‎”Become like a sheet of blotting paper and soak it all in. Later on you can figure out what to keep and what to unload.” — Haruki Murakami

That is the state of my what-used-to-be blank canvas.

Utterly soaked and inundated with again, many questions and uncertainties and the ever-compounding “what-ifs”. I always thought it will be a nice picture, at the very least, but now I realise it is never going to be this way, which is good, because when it has been reduced to that state, even if  it exists in that figment of your imagination, you will stop pushing; stop learning and just stop.

Nevertheless I dream of  my next holiday destination. The last one in Bali was not that bad.

Bali with Cais and the gang

I still wish I can spend more time in cafes, dreaming, chatting and people-watching.

My feeble attempt at food photography

Catching up with Globetrotter before she zips away to another faraway land

Or holding birthday surprise parties for people who matter.

greengirl's 23rd birthday. she felt like a princess

I want to know your writing style

Read a great blog just now. I’m glad I have many friends around me brandishing that mighty sword. Each of them has his or her own unique style that I admire.

I was recently asked, during one of the “chit-chats” that I attended to you know, fill up my blank canvas with colours, (For the uninitiated, my blank canvas=damn exciting, romanticised future)

“What do you write?”
“What’s your writing style?”

In that split of a second, I thought for a while that those questions were a little too personal. Maybe it is that defensive mechanism arising out of a way to preserve the self esteem of a half-baked writer. Or perhaps it was the guilt that has been lurking forever in the nooks of my subconsciousness that I have probably never taken this (writing) seriously enough. Whatever it was, alarm bells went off in my head.

“I blog. And…” I started only with the slightest bit of sheepishness and then grew in confidence after the word, “blog”. On hindsight, I may have appeared neurotic.

One of them seemed to truly understand. I really contemplated about the second question. Another one chuckled, “oh just give her something, hemmingway or something.”

I couldn’t spin a lie. I tell the truth. When I finally replied with that discerning note of certainty, the woman smiled knowingly (or I perceived it to be a knowing smile).

I know she is a writer too. That shared empathy is hard to miss.

What is your style then? Are you able to articulate?

The Man – a combination of traits found in friend’s

Lying on my bed, stricken with guilt about my progress or lack thereof with my revision of my last exam (yes, the last one after 20 years of formal education) yet, tonight I know I will have happy dreams, I will be delightfully and carefully conjuring another world where my monstrous combination of the Man exists.

Wish me luck.

Epiphany

And you wait. You wait for the one thing
that will change your life,
make it more than it is—
something wonderful, exceptional,
stones awakening, depths opening to you.

In the dusky bookstalls
old books glimmer gold and brown.
You think of lands you journeyed through,
of paintings and a dress once worn
by a woman you never found again.

And suddenly you know: that was enough.
You rise and there appears before you
in all its longings and hesitations
the shape of what you lived.

- Remembering, Rilke

Amid the thumping music, the sardonically liberal movements  even in the fraction of the space that was only equivalent to the size of a tile in my house’s toilet, and the illusionary fog that made you forget that you were in a room full of sweaty bodies clad in skimpy clothes, I had an epiphany.

The story goes like this:

Like everyone else, I have something that I really, really want. Because I really, really want it, I am really, really persistent. (haha. really, really)

I think the persistence was wearing me off, not in the sense that I detest putting in the extra effort. It occurred in a way such that when the outcome doesn’t match the level of effort put in, it would drain off a little of my optimism.

I stomped my feet at Bras Basah MRT station in mock anger and exasperation. “Her internship in XXXX company??! It is only a distributor please! You just cut and paste the global strategy, that’s all!”

(Thank you to V for playing along.)  Come on, I needed to vent. I sounded really bitter on hindsight. (heehee)

However, prior to that, also on the last night of school, I met a fellow schoolmate. He was perhaps like me. He wanted the thing that I have been fortunately given the opportunity to pursue.  (I knew because someone said “you again!” and he was like, “yeah I am persistent.”) He smiled and congratulated me while I sheepishly broke the news to him.

So the epiphany, while I was tossing my head and swaying my body to the catchy rhythm of yet another chart-topping tune, arrived.

Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

The line from the Sunscreen Song dawned upon me.

I should be cherishing this and make it work, really, really, really especially since I do enjoy it.

My misgivings have disappeared.  I may need to convince people that matter to me, but that’s again another story and challenge to tackle later on.

I haven’t stopped trying. I haven’t stopped persisting. In the meantime, make the best out of the situation. All roads lead to Rome, says Strategy Prof! (;