from the future #1

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i googled, ‘dear me’.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

(Philippians 4:6–7)

hey you,

by now, you’ve probably seen a few stories tell about how people receive from their future selves a letter detailing their various regrets and telling their younger selves to not repeat the same mistakes as they did.

this won’t be one of those letters.

things are alright. and that is why i am writing you this letter.

i’ll be honest. life gets harder. work will sometimes get suffocating, longing will sometimes lead to loneliness. along the way, you are going to make mistakes; things will not always go to plan; and some measure of suffering here and there is inevitable – but remember this:

‘all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’

God is good, and things will be alright.

when your problems seem overwhelming, remember the cross; when your hardships prove to be agonizing, remember the hope of eternity.

  do your best to watch yourself – do not let yourself be conceited, do not let yourself feel entitled, do not be cynical. instead be gentle, be humble, and be patient. there is no easy or magical way to Christlikeness; change will not come overnight. the mortifying of sin is a continuous, conscious, and very often arduous endeavour – a battle every step of the way.

i know you. you can be stubborn and sometimes slow to learn. and despite your initial enthusiasm you so often stray away. but as you mature and continue to better yourself, i want you to be encouraged of your hope.

doubt yourself, but trust God. with wisdom, think ahead and consider the lasting consequences. seek and listen to advice, even if you ultimately cannot take them. when caught up in moments, treat yourself to a healthy dose of introspection. last but not least, do not rush into things as and when your heart sings; instead, be willing to wait.

that’s all i have to say for now.

whether you will ultimately be disappointed with who you are when you get to where i am will depend (humanly speaking) completely on you.

so who are you going to be?


Q

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why i write what i write

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i googled, ‘writing on paper’

when the heart can’t quite keep up with the mind,
what do the limbs reach out to find?

is the writer’s person a direct reflection of what he/she writes?

i hope not.

if you have a history of writing, at some point in your life, you have probably looked at the things you wrote in the past and thought, ‘gosh, what was i thinking? how could i possibly have written that? what was wrong with me!? GAH!!’ we didn’t think much of it back then (we probably even thought we were SO COOL!), but sometimes we look back and find ourselves spirited away to Cringe-Land.

as people, we are, for the most part, constantly changing – struggling, growing, and maturing day on day.

” 98% of the time, we feel ‘alright’, “

the writer’s person is the culmination of every experience they have had; the takeaways from the people they have met, the weight of the things that they have done or left undone, the highs and the lows that they have gone through.

in contrast, what a writer writes is often a snapshot of a moment in time.

i seldom write about that 98% that is probably a more accurate portrayal of who i am (okay, maybe the percentages are not so extreme…). instead, it is in the 2% in which i am not ‘alright’ that most often find my heartstrings tugged, that i feel compelled to chronicle my sentiments.

 what did the writer feel on that one day, that one moment? like a photo, each writing captures merely a single point in the writer’s imagination, especially if they were written in short spans of time. but as we put down the pen (or as is often the case these days, the keyboard), we gradually revert to being just ‘alright’. as the moment bids us goodbye, yesterday’s despair may begin to seem irrational today, and who’s to say if today’s euphoria won’t be seen tomorrow as intoxication?

 

my archives testify that i tend to be more moved to write by negative rather than positive emotions, but that doesn’t mean i, as a person, am always gloomy! every person has their own way of facing their lows; some people play video games, other people play music, i just happen to write. people say ‘time flies when you are having fun,’ and to some degree, that applies here as well: i’m not as mindful of the times when i’m happy and engaged – i just keep going; on the other hand, sorrow slows me down and sometimes forces me to stop, invading my thoughts at every opportunity. writing has become a way for me to think through and resolve my inner conflicts, for my mind to convince my heart. which is probably why http://www.flounderinglion.wordpress.com is usually not a very happy place, haha!  😦

 

in the end, i have to confess that i am, more often than not, a selfish writer – i write to vent, to channel my emotional energy elsewhere; to reprimand, encourage, or warn myself; to journal progression, to track my thoughts, to make memorials of certain incidents, and sometimes just because i think it would make a good story. if anyone likes what i write or feels benefited by it, that’s great, and i’d be happy to talk with them about it! but half the time (and probably more), i write knowing the target audience is me.

perhaps i should not speak for all writers, but at least, this is why i write what i write in the manner which i write.

i’m mostly alright.  🙂

Q

what do you want?

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i googled: ‘mirror’.

