Passion

Winding down the year and reconsidering some of the passions that have developed over the years which have waned, slowly but surely. Some to a pleasant lull that will likely pick up again once plateau's are over (tango, still the main core interest), others relegated to a I-have-no-time-for-this phase (yoga, pole) and past passions with no more regular counterpart to keep up the interest (tennis). Then there are the latent ones, the ones which had required so many years of investment, but now barely feature in adult life (music).

Somehow have signed myself up for Choir on Sunday. I am terrible at singing, have never attempted to, and am now subjecting myself to choir in German. This should be interesting.

But the more you listen to people describe their passions, be it in the past, do you realise that the statement "everyone you meet knows something you don't" really rings true.

To rediscover that? Aye, that's the rub. Some people we meet later on in life seem to be passionless, and that's the most worrying thing isn't it? I've always admired the fact that when dance becomes the passion, it never quite wanes, and it is, the most expressive form and display of ones personality and physicality.

Especially Tango. Tango, oh tango.

Anonymous

Being in Singapore is kind of like being...in a Malaysian version of a Western city. But what's more important is, that I'm anonymous. I tend to end up with a completely different persona of myself whenever I'm taken out of my comfort zone, and sometimes I wonder why I do not do that when I'm in KL. Too much history?

Someone got down to the root of it when I say that I stay on weekends because I might as well make use of the time. Not really, it's more the fact that being away from home makes me so much more independent than if I were to be staying at home. Grown up? I think so.

Ann Arbor was kind of like that. Anytime I'm away from the home setting do I realise that, yes, I can survive and I'll be fine. I'm a grown up. Even if all I'm doing is pretending to be. Doesn't help that the equilibrium and rock of home has been turned upside down to the point that sometimes I wish I could just escape it all. Too many worries about the future. Too much guilt-tripping.

Sigh.

Job well done
Standing ovation
Yeah you got what you wanted
I guess you won
And I don't want to hear, they don't know you like I do
Even I could've told you
But now we're done

'Cause you play me like a symphony
Play me till your fingers bleed
I'm your greatest masterpiece
You ruin me
Later when the curtains drawn
And no one's there for you back home
Don't cry to me, you played me wrong
You ruin me

I know you thought
That I wouldn't notice
You were acting so strange
I'm not that dumb
And in the end I hope she was worth it
I don't care if you loved me, you make me numb

'Cause you play me like a symphony
Play me till your fingers bleed
I'm your greatest masterpiece
You ruin me
Later when the curtains drawn
And no one's there for you back home
Don't cry to me, you played me wrong
You ruin me

We're that song you wouldn't sing
Just a broken melody
You're killing me

You play me like a symphony
Play me till your fingers bleed
I'm your greatest masterpiece
You ruin me
Later when the curtains drawn
And no one's there for you back home
Don't cry to me you played me wrong
You ruin me

Karma

We flew through a storm getting into KLIA on Friday, a real proper show of flashing lightning, swirling clouds and 15 backed up planes causing a 2 hour delay to a 1 hour flight.

Descent through the clouds reminded me of the cloudy murkiness that engulfed us diving in the waters of Sipadan in January, where the only distance you could see was up to the hand extended in front of you, a wall of coral on the left and on the right and below, nothingness stretching into blackness.

Dancing raindrops skittered across the plane of the double-paned window for what felt like eternity, all I could see was the dense white fog and the flashing illumination of our plane wing light reflecting off the mass of clouds. Sparkling sparkling raindrops reminding me of the million stars at the top of Rinjani at 530am. Before a break and there, Home lay below. The snaking lights of highways or the patches of neighbourhood lights, circles breaking the darkness, illuminating just only what was below them. A gate, a petrol station, nothing high rise, just monopoly-like houses.

Karma. This whole week feels like Karma. One week of dancing til 4am's and another of working til 2am's.

I am really. really. tired.

Of Beer and Crabs

I was always an awkward teenager. I don't think there's any way to deny it, but teenage years sucked between the acne, glasses and untameable hair.

