world - heart - God

she is the girl who rolls in her own muck -
defying vertigo
by believing that she has not reached
rock-bottom
bc God cannot find her at the foot.

he is the God who has long & strong arms.
as she falls, sheds contrite tears
& does anything but love herself -
even running away from her own skin, or God,
he loves. 

he is the kind of dad who will pick her up,
shower then towel her dry from ordure,
hold her close & tuck stray locks of hair away
from her face, for clarity,
for his picture of love beheld.

he is my daddy God, who treats me
to vanilla ice-cream
after such an episode,
bc Grace is mimed in an ice-cream treat.

I am my own rice

attempting to compile a portfolio of personal writings (that i really hope will suffice) for future references & this is pretty funny bc i have become my own editor, my own greatest critic.

perhaps the journey up starts with a journey within: it is unnerving & simultaneously liberating to become "(my) own rice" (as a.p so astutely phrased it more than a year ago). also, i am getting to learn from the 师父 this coming january (!!!!!!!!) - i am an ambivalent mess of happiness & apprehension in clashing & irreconcilable intensities.

"the future"

all these talks about the future have been exhilarating & unsettling at the same time, & today i finally had the will (i used to wield the trump card of "not enough time" in the past but post-as life has been gr8 bc naps on whim are therapeutic) to consolidate the flotsam-like thoughts in my head, especially the fear of the unknown that eats me up periodically:

what is the future, but a continuation of the culmination of seconds snowballed into minutes, then hours, days, months & years? 

wherein lies that paralysing fear if one sits in inertia, strapped in & sent through the tunnel of time & continuity, as the days repeat their existence & subsequently blur into a slur? 

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i am conflicted - wrestling between apprehension of both change & continuity. 

change in general scares me (if one negates the tinge of thrill that accompanies fear, if it is a good change): perhaps it's the idea of something Bigger than oneself out of one's realm of control, & the sole "choice" (an irony) to adapt to uncharted waters - or drown underneath a bed of weeds, strangled & relegated to the bottom of the ocean. 

yet, inertia - its antithetical counterpart, brings little solace as well. 

what is more terrifying than a helpless inability to change, a life condemned to & entrapped in dissatisfaction, while the world spins on its axis (bc no human is indispensable), brings day & night, & leaves one behind to one's own devices? 

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perhaps what grips me (at my very first crossroads of life where there is suddenly no structure to adhere to) is the conundrum of striking a precarious balance between the dichotomy of change & paralysis (the Victorians who were unable to reconcile the abysmal purity of Virgin Mary and the depravity of the "fallen woman" archetype compromised a solution of coexistence by cutting middle ground). 

i don't want either this or that - what i insist on being spoilt child who wants to have her cake & eat it?

i want to be both in the face of the forcefield of impending changes, & i am afraid that my attempts in the near future will be futile - like the inevitable yellowing of favourite pages of novels neatly stacked in shelves against moisture in the all-encompassing air - air that engulfs everything & leaves no book safe from its clutches.