 

it’s overdue – i have to ask you this,
and soon enough, so you will not regret.
what do you want?

you tell others this:
you like the philosophy of law;
the ideas behind it all:
how its very concept was birthed,
and what purpose it served;
how our forefathers saw it a necessity,
and what it has become in our society.

you ask if law should be subservient to man,
or doth it have a greater purpose to serve?
shall it be clay to pottery in our hands,
and shaped according to need across the lands?
or shall it be a bulwark against our own deviance,
as we slowly descend into decadence?

your answer is laid bare.
but you walk on, laissez faire.

‘what can i do?’
you asked.
so, too, a thousand other kindred spirits.

i will not give answers to you,
but i will continue to probe you:
to have you in earnest thought,
to not walk out of a fight unfought.

what do you want?


an empty mirror, viewed directly, leaves a palpable sense of unease.
it’s probably because that is an impossible sight,
but perhaps, it is also because the thought of losing sight of ourselves scares us.

Q

to have less

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i googled ’embracing the rain’.

the mid-day naps which invariably end abruptly with headache and listless sitting on the bed, accompanied with thoughts along the lines of:
‘what am i doing with my life?’

the immediate and uncontrolled urge to plug the holes in conversation known as ‘silence’ and speak things which have not received adequate thought in sobriety, culminating in the mind, as is always the case, a few moments later than it should have, as regretful sentiments of:
‘why did i say that?’

the need for security and avoidance of blame; as if by being uncertain and ignorant, the liabilities that far too often stem from a lusty desire to sound erudite can be absolved by prefacing with:
‘i don’t know, but i think…’

the brooding thoughts of enmity, the breeding ground of contempt; pride that wants us to stand tall indignantly when we should stoop down with humility and seek forgiveness and reconciliation; pride that gently whispers in our ears:
‘i deserve better than that.’

the moments of distrust in the things that have been revealed; the thoughts and senses which are still haunted by the spectres of old known as skepticism and cynicism, making them dull; causing the eyes to see but not perceive, the ears listen but not hear, and the mind to know but yet still struggle to believe, inadvertently disparaging His work with doubts of:
‘how can i possibly know?’

 

all these, i confess.

all these, i pray to have less.

dear muse:

click for source

and there it was again.

the strange sentiment comprising of awe and fear
mixed into one uncomfortable bulk
that beats repeatedly in my chest,
like a chimera of emotions pouncing;
ready to take over my mind,
as i read on and on and
learned a little more
about her.

for mere minutes i marveled at
her prowess of bending words to her will;
yet for hours i found myself wondering about
the gears on which her mind ran.
i adore them; they intimidate me,
and i wonder if they would continue
haunting my thoughts daily so.

there’s probably no mistake:
i find her attractive.

but my past blunders remind me
just how fickle and prone to folly i can be.

she is one i will continue observing,
with guarded heart and careful smiling.
with cold feet and heart-a-thumping.

Seriously I don’t know if these can be classified as poems…

The timing of my last two poems are unfortunate, considering their contrasting contents. This one’s freshly written, the previous one is an old draft that was finally refined enough to be posted today.

would you stop breathing if breathing became troublesome?

click for source

 

Daylight was slowly but surely slipping away. My two companions continued bickering; I suspect they have forgotten why. In my silence, I wondered if we would have to camp out tonight again – a prospect that had long ceased to be pleasant.

But just as we began to tire, a town appeared on the horizon with its back to a setting sun so radiant it illuminated the otherwise dark skies with a warm glow of orange. From distance, silhouettes of windmills still in operation welcomed us; their rotating sails seemingly waving us in for a rest long due.

 

On our way to this town, I was frustrated with the numerous twists and turns that we had to travel through.

I wondered why the road had to have so many twists and turns.

It should have been obvious, but only now do I realise the forests and hills all around us – treacherous terrain which made going forward in a straight line, quite possibly and quite literally, a dead end.

So the road went around in random twists and turns. In my blindness, I had thought it a frivolity which made my journey even more difficult than it already was.

I now see they were childish protests.

In truth, the winding roads’ very winding nature afforded the people passing through, myself included, a much safer journey.

 

The long journey in the wilderness had drained me both physically and mentally, but in that one ethereal moment, I felt rejuvenated.

In some ways, it seemed almost inevitable, as if some divine force was telling me:

the high road is one that is long and winding;

the path is treacherous, and the winds are unforgiving,

but the end point is one that is worth persevering for.

 

This journey may have ended, but my pilgrimage continues.

I wonder if this lifelong path I tread will culminate, too, in a beautiful town somewhere, someday?