Somewhere in between stuff grew out. The hair became far more versatile, acne finally cleared post uni with a dosage of Roac and the glasses was the last to go at the ripe old age of 25. Despite that, there's another set of worries coming about such as the impending wrinkles and tired eyes that don't seem to be going away. There really is such a thing as wearing your age on your face, and apparently I'm a bit too readable.

But obviously this is probably the top of the curve and it's all downhill from here, man I really need to be more optimistic.

Had a great time last weekend catching up with someone that I'd only really met in the earlier part of the year, but sometimes you do realise that you click with people in sudden and unexpected ways. Barring age differences. Conversations about family, about life, about food, about dancing. When conversation isn't forced it is so comfortable and I've realised that people I click with all have family issues. Don't know what it is, maybe it translates into a certain personality that has learnt how to deal with adversity from a very young age.

Besides that tried my first AcroYoga class with C and dinner at Newton after before rushing back to get ready for Sunday's milonga which was fun, other than a very violent crash of heels of which I was not the recipient of. Oops.

Good weekend are of course followed up with Mondays from hell. The usual.

Back home this weekend, CAN'T WAIT!

Checking In

6 month project in Sg has seen me move across the boundaries for a M-F job. So far hours have been hectic and I have yet to picture an outcome, which is..worrying at best. Catastrophic at worst, but you know, life will sort its shit out eventually. And nothing is as bad as it seems, unless it's a death. Then yes, it's really as bad as it seems.

Singapore so far has been a hectic world-wind of dancing, brunching, lunching, dinner-ing and a bit of drinking thrown in for good measure. There's quite a bit about being away from home (much like Uni felt) that often unleashes a very *ahem* manic Id side of me that the other sides often feel the backlash of for, far, far too long.

Crossing boats. Always. Why is that? Is it more of the fact I need to introduce more recklessness into my KL lifestyle, or is it that KL just isn't a conducive environment for it? Probably the latter.

But what can I change right? Forging my own career and destiny often felt like something I would look to pa for approval for, now that he's gone I often feel more adrift than ever. Elated at the possibilities, but so, so fearful because there are no check-ins anymore. Welcome to adulthood, here's the keys now go.

Life happens like that.

The hardest thing you will ever do...

What is it? I've never been one to give up, in fact, I've never reached the point where I've said I would give up. But last Saturday at 7am in the morning, I sat on the rocks on the final stretch of Mt Rinjani and uttered the words, "guys, I don't think I can do this".

There is something very scary about looking inside and finding...nothing. Nothing but a gaping abyss where once your goals and hopes and dreams used to once upon a time sit. Nothing in the strength of motivation or that little niggling competitiveness that pushes you to want to even TRY. Nothing.

That stretch of Mt Rinjani could act as a metaphor for my work life currently, where sometimes I just sit back, look at what I'm doing and wonder whether there's anything more to this. I do not want to be 40 and be facing the same set of work. I really don't. That is what I'm so sure at this point, if of nothing else.

Anyway, Rinjani was a refreshing, albeit an out of character moment for me, normally I would be the person hauling everyone else up the mountain but this time I just felt. Tired. Mentally and physically. That being said, some of the best moments on this trip proved to me as it always happens to be, that when you put your mind to it, you can do anything. Absolutely anything. Even when you have nothing left to pull out.

Other moments like sitting by a firelight, finally feeling warm. There's something so elemental about a fire, after all we are reliant on aircons most of the time, but a fire? A fire for warmth and not for cooking...now that is a treat, and makes me marvel at how life can be so different by circumstance. I could be in a tent in the middle of a Sahara living a nomadic lifestyle, or at the top of the highest skyscraper on this earth. All because of where I am born, and maybe that's what is so interesting about life, that everyone lives it so, so differently, and yet we only catch but an inkling of what life is like for some people outside of the radius of our normal lives. And maybe this was always the case through history? That everyone lived so differently, settled across continents, lives taking shape and taking root until we all ended up with different languages, culture, skin colour, food.

Stories, stories of death. Of life. Of magical caves that deem you worthy of entering. Of seven mysterious deaths off a cliff. Of things within the crater lake. Things that you respect. Especially when being told in the dead of the night in a forest. Good god.

