It feels like nothing, but it’s everything

In time, you may come to realise
that there’s a certain languidness to every step I take,
to every breath I swallow, to every glance I cast.
I see nothing of the future, nor am I in a hurry to reach one.
I see everything of the past, because reliving is just as beautiful
and wonderful as living.
I see something of the present – but I’m not sure what it is yet.

I wonder, if you knew all this, knew of the way I take my time with things
like a car that’s pulling to a stop,
would you portray me in the way they do?
Would you spell me in a sentence,
write down the hypothesis to my destination –
which is none at all, they say,
because apparently, ambition does not fuel me and I’m illogical in the way I think,
an anomaly in graphs wandering straight.

Or will you be the first to read between the lines?
Will you see that I dream but do not plan, that I’m driven by a different goal?
Will you see that I search for something else,
something that proves the truth of miracles, the taste of purpose, the life of meaning?
Will you know that my destination is a person?

That I’m lost in an internal maze
and I’m looking for a pair of arms to hold me up
and take me to the sky
into the mess of coherence,
of knowing without knowing, of smiling just because.

I’m languid in the way I savour
the complexity of everything
but one day, one day I want to understand
the simplicity of the complex.

I’m an anomaly but so is she and so is he and so are they
and so is the mind that’s forgotten who it is.
If you drew a straight line from the centre, no one would touch upon it,
those who try to are sliced apart because they lost themselves
in the trend of wearing an outfit of convention.

So I say again, that in time, you may realise I’m not quite right
in the head
but I’m not quite wrong either:
I’m not interested in this constructed reality
which is harsh and cold and muddled with cynicism.
I want to construct my own version of something real:
beyond the lies we tell ourselves in the confines of conversation
I imagine something as real as simply this.

Aligned hearts.

They can change the way we speak and the way we act, but they can never change the way we feel. When paths are altered, lines withdrawn, our hearts will stay the same. In the constancy of change lies the constancy of our pulses. We may not be the same people as we once were, and we may soon be different people to who we are right now, but one part of us will forever remain the same: we will remain human, alive in our breaths, and even when we die, alive in the ashes we’ve left behind.

To be or not to be yourself

My friend recently created her own Facebook page, and she (jokingly?) encouraged me to create one as well… So here it is! If you’ve liked my blog so far, give the page a like.

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“Be yourself.” It’s a concept that I’ve struggled with for a long, long time. I always ask myself, how can I be this person that I am, if I don’t even know who that person is? I admit that to this day, I still have not a clue of who I truly am, but I’ve realised something else: it doesn’t matter who you are. The moment you try to put a label or a name or a description to your identity, you are limiting yourself. It isn’t so much as “being yourself”. It’s more about being comfortable within your own body and mind. Not trying to resemble someone else, not trying to imitate a particular action or way of speaking, not trying to repress those quirks that make you unique and special.

So who are you? There is no word or words that can define you, and wholly encompass this person that you are. Simply, embrace it. Love it. Live it.

Carving faces

It is strange
how,

in mirrors
I was carving out
a bust
and paused in ponder over
what the shaping of my eyes,
and what the colour of my eyes,
and what the longing in my eyes,
and chipped and chipped
till I was bruised in one
and broken in the other,

yet
in blindness
did a friendship’s open hand
draw me from the hardened mould
to lids above my cheek,
to contours of their oval form,
to curtains brimming past the edge,
and drew and drew
till lashes up, mirrors gone,
and I myself appeared –
here I stand, here I am.
I finally understand.

(c) 2015 Katho28

True friendship helped to summon the one person I’d always tried looking for but could never quite find or see – me.

All it takes is a little faith

I’ve always been an extremely private person, and it’s very rare that I tell others personal things about myself. I’ve always felt like revealing those ‘fragile’ parts of myself would be a little like stripping myself bare and running naked along public streets, with the scornful eyes of the world shunning me just because I chose to be me.

I guess, in a way, I’ve always been scared – terrified, actually – of the judgements made by others. Sure, I could laugh off snarky comments and rude remarks because I knew that the people who uttered those mean words didn’t know the real me anyway – but I was afraid, so afraid of showing anything beneath the surface, because what if they did know the real me and still made those snide comments? What if the real me simply isn’t good enough for this world?

Today, after attending a Christmas party at an Anglican Church, I realised that I’ve been staring at the answers to my questions and doubts this whole time.

It’s Christmas Eve – the night before Jesus was born; the night where all Mary, Joseph and the shepherds needed was a little faith and a little hope – a little reminder from God and the angels: do not be afraid.

I am not a religious person, but I do believe in having a little faith and a little hope in yourself. Never fear the thought of being your whole selves – fragile parts included. If the world shuns you just because you chose to be yourself, then it’s the world’s loss because it is the one who missed the chance of getting to know a truly remarkable and utterly breathtaking person that is you.

Listen to what the angels told the shepherds: do not be afraid. Do not be afraid that the real you isn’t good enough (you most definitely are good enough!). Do not be afraid of stripping yourself bare (metaphorically – won’t want you catching a cold 😛 ), because the real you is beautiful in every crack and fissure.

That is what I’ve learnt – all it takes is a little faith. Not just in yourself, but in others as well – faith that others will accept, love and embrace the real you (they would be stupid not to!).

So, have a little faith. You will be amazed.

Know thyself: a never-ending quest

To all those students doing Area of Study: Discovery, this one’s for you.

This blog post may (or may not) help you in some small way or another. Remember that what I am writing is my opinion, not the truth.

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Discovery. Or more specifically, self-discovery.

Some may think that self-discovery is about reaching an understanding and acceptance of our cultural backgrounds, heritage and ancestry. Others may think that it’s about figuring out our purpose in life and our place in the world. But if that is so, then self-discovery is really just a journey, right?  A journey with a final destination; a finish line.

Personally, I don’t think of self-discovery as a journey. I think of it more as a… series of moments. Brief moments, gone before we have the chance to fully comprehend them. We can only ever catch glimpses of ourselves in the mirror before we have to let those fleeting images go, because change is inevitable and the person we saw in the mirror yesterday is not the same person we see today.

Searching is not the same as discovering, nor will it necessarily lead to any discoveries. Maybe self-discovery is not that treasure buried deep in the sand which you’re desperately trying to dig up; maybe self-discovery is that moment when you finally stop digging and for the first time notice the calluses forming on your palms and the yellow sand embedded in your nails. Maybe self-discovery is  not about finding out that ‘we are…’,  but about realising that we simply are.