Sunday, May 22, 2011
No angry, no angry!
I'm writing a wellness article (food-related, duh!) and I'm researching a diet that's believed to cure cancer. All that talk about the disease is making me terribly attuned with my cells, and I have this gnawing fear that my suppressed aggression may one day colonise and multiply those cells. Scary! I should seriously get back to yoga.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Contemplation.
I have developed a temporary penchant for blogger-authors – bloggers who achieve so much success online they've taken their publishing offline. A little ironic, but who are we to question the peculiar laws publishing thrives on?
Reading Brit writer/Francophile Catherine Sanderson's Petite Anglaise brings back as many beautiful memories of my summer in Paris as it forces me to question why I've fallen off the blogging bandwagon. Afterall, it wasn't that long ago that I too, like her, tore up the keyboard with torrents of words. Perhaps it is time to admit that beneath the gratifying cathartic release of pent-up self-expression is a need to justify myself to both friends and strangers.
I like to think that the need for self-representation, along with the urge to share every single detail of my life, has diminished with age. However, I do miss the cave of contemplation I retreat to each time I write a solemn, soul-searching post. Having to translate an inner whirlpool of thoughts into comprehensible words forces me to dig deep to express the very essence of what I'm feeling, and needless to say, it has been a long while since I've burrowed that deep within.
But well, there's no better time than now I suppose, to put on my thinking blogger cap for a bit as I contemplate life at 24 going on 25.
A characteristic signpost of growing older is probably the sinking realisation that you are nowhere near what or where you thought you'd be at this age. I've charted out many paths in my imagination, but none of them have mapped out quite the way I'd envisioned. I haven't always been this driven, but I'm glad my half-hearted fumblings have led me to where I am today. I've gained some, lost some, and beneath it all, learnt the all-important lesson that nothing will ever stay the same.
Change is the only constant, they say. If I weren't already convinced by the age-old saying, then the recent spate of developments has most certainly made a convert out of me. There's a melancholic bittersweetness about acknowledging successes and dealing with losses. It's hard to explain any further without disclosing whatever I'm not yet supposed to, so all I can say for now is damn, tarot cards are spookily accurate!
And that's me back to skimming the surface once again. :)
Reading Brit writer/Francophile Catherine Sanderson's Petite Anglaise brings back as many beautiful memories of my summer in Paris as it forces me to question why I've fallen off the blogging bandwagon. Afterall, it wasn't that long ago that I too, like her, tore up the keyboard with torrents of words. Perhaps it is time to admit that beneath the gratifying cathartic release of pent-up self-expression is a need to justify myself to both friends and strangers.
I like to think that the need for self-representation, along with the urge to share every single detail of my life, has diminished with age. However, I do miss the cave of contemplation I retreat to each time I write a solemn, soul-searching post. Having to translate an inner whirlpool of thoughts into comprehensible words forces me to dig deep to express the very essence of what I'm feeling, and needless to say, it has been a long while since I've burrowed that deep within.
But well, there's no better time than now I suppose, to put on my thinking blogger cap for a bit as I contemplate life at 24 going on 25.
A characteristic signpost of growing older is probably the sinking realisation that you are nowhere near what or where you thought you'd be at this age. I've charted out many paths in my imagination, but none of them have mapped out quite the way I'd envisioned. I haven't always been this driven, but I'm glad my half-hearted fumblings have led me to where I am today. I've gained some, lost some, and beneath it all, learnt the all-important lesson that nothing will ever stay the same.
Change is the only constant, they say. If I weren't already convinced by the age-old saying, then the recent spate of developments has most certainly made a convert out of me. There's a melancholic bittersweetness about acknowledging successes and dealing with losses. It's hard to explain any further without disclosing whatever I'm not yet supposed to, so all I can say for now is damn, tarot cards are spookily accurate!
And that's me back to skimming the surface once again. :)
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