Sometimes you're faced with unexplained things, which you have to just accept as is. There are things in this world that cannot be explained. Reality is at best tenuous.

It hurts

"I'm eighty kid. If I die now, it doesn't really matter at all. I was laughing when I made it pass seventy but here? Here it's just the wait. Four out of my seven closest friends are already dead. The last one who lived just around my house and used to hang out with me just passed away, I still remember calling his son about it like it was yesterday. Nowadays I just think whether I lived a good life. And I believe, the answer is yes, and I'm ready for death.
"So in this long life, what was your happiest moment?"
"Finding out that the girl I loved, loved me too."

~Faces of KL

All this pain. All this anguish. All the why's and what's and how's that are appearing with MH 17 being shot down over Ukraine. Will this be this century's Franz Ferdinand? Will it? Or will we retract once again into mumblings of sanctions and toothless bites as economies struggle with maintaining their current form.

What is justice? What is justice? Is justice an eye for an eye or the willingness to allow things to go unpunished and to believe in a higher being. I used to think religion exists because humans needed hope on this earth. Now I'm beginning to believe that we need to believe in a higher order because nothing justifies anything that I am seeing with my own eyes now. What happened to doing good and good will come to you? What did those families on that plane do which justifies anything that happens to them?

As I lit my joss stick at the alter of my daily ritual, all the logical side of me could think is, what's the point? Why this anguish? Why hate someone just because they believe that they will die differently from you? I don't understand and I never will. All the theologists in the world can spend their reams of paper explaining the reasoning behind why humans believe in this higher order but logic tells me over and over again that it makes no sense. We fight and fight and fight and argue but when we are dead, we're really dead. Gone. Nada.

I looked at the list of dates denoting the years and months of rituals and absurdly enough, I hope nothing on this Earth gets replicated wherever I'm going next. Please, when I'm up there with my heavenly juice overlooking paradise the last thing I want to worry about are dates and rituals. Nope.  No calender for me please.

Those people lying in the fields or in the trains being guarded by scary scarred men? They are the lucky ones. They are the ones that have escaped this mortal realm, bless their souls.

Death. Death has hovered around me and with me for the past year and I don't particularly want it around any more.

And this fear. This fear that something bad is always lurking around the corner. That roofs are easy to break into. That kidnappings will happen. That car crash. That slip. That illness.

Nothing in life is preventable, and the older I get, the more I realise how we can never escape the footsteps which have tread before us.

Thank the stars? Thank whoever your God is? For really, apocalypse has never felt more real than now.

And we learn, over and over again that we never learn from our past. We are our best killers, our own population control. This brought the war directly to our doorstep, and it will not and cannot be ignored or forgotten as petty squabblings take over the front pages of the local papers again. No. The repercussions of this are beyond us and spiral into abyss that remains unforeseen for now. But echoes of an impending tsunami. Just brace ourselves, hold tight to our loved ones...and pray.

Of stepping outside Boxes

How many times do we really take a step back to see where life is now and where we want to go? Fortune favours the bold, if you don't know where you want to end up, any road will take you there, be free, chase your dreams!

Being spontaneous is a feature that society seems to put on a pedestal, but what about planning? What about goals? What about hard work? We seem so enchanted by the end story that we often dismiss the things that people have had to do to get there. Do ends really justify the means? I hope so.

3 months wrapping up the tail end of a project that I could call my own. Throwing myself into situations that would have made me seize up and freeze just a short number of years ago. Progress? I think so.

Michigan reunions seem to be in full swing this summer. Nicnocs in Sg with Dian, some ice cream, booze and boy gossip. Lulu in KL at an Entrepreneurship Forum, very yummy vegetarian food all around and Football mornings.

What next? Yes, what next indeed. Rinjani in less than a month and I cannot be more unprepared than this. Time to visit Uniqlo soon!

Also in the middle of a 2 day detox now, this is where the ends really better justify the means because it also  means I will not chew anything for 2 days straight. 

