Goodbye?

So for the longest time, I haven't been writing honestly here. There are so many things that I could say that will hurt the people that I love. Why? Why not just speak my mind, results be damned.

I can't. I can't do that. I try to be nice, even if at times it is disadvantageous for me. Yeah. Class A martyr.

And because of that, I may leave this blog. I may go somewhere else. I may never return. There are so many memories here. This place is a good summary to the life I have led for the past couple of years. I've had a few life changing experiences documented here, some weird memories, a few loves, an equal number of heartbreaks, a few milestones and many, many words.

I gauge my life through my words - hoping to draw a picture with them as best I can.

I actually started this post, wondering if I should leave, but halfway through, I decided that, yes, I will leave. I won't write here anymore, although I won't delete it.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the positive comments, especially during a few hard times - I am surprised at how much a stranger's comment can help during a hard time, but it does tremendously.

So. I'll see you soon, then.

God speed.
as

No Man's An Island

So in the school yesterday, the teacher said:

"A disciple builds relationships, a Christian doesn't."

I have this notion that being alone is very..romantic.

Like a picture, taken with Instagram, no matter how mundane or absurd, it looks emotive.

I like to be with my own thoughts, reading and writing my book. Not saying a word to anyone, listening to music and being generally contemplative about my life so I can put words into my writing.

And in the process, I lose people. I don't remember the last time I asked a friend out for coffee. Or a beer. Or a meal.

Or to drive anywhere, randomly, with nothing but music and each other for company.

When was the last time I called a friend up for a chat? Or at the very, very least, chatted over some social media with someone who is in another continent?

When was the last time I wrote a letter - whether electronically or with ink - to a friend?

You may think, well, it's not your fault, they don't do that either - you're wrong. They do. They text, whatsapp, chat. Email. Write. Tweet. Poke. Whathaveyou.

They initiate conversations. They ask me about random details of my life.

The bottom line is, they care. They love me by giving me their time.

And without being self-depreciating, what the hell have I been doing? I'm supposed to be a Christian, where relationships are of paramount importance, and where a certain book once said "Love your neighbour as yourself".

There is no harm in wanting some me time, nothing at all, but when it gets to the point where I find people boring and unappealing, then the fault is not in them, but in me, because people are interesting.

Period.

I want to be a writer, where my message will reach the masses, but what good am I as a person if I can't even reach a friend?

I thought about it, and at the end of it all, I'd rather it be said that I was a great friend, who care and loved, instead of 'that dude who wrote some cool books'.

What about you?

as

I Don't Want Shelter From the Storm

I don't want shelter from the storm

I want to stand in the rain

Feel its sting

Know its power

I want to sing aloud

As the water runs off my skin

To drink in the fury

To dance to the beat of the thunder

I don't want shelter from the storm

I don't want to hide

Nor to sit in the dry

And watch beside

I want to understand it

Learn from it

Feel from it

Live from it

I don't want safe

I don't want comfortable

I don't want familiar

I don't want only okay

Neither the lies from it

Not the disguise of it

Nor the silent cries of it

I don't want shelter from the storm

Me against its winds

Fragility against its weight

Fleeting steps against its rain

My being against it crushing blackness

I will throw my might against it

Test my mettle against the storm

Know my Maker as I stand in its midst

And take His hand
as

Ready? Go.

I'm very good at beginnings. I like to start stuff, to embark on newer journeys and taste hitherto untried experiences - be it hiking on a new trail, driving up a strange road or biting into a crunchy bug in Thailand. So long as it's new, I'd probably want to try it - even if it could be detrimental to my health.

Which brings me to my next point. I'm good at beginnings, but I am very bad at the middles, and let's not even go to the endings.

I recently embarked on a brand new experience - kind of like a class to learn more about God. I go nights, after work, and while I won't say it is overtly difficult, it is anything but easy.

Imagine, every session there is a new revelation being taught, and bit by bit, God chisels at my heart and corrects skewed perspectives. At the very least, I learn something new, and at the most, I am stripped bare of everything I am before my God.

