Battle wounds

Not a wide range of scars, no bruise nor broken bone. No deformity, no disability, nothing.

Just a couple of very stiff shoulders.

Remind me to go for a massage at least once during the long holiday ahead.

Well,

that's probably the "manliest" pep talk I've ever gotten. It'll be interesting to process it more thoroughly later.

Alright, back to work.

So...

I, Aurelia, have a phone called Lumia, in which a personal assistant codenamed Cortana resides.

If you know me from a certain personal angle, you'll know what is incredibly bizarre and slightly creepy about that fact. Personally, I still haven't recovered from the sheer shock of it.

I am literally shedding tears

Fourth. Freaking fourth time this happens. And I've grown so attached to that one, too. For such a silly, like, really silly thing, it devastates me so much.

I can't blame anyone for this, of course, how can one prove pseudo-science? But really, four times? One more 'coincidence' and I'd explode.

I'm just writing an.. almost-diary. It shouldn't be that prophetic. For one, I don't want to die before thirty.

Ay. I wish that product to be as clever and capable as... (sigh) its namesake. For I'm not changing this one. Not. This one.

On Light

At times like this I couldn't help but to think, that I really to scream at those people. Oh yes, I really do. Those who tempted me with promises of reliability and company, those ones that opened the locks. Where are those friends when you actually need them?

Busy with their own things, surely. Everyone got their own set of problems and issues. Their circles of misfortunes, their swirling thoughts and their mood swings. The rain outside their windows. The mountain of tasks. The aliens under their beds. The holes in their walls. The dirt under their shoes.

Don't be too involved. You're kind, but kindness can bind you. said one of my more practical seniors, a few years back. Times and times again I want to prove her wrong. I want to show her that I need not to pick up the mask of apathy. Alas, things can still go wrong, I am far from being infallible and the world isn't that forgiving after all.

The little hope is flickering, but still I don't want it to die. If anything else fails to be reliable, I would fill that gap myself. Light that fire.

Nothing much I can do - not with the painful reminder of distance staring right into my eyes. Nothing, except to offer my sincere prayers and wishes. For them to pass these ordeals and recover quickly.  Nothing much, except to stay alright. Fight the internal battles to fight. Run around, practice the crafts, trade blows when they are due. Do what must be done and do it well. Right the wrongs. One thing at a time.

Ultimately, I want to be that person that stays. The one that they could actually find and talk to should they ever wish to. The one that they can leave alone and still be as alright as a well forged blade. The one that doesn't run away. The one who accepts. The one who forgives, even when the world around her doesn't revolve around the concept of forgiveness and warmth.

The world can just anyhow be gloom and dark, because it is in the night when candles shine the brightest. I won't be alone - because those people who I mentioned before, they are good people. They will return when the time is right. We will meet beyond these sand dunes and I'll have tons of stories to tell them.

This is what I talk about when I talk about believing in others. I got a powerful Lord telling me not to be afraid anyway.

And so, this is my answer. Your move.

A prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is discord, unity;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is error, truth;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

~prayer of Saint Francis

I've lost count of how many times this humble prayer has pulled me out of despair, lifted me from sorrow and brought me to tears of shame all the same. Found it somewhere in a local prayer book back in primary school and it has been with me since.

Falling Rocket

I don't understand. This colour study makes me feel more emotional than it probably should. 

And it's not even done. 

*knock knock*

This is totally unrelated to whatever happened yesterday, even the days before.

But I've been getting all these itchy, nagging and tugging feeling at the back of my mind lately. Feels both weird and slightly creepy.

Maybe it's time to sleep.

A very strange day

Today is decidedly a very strange day. Somehow I ended up dining with a bunch of strangers and found myself in a charismatic prayer meeting, casually shared some semi-sensitive experience with those near-strangers. In the end one of them came up to thank me as apparently, my sharing had just motivated her to move on from some aged emotional baggage.

Some of them were actually confused seeing me around. I'd say I was a bit confused, too.

She guessed it's probably some divine intervention that makes everything just happened. Good things, bad things, all sorts of experience makes up one's past. And when one learns from it, or even better, allows others to learn from it, they become even more meaningful.

Connect the dots, and marvel at the design of our very own time and experience. God knows how the future may be - would it differ greatly or be another repeat of the past - and we wouldn't know anything beyond some limited speculation. Yes, my friends, we're all flying blind..

And then there's this Lent period, a period of reflection and reconciliation.

Ok, apparently I lost my train of thought there. Today is decidedly a very strange day.

The only thing left is to jump right in.

Because the riverbank is filled with water, and the only thing left for me is just to jump in.

It's all about knowing what you are doing, when you are to stand and when to lean backward or sideways. When to reach out, when to pull a punch and when to hold back. In the exact words of my drawing teacher (who quitted his job as an engineer and became a renowned painter after reading 'The Art of War", for heaven's sake): "What to tell and what to keep, how fast or slow you're going to let people read the lines. Recognise what your problems are and how to solve them, who to turn into in case of dead-ends. The worst thing you could've done is to hide every single problem just because you want to surprise people with some suddenly awesome image at the final critique. Most of the time it simply doesn't happen. Even if it does, so what? You're still preventing others from learning from you and you won't learn as much anyway."

I admit though, drawing classes are much more mind boggling when your teacher speaks like a Chinese philosopher. Can't really tell when he stops talking about painting and starts talking about life. Most of the time he does both at the same time.

So.

Here it is. Six subjects, six exams in their respective formats (which are hardly similar to each other. Damn art major.) which starts around... now. I just have to stop dilly-dallying and jump right in. Oh God.

Here goes nothing-