Stories

A lady stands encircled by the flickering lights of faux candles in a darkened box theatre past midnight. Third in line and following two named and known performers, she waits patiently as her mic stand is being fixed, barefoot, she is elegant, graceful, lithe and pixie looking. Long fingers, long neck. Sharp nose, delicate eyes and a delicate face. She is mesmerizing. A scarf gracefully encircles her black-clad frame much as theatre performers dress, with the goal of not distracting from expressions and voices.

Taking the time given, she raises all 10 fingers of her hand, telling us that we are going to make it rain. Intrigued my first thought is, voodoo? Rain dance? Before embarrassingly, begin to clap. One finger against a palm. Two fingers against a palm. Three and four fingers against a palm. The box theatre echoes to the rhythmically flawed pitter patter of fingers on palm much like the droplets of scattering rain and I begin to be aware and delight in the aural sounds emanating from such a simple exercise. The men are ordered to stomp their right feet and thunder is then produced before the dying droplets echo and we return to silence.

She follows the rain with an interlude of an old tale. That of a sick grandmother, a loaf of bread and a hunters daughter. Ending doesn’t quite follow the tales of yore though, a rather Maleficent twist-Game of Thrones ends up being the conclusion of this prelude before she launches into the final tale of the night. No reading from the sheets of paper or ipad for this one, no, everything in her mind. Hands fluttering to convey the sense of a Moghul’s palace bedecked for a wedding ceremony, hands slitting a throat and hands riding a horse. Hands graceful as a traditional Indian dancers, voice as elegant and expressions as beautiful.

I am intrigued and inspired, storytelling has been elevated to a level I have never seen before and reminds me yet again how intertwined the arts are, between visuals, aural, rhythm, imagination. Between stories, dance, music and writing. The arts may often be cast aside in favour of their less imaginative counterparts, the math, the sciences and the facts, but nothing can grab your imagination more than the beauty of a simple rhythm, the swoop of a silk clad, heel shod boleo or the sounds of a voice telling you a beautiful. Story.

Halfway There

2014 half gone, been through a lot for this first half of the year, teaching tango, performing tango, going diving, learning new things on this job, keeping in contact with everyone, signing up for crazy things like G4G4 and Rinjani.

It's been pretty good so far, nothing new to report though besides the fact that I've been considering more and more about what next when it comes to going back to school. 4 years almost.

And as people move in and out of your life you learn to forge friendships ever the more quickly, take people at instant judgement, realise that certain situations will never be the same again but are ok with it. You learn that time takes friendships that lasted for the whole of schooling life and turn you into two strangers who really don't particular care about each other anymore whereas friendships forged in the current and now suddenly become your new clique. You learn to be ok with all this and realise eventually that everyone at the core of it, has to be comfortable alone before they can really connect with someone else.

Such is life.

G4G4 was good and as usual I'm fighting itchy bug bites and blistered feet as CC in the wild only ever does best. Think DOE bloody blisters and Perhentian Bug Bites. 13 km of running and 2 km of kayaking as well as an hour crawling up an 80 degree incline hill. Horribly disgusting but the sense of achievement is so palpable. 4th place of 15 teams overall so was a good run on our part. You can do anything as long as your mind is in it, this is why I do these things really. Much like DOE, or Rinjani coming up next it's about pushing my body to the limit as I sit here in the office in silence among people who pretend we don't see each other, each too engrossed in the supposed importance of their work. Words on a ppt. That's what I get paid for.

Foodie trips

Had a quick getaway this past weekend to Ipoh and Penang with the Ethos bunch before the workload starts for the next 3 months. I foresee no holidays until Rinjani, but at least the dry-spell of no public holidays gets broken next Thursday, woot!

Went to Ipoh, ate brekkie stuff, waited eons for the chicken hor fun at Thean Chun before wondering around the Kong Heng/Plan B around the corner. Left for Penang, stopped by Jalan Penang for Cendol and Assam Laksa, then got into the hotel and promptly ended up by the poolside sipping cocktails. Seafood dinner finally arrived at 9:30pm and was gone in 10 mins flat before we went for a foot massage and realised that some of us are super sensitive to pain.