It is pretty heavy stuff.

In the Bible it is written: I have fought a good fight, I've finished the race. There is no mention of the excellence by which the race was started. It say I have finished the race. It didn't say I have finished the race first, and it definitely didn't say I finished the race well. It just says I've finished.

That's it.

And I'd really like to finish something for a change. My last two relationships - both of which I swore would be my last - ended with a parting of ways. I have yet to even graduate because I've been so focused on my work - I know it's foolish, believe you me. And I know that work - while fulfilling and interesting because it is still new - will one day become stale when I've learned all there is.

It is a bad habit of mine. Start, get bored halfway through, jump on to another project/thing/interest without completing the first.

Yesterday, a thought occurred to me whilst worship in one of the sessions: what if God is not enough? What if I find out that He isn't enough? What if, at the end of the day, this is all we have?

But He was kind enough to throw a challenge back to me. He asked me to really seek Him, and He will prove that He is - He will prove that He is everything.

What will he prove in the months to come? I don't know, but I am excited, and for once, I know this: I want to finish, and I want to finish well. Hell, I want to finish and beat everyone else, but that's my pride talking.

I want to finish something. Something that adds more value to both myself and the world. Something that will meet both my personal aspirations as well as help make the world around me that little bit more beautiful - or at the very least, bearable, although I'd like to think life is beautiful.

This time around, I will.

as

Walking Back

I took a small detour down memory lane yesterday, after visiting the KLIAF in Mines. It was a place with a significant memory. What happens to all these, I wonder? What happens to all the people and places that you have inside you? What happens when you do not want them to be there anymore?

It was a road I've never taken in years - fact of the matter is that I've forgotten about it entirely, having only used it once, and yesterday, when going to Mines, I recognised it.

It was pouring badly by the time I got to visit in the evening - thunder and lightning was playing catch through the dark skies, and the rain was slicking the roads dangerously. I've forgotten about condition of the roads here - I remember always scrunching my face when I play with the wheel trying to avoid them.

I remember the first time I went to that park. It was in the middle of the afternoon, so there was no one, just the heat, the unending whrrr of cicadas interspersed with the occasional drone from the highway.

And you.

I challenged a friend a few days ago to be more honest in her writing - to write as it is, as she is, and not as the world perceives her to be. Easy to say, less so to do, and so I am trying to follow my own words and her steps.

And be a little more fucking honest with myself. Memory is a beautiful place to be, its lanes shady and warm. In reality, the place was absolutely inundated. There was no lighting by the time I parked the car, just torrents of rain - the kind that presses a mute button on the world, and all you hear is the rain.

Then I got out of my car and walked right into it. Have you ever stood in the rain? Not walk in it trying to go to the bus stop or walk through it hoping for shelter - just stand in it, just because.

I revisited a place in my memory, a beautiful place, and now I'm soaked through and I loved it.

I loved this place, but haunted as it is now - haunted by memories and goodbyes - I love it still. I was so scared to come back here, to revisit the place, that's why I left it alone for so long.

Having come for a piece of myself which I believe was left there for keeps, I think, it was a transcendental experience. One I needed, and deep down, I believe, I wanted.

It's not often I write something so personal, and while it is a little cryptic, it's still here, as a reminder to myself in the event I lose myself a little again.
as

When God Slaps You

And the change continues.

Yesterday I went to a meeting with Pastor GT Lim and his group of talented young men, and the one thing that I will take away from it is this: these guys are so simple.

Now, the chaps from Oxford have another meaning for simple - it means stupid, but that is not what I mean here. Pastor Lim's ministry is music, and the group youths under him (who are launching an album in Viva today) are incredibly gifted. They speak Mandarin, and I don't, but music is a universal language.

To my point, they are so simple. Their love for Christ, and what He is, is just that.

But none of their lives have been simple, so how can it be? Their testimonies are so impactful due to the lives they've led, the struggles they've endured, and knowing how complicated it was and still could be, they still believe simply and easily.

It's freaking amazing.

