but I feel like when I open myself up to someone, I am opening myself up to their scrutiny. I feel like I’m placing myself in this vulnerable position where I’m fragile like glass and any cruel word that escapes from their lips might just shatter me.
But a girl I was talking to a couple days ago (yes! she started off as a total stranger) told me that everything begins with a ‘hi’, and if you never dare to say a simple hello, who knows what possibilities you could be missing out on? Sure, every now and then, you might embarrass yourself so much that you just want the earth beneath you to swallow you up and save you from public humiliation. But sometimes, you might just meet that someone who is worth your time, who is worth all those times of embarrassment. Sometimes, that person you said a simple ‘hi’ to, might just turn out to be your best friend, your soulmate, someone whom you know will always have your back no matter what.
So next time, don’t deprive yourself of the chance to get to know others and to let others get to know you. Next time, just go up to that person, smile and say hello. It really is that simple.
People always tell me that you are who you want to be, and while I understand the wisdom of those words, I find them inapplicable to me because the truth is, I’m not even close to figure out who it is that I want to be yet. Rather, I’m a little like that artist holding an empty palette – still experimenting with different colours, still discovering new colours, still trying to pick out the colours I want to paint my life with.
But there’s one thing about myself that I’ve always known, and it is that I love writing. Even at the tender age of seven, I was attempting to write novels, not because I wanted to get published and become a famous author, but because I relished stories and the beautiful construction of words – I would think that it must be pure magic how they could transport me to another time, another world, another life, all while I was still sitting inside my tiny, ordinary bedroom! So I figured, as a child, that by writing, I was somehow working magic.
To this day, there’s still a part of me that believes words to be magic, because how else can we explain their capacity to open minds and move hearts to tears? How else can we explain their potential to inspire and change the very meaning of this world?
So who I am? I’m still not sure yet, but what I am sure of is that writing is a huge part of whoever that person is. And that’s why I’m here; to write. To share with all you lovely readers, what I love best, in the best way possible – through words; my paintbrush. My magic.