Woke up at 8 to play tennis with the boys before walloping a huge breakfast and floated dugong like in the pool...sat around for awhile more since checkout got extended to 2pm. Drove into town and past Karpal Singh's house, found Ayer Itam Assam Laksa, Mua Chee and amazing sugarcane juice which I promptly spilled all over myself. Also the cleanest public toilets in Malaysia.

Passed out on the way back to KL, before ending up eating dinner in TTDI-yet again, hungry.

Was a good trip! Off to Sg for more project work in the upcoming weeks, ah the travelling life of a consultant, airports need to be closer to home!!!

Mad Men Finale

I cannot believe it's the start of the final season. But before I start lamenting the end of one of the greatest shows I've watched, there's still a full 7 episodes to predict, dissect and figure out for this year and 7 more for next. Shows and books often show you why it's better to leave things to the imagination rather than being too literal, after all, the moment it lingers for too long then it plunges into being quite a bit boring and more like real life than anything else.

It was painful to watch the opening. Don don don, like Harvey Spector but 40 years previously, confident, mysterious, old school charm and looks-left broken on a lonely apartment balcony on a wintry January night. Eeps, how far you have come.

"Mad men is a show about how we never really get over our own shit, instead, the best any of us can do is learn to accept our shit and work within the boundaries of our own paradigms."~tomandlorenzo

Home

We were running through the questions at Ben's the other day and one of them caused quite a bit of thought and discussion. The question was something like, if given RM 5 million would you leave this country and never come back? After much pondering some of us felt that no amount of money would ever make it worthwhile to leave while others were ok with higher amounts (RM 100 million or billions) as justified by the opportunity cost of leaving - ambitious friends I have-.

The thought struck me as I was whizzing down Singapore in a cab, wondering how just across the border, Sg manages to showcase an impressive masterclass on how to become a developed nation in just 2 generations, yet given that, I would never trade the chaos of Malaysia for anything. Weird as it is, even though our wages are lower, QoL that much more impacted, politics and faith in chaos, Malaysia really has become home. It becomes the imprinted bed with a pile of bolsters, it becomes the familiar worn out t-shirt or pair of jeans that fit you just so. Not flashy, not outstanding, but comfortable.

At the same time a home that has changed, become a little bit more uncomfortable to experience, become a bit more conflicted, become a bit more, real.

Obviously my interaction with this country is done with a barrier of privilege in place, what do I know of suffering or poverty? I do not. But why do we often feel apologetic for this? That someone not the average, makes them automatically disqualified from participating in the rhetoric and discussion surrounding the happenings within a country? That isn't fair either is it?

It's been a few years since I've left AA, and even now as I ponder what next, I've realised that complacency has settled in big time. What next indeed.

Stock check on the first quarter of 2014, travel times, diving galore, breakthrough in Tango, performances, writing articles, new phase of work life. All's good.

The Secret-Keeper

"We all have the unique ability to narrate our experiences-to ourselves. We are constantly processing and shaping the information that comes to our brains from our bodies and our senses. We organise all that input into narratives, which form the backbone of our identity. Some of them are about the past, others about the present, and we use that same technique to imagine the future.

In this way we can massage the chaos of our lives and transform it into our stories. This continuous conversation, much of which is unconscious, allows us to elimiate dangerous options. It helps us imagine survival strategies and even make good risk-taking decision. These narratives are not immutable-they change as our experiences change-but they are fundamental. You have to reassemble your identity in a way that accounts for the new information."

~http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201312/the-secret-became-my-life

This was so powerful and reminds me that I've been like a rubix cube for most of my life, still trying to find the right combinations. I have a bad feeling this is going to continue for quite a while more though...

Strangers

There are these moments in life where you find yourself sitting with an acquaintance, and for some reason or another you end the day knowing just about everything in their life.

For some people I find this process takes a long time and constant contact to occur, but for others, it really is that simple, honest, open conversation that dips into memories past to retrieve events and construct dates and emotions- where stories are weaved through time so you see the tiniest glimpse of the threads of their life tapestry.

It's kind of nice because in this cynical jaded world of ours, you find someone who trusts you with their information, who trusts you to listen and who feels comfortable around you, and in return you sometimes reciprocate with the same degree of openness and honesty. It's rare, but when it happens, it's memorable.