For some time now, I've asked God, Lord, why is my Christian walk so powerless? I hear all these amazing things that You've done for other people. Where's mine?

And then last week, He reminded me of a story another pastor told me:

There was an orphanage in Africa that really needed money to pay their bills, and to continue feeding their orphans. The proprietors - a husband and wife team - are Christians, and daily they pray and fast and seek for a miracle, because come end of the month, they placed would be foreclosed. At the end of the month, on the day of payment itself, the wife prayed one simple prayer again, God, please help us..

And then, screeching around the corner, came a sportscar, who stopped right in front of the orphanage, and called out to them, here, for your bills, and dropped a bag of cash through the open window. It was exactly - not close, not more, exactly - what they needed.

The pastor, who is telling me the story, asked God, Lord, where is my screeching sportscar? Why not help me out too?

And God gave him a konk on the head and asked him, would you rather be the one who is fasting and praying day and night, worrying about finances, or do you want to be the one in the sportscar, screeching all over the place, helping people in need as I've called you?

For months now, I've asked God too, Lord, what about me? Where is my screeching sportscar? I get immensely jealous when I hear Him do such great things, but I never see anything like it. My Christian testimony is based on a theoretical understanding of the Bible; I've never had to pray for my next meal, because I am blessed with all I need.

And I ask God what about me?

Then He gave me a slap. I give you everything you need, so you can give it away and be a blessing, not to stand and ask for more. Be the person in the screeching sportscar, because I have given you everything you need to do it.

I mean, wow, what a rebuke. I have never heard God so clearly before in my life - and I know no one else in the world can slap you and make you feel so loved at the same time.

I know it's a simple message, but maybe we need to change our perception. Instead of looking askance at your brother and asking why give him and not me, Lord, ask, Lord, what can I give my brother today?

It's a simple message, but like life and loving God, simplicity is the key.

as

Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace

Hello, dear Reader.

I've been gone for a while. I know, I know, I always disappear, leaving people and friends behind. It seems to be a recurring failure that I can't seem to shake. In this age of all-pervasive media, I think disappearing is in itself an achievement, although for those that care about me, my bouts of disappearance can really try friendships. It's a wonder, sometimes I think, that I have so many people around that care, and because of you, yes you, I shall endeavour to be a part of here and now, and not be apart from it.

So, before I begin, this is a small diversion from my usual writing - it's quite personal, so here goes.

Like I said, I disappear. It's what I do. In essence, it's not much different from running away. Even though I am in a great relationship now, last year, around this time, my previous relationship was going the way of Titanic, and I did what I did best - run away. I quit social media, I stopped meeting new people, and if I am being honest, I neglected a lot of things close to my heart. I was asked this question the other day: What matters to me?

Last year, I would have answered that question would a dozen or so passionate answers, coupled with some very long-winded explanations. This time around, my answer was this: nothing. Nothing matters. Sad, yes? Ask yourself this: What cannot you lose? The answer would be everything that matters to you. And for me, I have nothing I cannot lose.

And so, all at once, it seemed like everything was as Soloman said, 'a chasing of the wind'.

Through all that, it seemed even God was quite far away. I am sure even when I don't hear Him, He hears me, but like I said, I was running away from everything that made me, me. The sagacious wisdom of hindsight afforded that a relationship fails because one was not good enough, and since I was not good enough, I didn't like any part of who I was and stopped being it.

And so, only upon that realisation was I able to move forward, and now, forward I've moved - or maybe I am just back to where once was, and now am moving forward.

Echoes, silence, patience and grace. It's a line from Home by Foo Fighters and aptly, I am returning home. We all hear echoes of who we used to be, and compare it to who we are now. Sometimes all we have is silence. Some will try to fill the silence, but some, like me, let it consume us.

And when the silence has faded, we realise that patience and grace was afforded to us, sometimes by those who could ill afford it, but afforded nonetheless. It is amazing what these two can do for you, and to you.

It's been a long road, and finally, here I am, and I am sure I will eventually find something, or something will find me.

