A new year beckons for a new state, a revolution in mind and body – or is that too much to ask for considering that transformations are successive, fragmented and gradual – and so goes the yesteryears of 2014 because what is 2014 and 2015 a mere second from each other, a heave amongst the congestion of soured alcoholic breaths and wasted dreams. I had watched the night flit into the New Year under the non-judgmental glow of God’s grace, clasped tight in M’s perfervid grasp. The pulsating warmth of his palms underlined the unsaid dolorousness and sacredness of the moment – fleeting, temporal and soon to pass. 2015 will be spent (almost) a year away from him and though not necessarily a bad thing for absence of the other offers (another) cocoon for spiritual and personal growth, the unfamiliarity would grew acute (how strange then that dismemberment from familiarity would fester loss). I am greedy by default – for memories especially so. It’s not real loss that frightens me but potential loss; more memories that could have been shared with friends and family. It infuriates me that there can only exist one of me, that it is impossible to be there with my siblings, with Pedro and family and friends and M, (while still having ounces of alone time) and that my temporal and spatial limitations fetters my desire. And so the frustration handicaps and frustrates me such that “maybe not meeting any would be better”. The last day of the old year was spent bidding farewell in the lassie fairze manner that was unbefitting of the torrential emotions/thoughts that brewed within. So much to say but so little conveyed.
Fine, as
all days could be named for a lack of better word, was the day in its
industrial grey, set amidst the susurrus of leaves, the harmonic soft trill of
birdsongs and rustling wind. Except there saw exceptional moments and memories
that would imprint strongly in the fleshed mind and would later on be easily
recalled with a lightning speed (Such was the way memory works). Prince’s limp
tail, Duke’s enthusiasm and the quiet softness of Snuffie eyes – so spirited,
so mellow, so unguarded and so human. The knowing glance, the subtle
understated concern and the unspoken words and beliefs – to take photographs
with M’s family as if I was part of their unit. So in the panoramic Flemish whirl
and swirl of mornings and nights and days, there saw abundant of spiced, hearty
food, endless carefree laughter suffusing across the walk between traffic
junctions, and bellies sated with warmth and companionship.
In 2014 I
have always felt the jarring sensation and acuteness that I might not have
dedicated as much time for myself – in journal-keeping, drawing, scrapbooking
and in reflecting. 2014 was a year without ma,
and “real” planning for days were busied in the idyllic present, without forethought
and real thought. 2014 was a year spent chasing for things that I may not
necessarily desire so. I still like
this, this feeling of solitude and deep reflection. 2014 taught me that people
are inherently good but that goodness is not interchangeable with selflessness;
for although selfless people are often good, the converse may not always and necessarily
be true. It taught me that as much as I
would like to believe that people can be changed, sometimes they remains as they are; that the fervent desire and idealism to change another is as dangerous as
the faults you believe you find in them. For the likely and tendentious faults
you called out may in fact as much reflect your own flawed self – and so patience
and real empathy/understanding is a virtue.
There were
untranslatable regret and remorse and acceptance; that football is a passé - gone
halcyon days of summer baked tans, and fake turf and tears and sweat and deep
loss. (And so loss becomes another motif) That the girl of eighteen whom fell
in love with the game was not merely in love with the game, but with the team and
philosophy. And that playing the sports (and improving oneself in the game) became
a desperate means to revive those clandestine, beat and surreal innocent
felicities of those days - spent together ripened under the scorched sun, under
the tenuous belief and want to better ourselves. It is different now. The unabashed and
pureness of the love is still strung underneath but the metaphors of adulthood
sours passion. Maybe one day I will return again but as of now, I have realized
that the self-berating criticisms and fanning politics is draining and that the
game no longer serves much impassioned exuberance but am riddled with politics.
The weekly affairs have saw me giving up much (time that could have been spent
with friends) (such that I may have gradually lose friends along the way due to
the unmatched timing) (time that could have been used for other means) but it
was an exercise of perseverance and character. And as much as it has shown me
thing, it has also revealed other qualities, priorities and ambitions that
resides within.
Looking
back and forward, on this year (2015) and this day: I promise that I will prioritize
what’s important in my life - and this requires an ongoing active process of reflection
and action - for it is highly romanticized and idealistic to engage in a Sylvia
Plath-like desire of living all shades and nuances of life.
In as much,
I am incredibly thankful to be able to grow as a person and would hope to grow
much more in the later years, in the like-mindedness of Christ.