In other news, performed my first Tango Solo and it was a blast. Also conducted my first tango class and boy was it exhausting, but so rewarding. I understand why maestros are so tired after a full day now and barely want to dance at milongas!

Pauses

There's always a necessity to just take a step back and breathe. The world likes to interfere with your state of mind, what with running around day in a day out with a hamster wheel of tasks to do, pay bills, do work, shower, workout, meet friends, dance and repeat for the rest of your life.

Sometimes all it takes is a quiet moment to reconnect with yourself and your own expectations, hopes, dreams, disappointments, fears, and with each breath just...release.

I've always been someone who cannot pause. Illustrated by my busy first quarter schedule of 2014 thus far. This has always manifested itself in the way I express myself through music and dance, always rushing, taking a step too quick, instead of savouring and languishing in the pull of a ritardando, a pause or silence. Forever off-tempo and off-kilter just ever so slightly. Always, breathe before you make the move and don't ever just fall into it.

In other news, finally got a breakthrough in Pole. I've realised I cannot go into it when I am exhausted from bootcamp or gym because I cannot hold my own weight as a result and end up more bruised than ever since I'm reliant on body parts pressed against poles to hold me up. Was contemplating not continuing but since I finally can climb the damn thing I'll keep it up and see where it goes.

Wrapping up January

Diving in Sipadan, Diving in Phuket, +50 on 1 gambling session, 1 CNY celebration, Couple of Yee Sang times and plenty more gym and bootcamp and pole dancing. Good start to the year.

Being a woman

Pole dancing has thrown up a lot of questions for me as I watch the teacher gyrate in her bikini bottoms on stage, bodies turned into references of 'boobs' and 'butt' and wondering why I can't arch my back the way she does. I'm in exactly the class that teenage me would have frowned upon, wondering why our bodies matter more than our minds, wondering why physical attributes outweigh my thoughts, actions, dreams and hopes.

But isn't that selfish too? Why do we seem to discriminate against one and not the other? The socially acceptable answer to someone calling themselves fat is, 'love yourself, society sucks, you should be comfortable with yourself rather than answering to someone else'. But no one sticks up the same way if a hot person were stupid, in fact we seem to agree to the affirmation of stereotypes.

Random thoughts that I haven't quite sorted through yet, but anyway, pole dancing. It's weirdly self-affirming which is scary because it really started out, and still is a manner of totally objectifying women as nothing but sexual objects. However tables feel like they turn when it becomes something a woman willingly does, as in, it isn't for the pleasure of men, but for our own pleasure. There's something quite liberating about a thumping bass and hair swinging that I guess most of society would frown upon.

But maybe we should just be less uptight and celebrate our bodies in the best way possible.

The other issue that has cropped up recently is that I am tired of hedging everything I eat. Every friggin thing that I see needs to be run through an internal assessment of 'shit I'm gna get fat', 'have I reached caloric deficit today' and 'do you know how many burpees this equals' before it's put in my mouth. It's actually quite exhausting, and these decisions happen at every single meal. Why why why why why?

I'm often sick of hearing women who are healthy and gorgeous say, 'oh I'm fat' or 'oh I didn't eat rice today', this perennial fear of being fat and unattractive haunts us all the time and it's becoming rather loathsome. Granted, I will probably continue to do it and complain about it, but I often think when I'm 40 or 50 looking back I'm going to scoff at myself too. Sheesh.

Under a starry sky

Sipadan Jan 2014

I am facing a dotted night sky, as clear as only island skies can be. Free from smog and light pollution that blanket a city skyline, the stars come out to play, sparkling lights on a black canvas, irreplaceable by the flashing bulbs of the tallest tower.

Waves lap back and forth, surging, rippling sounds as they crash into the stilts below me and the band plays on with a screech, Coldplay's Yellow suits the mood to a tee. One of their many hodgepodge covers ranging from Richie Ren's "Dui Mian de Nu Hai" to Italian songs such as "La Bamba". Around me the village folks have come to their Saturday night Zouk aka Uncle Chang's, half drunk off cheap alcohol and dancing to Gangnam Style. You know you've made it when a village in the middle of the ocean knows how to dance your dance.