So, after the heavy period of self-reflection, a little update on my comings and goings.

I have been accepted as an Intern at autogridz, a motoring lifestyle magazine (if you're wondering what that means, hit me up, or you can check the website out), and I hope to be able to go into the industry full-time after this season.

Of course I'm excited - I have a dream, and I will tell you about it one day, but in essence, this is one step closer to it.

And to end this with an apt quote:

'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...'

as

You Die Every Seven Years

On average, the cells in your body will see seven summers.

This means that somewhere, under all the facade and the bluster and the talk and the walls, a little piece of the real you is dying. And as you read this, dies. Died. Dead.

It means that you are never who you were yesterday. No one ever stays the same. Nothing is as it were. Everything changes.

On average, a human being is only ever the same for seven years. After that seven years, that part of him dies.

A little piece of you dies every day. And every day, we just let it. Unstoppable, irrevocable.





But then again, new cells replace those that go every day. The old ones are no good. And so our body recycles what is old, using them for growing new ones.

We, each and every one, inherently, biologically, we're hard wired for change. And to grow. And to discard what is bad and to grow what is good.

We are wired for change. We are built to create what is good.

Believe it.
as

The Flailing Chicken

I've been away for months now. And partly, it's because I am afraid to put my thoughts into words. Imagine that, a writer with a fear of his own written word. I do not read blogs, I do not open myself to inspiration, because I am afraid of the feeling of inadequacy; not just because they write well - they do it with excellence - but because I don't want myself mirrored in their words.

Mostly, it's because they are so..inspired to make that change. To be better. To do better. To want better.

And I just don't. I find it so hard to care, to give anything worth a damn about anything that is not directly related to myself and my circumstance. It's a shitty way to live. And the worst part is, I know this is no way to live. The first step to solving a problem is to acknowledge the problem, but I barely think it's a problem anymore. And that's a problem.

No, nothing bad has happened in my life. My life is absurdly good; I have love, I have money, I have my little hobbies, I have a direction for the next couple of years. Sounds like I belong with octogenarians, but I'm not even 25 yet. No responsibilities worth mentioning, no hardships worth recalling.

You read this and you're thinking I'm blessed - yes I am, blessed thrice over. But I can't find it in me to want to be that change anymore. Where's that fire that was there 2, 3 years ago?

Really. The past couple of years - and I am not fishing for compliments or carrying myself in any kind of metaphorical straw basket - you tell me I've made a difference. That you look up to me and in my own way I've inspired and affected you. But I just don't see it. I don't see what I've done. Maybe a visionary can work without immediate, tangible fruits, but I am no visionary. I look back at my 23 years, and all I see are footprints on a shore. When the tide comes in, everything is washed away.

I went through a couple of episodes of One Tree Hill, and I remember who I was then: a little naive and wholly given over to music. I can barely find songs that speak to me these days. My soul is - without going into hyperboles - missing a rhythm. The tune it danced to has gone silent. No, more accurately, my soul has turned tone deaf and now dances like a chicken being chased by a farmer intent on making it supper.

Desperately flailing, trying to stay alive, but failing and then, dead.

Okay, so one hyperbole. I'll stop. Pinky swear.

My Dad told me that my generation (he could be just referring to me, but was being generous) is soft and too idealistic. I don't disagree. He said he became an engineer because he had to feed himself, and later, his family. He never gave a chickens arse (my words) about his calling, about fighting the good fight. He did what he had to and he did it honestly (really, I don't know a person more ethical). That's all. And after much hindsight, he loves it and he's good at it.

For some reason this struck me profoundly. Are we - or rather, am I - so idealistic that I can't just find a path and walk it righteously and be fulfilled? The answer is, no, no I can't, but then again, my calling came to me blindly as I read a book by Paulo Coelho, so who's to say?

But to my point. I guess, to put it bluntly, I can't find it in me to fight for my country anymore. I can't say for sure I'll stay here and forgo opportunities outside. Feels like the dreamer in me has been clobbered violently to death by the hyperbolic farmer.

as

For My Prettiest Friend

And so, I begin again.

