Comfortable

"Hi."

Yeah, you too.

The air was clean, sharp. Lightning rumbled in the distance. In the distance a dog was barking. It was perpetually gloomy here, an ever-present cover of clouds that show no respect to the sun.

A whiff of liquid sanitizer. Shampoo. Make-up. Moisturizer. Bare skin. Exactly how I remembered her to be.

Comfortable.

Nonsensical conversation only I would understand.

Nonsensical laughter, because no one else understands.

Silences that say everything, silences that are as we were.

Comfortable.

The floor creaks, the bed is too small, the drift of white outside, the sound of a washing machine working overtime.

Peaceful breathing, eyes closed to darkness, lips singing silent symphonies.

Shivering against the cold, because there was no cover.

Still, it was comfortable.

A gentle touch, palm to palm in a holy palmer's kiss.

One last stolen glance, one last smile.

"Goodbye, Lionel."

and I woke up.
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My Story is Not About Me

So I really tried to leave this place and only write on Mondays, but maybe I need to rethink my plans. Can't seem to get away from here for too long. Like my coffee, I need my daily dose of written words, and my journal can't seem cut it.

This past month or so, I've been quietly self-absorbed in my own troubles, quite oblivious to the world outside and the troubles of those around me. I won't apologise for that; I think everyone is entitled to a little self-pity here and there. Hey, I'm only human. What made me slowly wake up was the people around me. The people who were there, not so much in body but in heart and soul. Strangers who tell me I'll be okay, just because I looked sad. Readers who i.m. me to ask me how I was. Friends who listen quietly. You have no idea how much it meant to me.

And all this made me think. I know you've probably heard this hundreds of times, but your story really isn't about you. My story isn't about who I was, who I am, or who I'll be; it's not about my search to be the best I can be. My story isn't about my mistakes and my triumphs, not about my tears nor fears, not about my brokenness nor my faithlessness.

My story is not about me.

My story is about people. My story is about the hearts I touch. My story is about the change I've wrought in the lives I've met. My story is the joy I see in the eyes of friends, the laughter we share and the times we challenge each other to be more.

My story is the people who go out of their way to make me smile, people who have touched my life indelibly. People who leave little fingerprints on my heart. People who cry with me, people who give more than a listening ear. People who've held my hand as I walked blindly.

Your story is about the smile you share with a random stranger on the train on the way back home from a long day's work. It is about taking a burden that is not yours to carry, and then sharing your load with them as well. It is about sharing your joys with people, because we could all use a little more sunshine. It is about finding that one person, and knowing intuitively that the search is actually over. It is about making music in the rain, about unadulterated fulfillment, about nonsensical ramblings at 3 in the morning, about smiling through the tears. It is about believing in something greater than yourself.

My story is written when I hold out my hand and help write another's. My story is written when I hold out my hand and you reach out to hold mine. My story is written when you reach out and write mine. My story is not about me.

My story is all about you.

courtesy of thegingerbrain

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The Greatest Romance of the 21st Century

Day 7
Location: Portland, Oregon

He said: How can you love someone you’ve never met?

Can you hold a heart if you’ve never held the hand it belongs to?

When you’ve never had the chance to catch a glance from across a crowded room?

Highway miles and desperate hearts keep you apart, but she still keeps you together.

Simple beginnings.

And perfections through silence.

A casual compliment.

A simple acknowledgement.

Knowing there was something different.

Something different about her.

About him.

A smile that wrecks the heart,

Breath you’ve never tasted.

Just minutes counting down to a new start.

She doesn’t have favorites,

He doesn’t have a home.

Open roads and payphones,

He wakes up in the car,

And she wakes up alone.

In a Godless world,

In a faithless society,

He grabs the keys and goes.

To find the very thing no one believes,

That no one sees.

Because he believes in her.

And she believes in him.

And this is the way their story begins…

from Make it Mad: The Greatest Romance of the 21st Century

Editor's Note

I've finally finished a book that I've started since September or August last year.

Sometimes, it is kind of crazy, how simple words can cut and make you bleed.

I'll write something here when my thoughts are more articulate.

Also, I am pinching an idea from a friend, kind of sort of but not quite making my blog a little more interactive with you, my dear readers. We'll see.

Till then, may the sun always shine on you and may your sails always catch the wind.
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Collateral Damage

I have always been from the school of you-won't-get-all-the-answers. And actually, life is such that there will always be less answers than there will be questions. If ever I find I have too many answers, something must have gone wrong. But then again, the irony is that if I stop looking for answers, something must have gone wrong as well.