Shoulders acheing from hauling friggin heavy equipment, BCD's and the whole gamut of equipment, oh and my own fats and weightbelt obviously. Putting on flippers with equipment hanging half off the side of the boat and your butt balancing precariously on the edge while wielding your spit filled goggles and shoving your regulator in your mouth before entering the water upsidedown counts as an intense workout in its own right. So does exiting to get onto the boat and trying to put your tank into the right hole.

Other than that, pretty decent dives, but still didn't live up to expectations. I was expecting barracuda's by the thousands and big whales or something, but obviously life doesn't work like that. Got acquainted with tons of turtles and white tip reef sharks though, and a lot of beautiful wall coral. Stunning stuff, like hovering above a garden. 7 dives in, and back into the groove! Also staring into the vast unknown below and around you is totally scary. Utterly out of elements. Human's are so useless in water.

Good company, decent room, toilet and food and this was a fun trip. Relaxing tanning times and no sun burns, woohoo. Deep conversations under night skies and acquaintances become the people who know more about you than some of your lifelong buddies do. Life is often such a mixture of circumstances. Interactions as we trundle along on the tracks that overlap briefly back and forth, forward and back. 

Perspective

Today's newspaper highlighted that the Hubble Space Telescope had managed to see further into the past than ever before. It peered into deepspace and told us of a past that is close to unfathomable to me. Which then got me thinking about why we're even on earth. This shift of perspective outward, far beyond my own being, into the How's and Why's. We seem to have answers for the How's, but as for Why we're here...well, that's an answer that has driven countless conflicts in this world. Just pause for a second, forget that stupid analysis you were meant to be doing and just think. Ever fibre of who you are today was a genetic lottery, a mashup of stars and a big bang. So they say. Will we ever know?

Makes you go, why? Why does this work I do even matter? In the perspective of the eternal universe, does it really matter?!

The fascinating thing is the amount of conflict life has given us. The religious fanatics refuse to believe anything hard science has proven while hard science stubbornly clings on to its facts and figures, neglecting the fundamental core, of answering the why. Why us? Why this conscience? What's the point?

It is a weird sensation. All these greater questions about life and all I can think about on a daily basis is what is for lunch...wasted intelligence man.

Anyway, a few days ago I was thinking about things as usual and I started thinking about this. I started thinking about who I was as a person. I've always felt that, when we're younger we feel the pressures of conforming (or not) to a certain type, taking on your favourite singer or idol of any kind and acting out who they are as a character for yourself. Like listening to Avril Lavigne was cool, liking Complicated as a song was cool because it spoke oh so much to your life at that time. Teenage years are funny because that amount of pressure you get to try and differentiate yourself using someone famous as your avator is unseen after the period. We might look back at nostalgia at the juniors we once were and snort at what we used to think was cool, or yell spice up your life in the next decades of karaoke sessions. Every. Single. Time.

But maybe it's this. The older we get, the more we settle. Settle into a routine, settle into an identity, because we've spent all our teenage years trying to be someone else. When you hit University, you tend to mature, to figure out more where you are and where you want to be, in general. Because you've lived all these personas over the past years, and because you've tried all these different 'skins', you can almost refer to yourself back in that era as someone else.

You come to terms with who you are as person, what you believe in, what you want to be and who you want to project yourself to be. Settled. You're less compelled to feel that there's a difference between who you are and who the person you really want to be is. The older you are, the more assured you are as a person, because you've seen more and been through more to make you more certain, since you've already made the decisions to get to your current state. It's this realisation that hey, shit happens, life is chaos, work will always be stressful, so just set it all aside and enjoy the moments that make you smile, laugh and feel alive.

On other notes, I started writing my daily 'Thankful for...' notes again. There are currently mini bumps on my forearms which means bootcamp is back in fullswing, and I am super sleep deprived which means my roster of activities is on a roll. Also my feet hurt as always which means Tango is back on with a  vengeance. And in 6 days I will be frolicking among whales in the deep blue sea and being lulled to sleep by crashing waves. Yes Please!!!