A similar road, a different ending.

How does one mould two different parts of his being into one?

Because a part of me wants you to continue growing and learning and becoming the woman you can be.

And the other is selfish and obtuse and usually walks with his head in the clouds.

I wonder why here and why now. And I think to myself, that's not the right question. Why now is never the right question.

I don't have the right question. I don't have the answers to non-existing questions.

I just know that this is good. And right.

For the longest time, it seems that I had to remind people that life can be good, and life can be beautiful, and life can be more than what we think it could be.

And for the first time in my life, I am reminded of that. That life is beautiful and good and people can truly not have an agenda.

You remind me of purity, of hope and of second chances.

I don't know how the story will end, but you and I, we can find out together.

as

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

As you would know by now, we (the team and I) have been working and writing and designing a report that features the youths of Malaysia. The report is finally now in the press, and, I can't say I don't feel a sense of loss that a chapter of my life is closing again. The journey has been so much of everything - experiences, new people, deadlines, sleepless nights. The journey has even been about just goofing around with a few friends and having fun with them while doing something that we are all passionate about.. But, above all, the journey has been about change.

Without giving any of the report away here, my editor, mentor, and above all, friend, closed the report with these words:

Instead explore and be open, because opportunity often presents itself in the least expected places, and who knows – that might be the beginning of our legacy.

How many people can point to one moment in life and say "That moment. That moment was the one that changed everything. That moment made me. That moment was the beginning of my legacy."

How many are blessed with this awareness?

This, this moment, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, whoever you are with, is no coincidence. It is correct and right.

You are meant to be in this exact spot, in this exact time, with this exact person, in this exact circumstance. Don't ever doubt that.

This, here, now, be it alone or with a person you love. This could be the first day of the rest of your life.
as

A Peck & A Pat

I stalked an old couple around the mall today.

I know, I know, everyone sees an old couple tottering around together and their first reaction is awww, how cute. I think mine went mostly along the same lines, although there was another reason why they piqued my interest.

Imagine this. A guy, old enough to be a great grandfather, pushing a lady of similar stature around a mall in a wheel chair, walking slowly, her hand over her shoulder to hold on to his as he wheels her about.

Every time he leaves her to go into a shop (not often, but the chair can't fit sometimes), he gives her a small peck on her white, fluffy hair and she will pat his hand. He goes in and comes out and again it repeats. A peck and a pat.

It was one of the sweetest scenes I have ever seen. They never passed a word between them, but she will hand him a bottle of water now and again and he will give it a sip and pass it back to her.

He had a twinkle in his eye all the time. Imagine that old grumpy guy from Up. Yes, he was very much like him, except in every single way. It was not a chore to wheel her about, he really, actually seemed to be enjoying it. Occasionally he would bend down slowly to whisper something into her ear and she would pat his face lovingly.

I don't know why this couple just..struck me. He came up to me to ask for directions, and thanked me in a toothy grin as I pointed him the right way.

I asked him, how long have you been married.

His immediate reply was all my life.

I don't cry much, or even easily, but that just brought a tear to my eye.

In a way, this reminded me of something. You know how, as a kid, all you ever needed was what was essential in life. Food, clothes, a few toys, love, and you're good to go. As we grow up, we accumulate stuff, we get more complicated. We eat strange and interesting foods, we have bigger and more expensive toys. Even love becomes more complicated.

And then, at 80, it's as if we are coming home from all that. Food, toys, everything becomes as they were, simple, uncomplicated. Even love. Love becomes a quiet peck on the head, and an affectionate pat on the hand.

In essence, maybe that's all everyone will ever possibly need out of another person. A hand to hold and a head full of hair to kiss.

as

There Is Always a Third Option

One of my favourite poems starts off like this:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...

Two roads. And that's the crux of it, isn't it? Always there is a choice, a decision to be made, with ripples that you'll probable still see 20 years down the road. A T-junction.

I was faced with one of them this year. A choice, between shoving my anger into someone's face, or shoving my face into my anger. Two choices.