But this past month has been tough. There are so many unanswered questions, it makes me wonder if I did right by not wanting the answers. I find myself wondering about the whole point of the past year, and I am trying to find a silver-lining. A purpose - a path if you will, mapped by an everlasting hand.

But, assailed with bitter questions that can't be answered, a voice keeps telling me that to love is to be unselfish, that no matter what may have happened, to love is to want the utmost best for the other. It's easy, right? Give all you have; give everything. Give until you have none left, and then give some more. Sure, I can do that.

But what if what is best for her is to remove yourself from the equation altogether? What if she is happier without you? What if she is happier with someone else? Can you do that?

Every single one of my questions is hedged by that little voice. Can I? No, I can't. I am human. But I will try. I am human, and like me, my love is imperfect. But I will try, otherwise every word I've said would have been a lie.

And at the end of the day, I still can't see the silver-lining. You know, sometimes, it is just the way it is. You become a side note in another person's happy ending; a paragraph or two in a book that you thought was yours. All you are is collateral damage; just someone in the way of two people in love. No one meant for it to be this way. No one meant for it to hurt, no one wanted to write your coda. There's no blame to be put anywhere. It is just the way it is.

Who knows, maybe there is no silver-lining; it is just an ephemeral lifeline that I am holding, trying to make sense of the situation. Maybe there is no purpose to this story; there was only then, and there is only now.

And now, there is only me.
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BRB

I am trying to minimise my online footprint.

In an effort to do that, I will try to only post here once a week - hopefully I will have something that is worth your time.

And since Mondays are usually when I have not much to do, I will try to post on then.

So, I'll see you later, then.
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You

I feel Your gentle touch in the silky drops of rain

I see Your beauty in burnished sunsets

I hear Your voice in the quiet sighing of the wind

I revel in Your passion as You blaze through stormy skies

I marvel at Your incomprehensible vastness in the starlit night

I smell Your perfume in the sweetness of honey, the scent of flowers

I see Your face in every sunrise

I feel Your hand leading mine as I walk through darkness

I taste Your joy as I taste bits of life

I feel Your lips as You tell me that You love me

I believe because You first believed in me

I live because You choose not to

I see in colour because You painted on my canvas

I see You

You

Lock It Up and Throw Away the Key

courtesy of relentlesschaos

Over the past couple of years, people have whispered many an advice in my ear. Of course I don't remember them all; I'd have to have what they call a photographic memory - actually it's called an eidetic memory, 'photographic' is a misnomer.

The one advice that I actually remember, because probably four or five people have said it to me (I think I wrote about it somewhere), was to guard my heart. To lock it up, and keep the key safe. Or throw it away altogether.

Guard my heart. The context (all of them) was about falling in love. I'll get to this later, but looking it now, I think it encompasses more. There's so many things out there that can capture a young man's heart. Money, a cause, fame, girls (not love, girls), andsoonandsoforth.

I wish I could say with absolute conviction that I don't want money nor fame for putting my gifts to good use. It's not the main product, but it is a by-product. John Eldrege said that every man needs a cause to fight. The man needs it; it builds the warrior within.

Apropos, what I don't understand is what they expected I would do when they said guard my heart. That I should pray? No offense to the good people out there, but I think sometimes, we over spiritualise things. We ask God about everything. About life decisions, about money and whether we should have milk with our coffee or order an extra large at McDs.

I believe God gave us our acumens for a reason. Use it, not sit and ask, all the time. So when they say to guard my heart, I won't sit on it. If I meet someone, I'd dive right into the deep end, give it my all. Did they expect me to put a toe and test the waters?

You might say that's one of the surest ways to be hurt. Hell, yes it is.

But then again, it is also the surest way to live.

How can a person, go about life poking tentatively here and there? If I find a cause worth fighting for, I'll bleed myself dry for it. If I want something, I'd go for it. And if I tell you I love you, I won't tell you how much, because to add superlatives is to cheapen my words.

Don't get me wrong, I am not saying there is no place for rational thinking. Read the above statement : God gave us good senses and wisdom. Use it.

What I am saying is that to be afraid of being hurt, betrayed or a story with an unforeseen ending is no reason to stop going for it and living.
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Coincidence is Just a Word

For the past half a year, I've been looking for a new project to help. And I mean, hands-on work. Not sit-at-the-keyboard types (but to everyone their own).

I asked God this afternoon how I could help. He didn't reply. I told Him I don't want to go through the Internet, I don't know how trustworthy some are, or if they really need help at all. He didn't answer. So I let it be.

And then, ten minutes ago, a friend reminded me of something she sent me awhile ago, and instantly, a light switch flipped in my head.

I wonder if this is God saying here you go you stubborn boy.
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Perpendicular Lines

Who would have thought that we would be like perpendicular lines?