Isn't it a wonder how so many things take shape only when you put a name to it?
I was (and am still supposed to be) doing work.
I didn't know you would call it loneliness, until the DJ babbled on and said, "If you're feeling lonely now, I hope you'll find your other half soon."
Ha.
...
Yet, there's also so many other things which don't exist even if you were to will it to be. That you think about it, talk about it, feel it, should mean it exist. But no, it doesn't.
I'm sorry if I seem to be more cryptic than usual recently. It's just that it's hard to put words to something that is not exactly existant. And which merely floats around as little fragments in my memory. Try as I might, I'm afraid I'm still the same me as I was then.
All talk and no action.
Like the phrase - how we keep practising the art of losing from Strangely Coupled by Boey Kim Cheng.
Who would have known losing is an art? That you could practise it? That you could keep on practising it?
I might not have known if it wasn't something I've been doing all this time.
I lean my head slowly to the side, reflect on the camellia on the moss
of the temple, reflect on a cup of tea, while outside the wind is rustling
the foliage, the forward rush of life is crystallised in a brilliant jewel
of a moment that knows neither plans nor future, human destiny is rescued
from the pale succession of days, glows with light at last and, surpassing
time, warms my tranquil heart.