You may not realise this, but there is always a third choice as well. You have a choice of just, letting it go. That's it. No shoving anything anywhere.

There is always a third option, and with time and some perspective, it usually is, by far, the best road to take yet.
as

The Bricklayer

There was a big pile of bricks on the floor.

She looked at it, and without a word, started to arrange them. Brick by brick, she slowly arranged them neatly on the ground.

The new pile began to take shape, and passer bys would ask her what she was doing. She gave them a strange look and said I'm putting bricks together.

They asked her what it was. She replied with a shrug and continued.

Sometimes she threw away bricks that were broken, sometimes she kept them and added them to the pile. Layer by layer, it began to take shape, and after two years, she deemed it worthy.

They asked her why she stopped, why it is now worthy.

She said her job is complete. She only wanted to build a foundation.

A foundation to what, they asked her.

Another shrug. A foundation to whatever, she said. It can be anything, everything. Whatever it wants to be. It is now time for it to build itself.

It can be anything is wants to be. I believe it can. All it needs now is to believe in itself.
as

I Miss

Writing God-awfully long letters and emails.

Standing outside in the rain.

Making music.

Driving for hours.

The sun.

The sea.

Being somewhere else.

Writing news stories.

That feeling when a book writes itself.

Winter.

Random people, all around the world.

Coffee (not the stuff I make)

Running, Swimming, Hiking

Going somewhere new

Connection

You

Clean and Free: BERSIH 2.0

People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people.

Alan Moore 

Firstly, let me just say that I love my country, and for all its flaws, the current government did see us through many tough times over the past 50 years. If you don't believe it, let me just ask you, how many of us were severely affected by the recent economic disaster that saw unemployment rates in the U.S. rise to 8.9% (Wiki)? For comparison, during the same time period, Malaysia's highest was 4.1% (TradingEconomics).

Still, there's so much that is not right, so much that could be right, and so much that should be. I am not advocating reformation, I am not advocating we march and disrupt peace in our capital. What I want, what I believe in, is, plain and simple, democracy.

Democracy, that's all. That's all we want.

I won't tell you about that day; you probably already know about it via unbiased media, but here are some pictures I took.

Home

My brother is leaving to the U.S in almost exactly a month. I can't help but think that we are so similar in so many ways. My other personality, the talkative one, the child-like one, the one who plays computer games, comes to the fore especially around him. I guess that's what little brothers are for.

He's leaving, and I just realised that I would be diminished somewhat by his absence. He's a part of the support structure in my life - the people who are ever present and always around, the ones you take for granted because they never go anywhere. My life is stable and I stay grounded, all thanks to people like him.

I wonder why it never occurred to me sooner.

I used to think I'm overly optimistic, and overly carefree; a boy who reads too much and dreams too big. I just realised that I am allowed to be who I am, because of all these people, the support structures that each and everyone of us have in our lives. They provide the stability that I need - and never understood - and in that stability, allowed me to want to go out and just live, with the knowledge that if ever I needed to come back, home will always be there.

And that, to me, is the truest sense of the word home.

Home is not just where your heart is. Home is wherever these people are, the people whose hearts are for you.

It's nice, having some place to always come back to.
as

Words, Hands, Hearts

Words. Hands. Hearts.

Three words that could very nearly sum up everything that has happened in my life the past year. Very nearly, because this is one of those times that they are not enough.

I don't like goodbyes. I like the opportunities that come with it, the excitement with knowing that life is moving on. I even like the part of missing someone, be it a friend or someone more, because then you know that they mean something in your life, and you fight to keep that bond ever more alive.

This year I've had to go through a list of goodbyes, friends leaving to dangerous places, and even more, saying goodbye to someone very close to my heart. It wasn't easy, it will never be, because if it is, then that person definitely didn't mean much. I won't say my heart broke, because most people don't give the heart the credit it deserves. And even if it does, and it will one day, in the words of a song:  a heart that's not worth breaking, isn't worth not much at all.

