Keep A Peek

I know that I said before that I would like to write more on this space, but so far I haven’t been keeping my promise very well huh have I. The thing is, the more I want to write, the harder it seems for me to really put thoughts into words. God knows how many unfinished posts I have in my archive which might never see daylight. So, this is a friendly reminder to myself to keep this private space alive.

I have long gotten past the concern of having strangers (or sometimes, friends) reading me. I can be an open book sometimes and fiercely private at other times, but being a veteran blogger (ha ha), I know how to strike the balance. Afterall, writing is something I love. And I have this platform to do it, and that, at this age when freedom of speech is still sorely out of reach in some parts of the world, really counts for something, ain’t it.

I don’t want to be hardened by the world. I don’t want to be cynical and overly protective. It’s one thing to be street smart and not gullible, but it’s entirely another story (and a pretty sad one) when  I can’t find it in myself  to have faith nor trust in anything nor anyone.

A friend told me the other day, that hope is something that we should never lose. So…. hi everyone, my name is Ling and I am a hopeful realist.

I’m so accustomed to dealing with people the way I want to be dealt with, that I sometimes forget that people are different. They have different expectations and different reactions as I do, and it catches me off guard when I end up being a disappointment rather than the considerate soul that I hope to be. I am grossly undermining the unpredictability of human character and guilelessly overestimating my intuition.

On a separate note, its a season for love and I’m surrounded by people who’re looking at the world through pink tinted  lenses. So much so that today when a friend was relating to me his recent break-up story, I was yanked out of my own little balloon and forced back onto solid ground. I threaded daintily through thin water trying to console a friend, but I think it wasn’t enough. Sigh.

I vow to write more on this space, I’m losing touch with words and its mighty dismaying. If not for that, having to look up the dictionary on how to spell the word ’sneakers’ (I was spelling it as Snickers and was wondering why do I feel like its something edible….. ) is a rude enough awakening.

I stumbled out of bed, stepped on my heels which I took off hastily last night, banged my head on the chair while almost falling down. Got out of the room and went to the kitchen to get some juice. Spilled some juice on the cat, watched her hissed at me. Scurried to the toilet, took of my pants and plopped my ass down on the toilet to discover that the seat is down. Let out a curse. Finished doing my business, staggered back to the room. Tripped on my heels again while stumbling back to bed.

Ah the wonders of a hangover.

The immediate effect of too much partying is - you are never more convinced that you are growing old because you can’t remember what happened at all.

The best thing that came out of the hedonistic escapades is I got an awesome toy giraffe. It dances and bounces its head to my command and I havent been so happy with a toy (well, at least not one that doesnt need batteries haha) for a long time.

I like my daily walks on my way to work. The journey brings me through mountains, snow, heavy doors that closes with a remarkably gentle thud, long dark corridor that leads to another long dark corridor, and the best of them all - a warmly heated restaurant with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and murmurs from people who are 7/10 awake. I love it. I love the tingling aroma of sweet and briskness of it and I love how I love it.

And then I rejoice in the notion that despite the superficiality of drunken capers and faked intimacy, I still feel my heart beat in joy of simple things like a toy giraffe and fresh coffee.