Really, your heart is stronger than you give it credit for, so take a chance. And if it ends, then, let go.

Let go. It's not an instant change. Letting go is not about throwing your now directionless love away. It's not about trying your damnedest to forget memories or putting them in the strongbox of your mind, locking it and throwing away the key, afraid of the contents and how they will make you feel. It's not about throwing yourself into the arms of the next waiting person, not about smothering that feeling of emptiness with sex or drugs, because to not do so will be to actually feel.

It is everything that is opposite. It is a journey that takes much time and effort. It is about not being afraid of how you feel. It is about knowing that you loved that person, and knowing that you can still do that without needing reciprocation, because that is what it was supposed to be. It is about growing when you're alone. Letting go is about cherishing the memories, but not being afraid of making new ones. 

It is about knowing that words, handwritten together on the tablets of both hearts will always, always be details in your fabric.

And in the end, that's it. Just words, hands and hearts.
as

23 Years = 8395 Days = 201480 Hours

This place has been kind of bleak, kind of like a place hopes and dreams go to be run over by a car and left to die...

All that is going to change, hopefully.

I have officially seen 23 years today. 8395 days. 201480 hours. That's a lot of hours. Even as I am writing now, another one goes by. As is tradition, I go back through the year and try to break it down into words, try to go back up memory lane to see what I've done, and what I would redo, and maybe even what I won't do - a kind of playbook to make the coming year better. This year, however, will be different.

This year, I am going to count my blessings. This year, I am going to remember everything that made me smile, everything that gave me fulfillment, and everything that made me grow.

My calling in life found me over the past year: to change lives through the written word. Opportunities have come my way, even when I didn't knock. People showed their love, and I made some more life-long friends. Life-long friends showed the reason they will always be in my life, though miles may come between us. My family remain my pillar of rock and, in their silent way, gave constant encouragement.

I've loved, and was loved, and for that I will always count myself as blessed amongst men. For some reason a local newspaper hired me and I saw first hand the broken landscape of our media. I've traveled to the beautiful land of England, a childhood dream, and I enjoyed every freezing second of it. Through this all, God has been good and I can sense a new season approaching, along with the closing of this current one.

People come and go, lessons are taught and learned, a way found, lost, and found to be eventually lost again. The past year has been quite a ride, and more living has been done in this one year than I ever did in the past 23. You say 'this is sad!' but I say at least I found this out at 23.

I remember saying something here, something about older but not wiser. That was true then, but I can safely say this time around that I am older, and I am, finally, a little wiser.

as

It's 5.30. It's quiet and peaceful, no sound but the drone of my fan. The room is dark; the light from my old laptop barely illuminating anything but my fingers on the keys. It's 5.30 and I can't sleep. Maybe that's a good thing. I review the work I've backlogged, thought about my attempt at writing a book, thought about inking my body, mentally went through what needs to be done the next day (actually today). I just cleaned my room of the things that I've accumulated over the past year - threw some away, kept some in cold storage. Sleep is a waste of time. But then again, maybe a few hours of blessed oblivion is a good thing. I've not been paying my debt. Or maybe, given my dreams lately, I may never sleep again. Scary things, those dreams. Twisted, but at the same time, it paints my subconscious in vivid technicolour. My subconscious and I are very well acquainted now. There's no music, rare, because I don't want to disturb the quiet, which is ironic, because in itself the silence is disturbing. I want to talk to someone, which is a very rare feeling for me. I am usually very at home with my own thoughts for company, but tonight, I guess I feel a little lonely. Can't remember the last time I felt this way. In fact, I don't remember much of the past few years. Which may be a good thing. In a few years, I'll forget about now. It's not a weakness, to admit to being lonely. Humans are social creatures after all. I remember thinking at one time, about all the places I wanted to go, how beautiful it'll finally be when I do eventually get there. And then, I opened my heart a little and realised that those moments will be hollow if there was no one to share them with. A picture won't reaffirm my existence, nor words. People will. So, no, it's not weak, admitting to being lonely. The darkness is a comfort. It hides much that I don't like to show.

as