Worn and battered shoes of a beggar in the streets
You only understand how someone really feels
when whatever they felt happens to you too.
In the past, I would listen to the stories from others and empathise with them. I truly, truly empathised with their pain, their emotions. However, my perspective and outlook on life was certainly different from theirs.
It is only when we experience similar inner turmoil, do we finally understand why sometimes, some people would experience things the way they do, and why they express certain things that others would find strange, unfamiliar, or unfathomable.
I used to be one of those people. It was the path of true eudaimonia.
However, sometimes we stray from that path.
And it is when we do, that we begin to truly experience, a glimpse of what others must have felt before.
But then again comes the adage that no one can fully understand another’s feelings, unless you truly walk in his or her shoes. To assume that you can understand one’s feelings is to insist that you know everything, including the person’s individual experiences, and we all know that is not possible.
We are human, and we are uniquely human, in our own individual ways.
As tiny as we are in a universe so large we are able to experience a plethora of emotions and ideas, which, if we had been perfect in the first place, would not have been able to observe in this mortal state. Consider the Anthropic Principle, which suggests the fact of the universe and life itself as human beings are able to observe it; if life weren’t real, there would be no living thing to observe it. If we weren’t human we would not be present existentially to experience the emotions within, or even the lack thereof (which, in itself is a human experience of denial, or trauma).
The second question would then be, what’s next? How do we walk out? With new beliefs, step by step, we can. Translating that belief into action, we also can take the steps to improve the situation, minute by minute.
The ending note is: whatever challenges we face internally or externally, only makes us stronger in the long run, for they let us empathise with others who have felt such in similar waves.
What do you think? Feel free to share your ideas in the comments below!
I look forwards to many more whimsical moments with my friends, who never fail to uplift me, more baking recipes (never been truly fond of it but hey it boosts femininity doesn’t it – perhaps this can be up for debate), finding who I am again (or has it always been there? What’s there to find?), many more previous moments with my family to carve into the mind before they dissipate, more daydreams of growing old in a garden of love and community service, more moments of learning from wise people around me. And let’s hope for world peace. Am grateful to not have had the chance to experience natural disasters yet, in where I live. Hoping for more sustainable energy sources in future so that our precious Earth may stay afloat in this darkening universe.
Hope I live long enough to see humans send spaceships to Alpha Centauri.
Before that I hope I live long enough to see my parents through to the end of their lives.
At a point where things are currently hazy, I hope the fog clears to reveal the path behind.
The path is also for us to write. There are many paths that we can write, the question is which and how.
Much thoughts. Much hope. Much light. Neurons firing, fireworks booming, emotions tingling (or sometimes, the lack thereof).
Aliens. in and outside our heads.
As long as you are here with me, everything will be all right.
The tea master poured a serving of the rich green infusion into the ceramic mug. Translucent dragons rose from the seams of the emerald surface, gliding gracefully up the wooden ladle. Along her fair hands they float, snaking along the veins in her skin; diffusing into streams of recorded time.
Akin to the yellow river and ancient nile, they branch into ever-steeper streams, interweaving and interlocking as though in melody of an ancient harmony.
A shamisen strums gently in the distance, mysteriously so as the room is quiet.
A single drop rolls over the rim, traveling along a web of interconnected engravings, so fine and sublime they resemble embroidered pheonixes and peonies of old.
She holds up the mug and passes it to you. Carefully, you take it into your cold hands. It is heavy.
As you observe the artwork on the carefully chosen pottery, the chirping of birds echo in your ears.
Beyond the window, a breeze sends the autumn leaves rustling against the cyan sky.
Some say the devils are in the shadows, some insist they are in the media, while many others claim they reside in our hearts.
We define ourselves with the stories that we tell about ourselves. When stories have been told of high wisdom, insight, belief and hope, stories of despair and fear have also been told.
The path through the shadows into the light is rocky. It has never been even, nor will it be perfectly so in the years to come, though there could be moments of smoothened ease and confidence.
What we choose to write today, we choose to leave tomorrow.
Even when the darkness seems to be ever-near, never give up towards the light you once kindled. For it could be re-kindled, and has always been there.
Samuel Wilberforce, painted by George Richmond, Creative Commons.
“I’m the sweetest of sounds in orchestra heard, yet in orchestra never was seen.
I’m a bird of gay plumage, yet less like a bird, nothing ever in nature was seen.
Touch the earth I expire, in water I die, in air I lose breath, yet can swim and can fly.
Darkness destroys me, and light is my death, and I only keep going by holding my breath.
If my name can’t be guessed by a boy or a man, by a woman or girl it certainly can.”
This riddle was conceived by Samuel Wilberforce in 1873, and has inspired many to solve its curious metaphor. What exactly is the entity described in these lines of creativity?
While some modern guesses include a dolphin, a shuttlecock and a musical note, the riddle has yet to be solved. With the absence of the author to grace the answer, its truth is likely to remain a mystery.
However, we can continue to analyse its beauty and discuss its underlying meaning, one of the many blessings of the human mind, individual or collective.
What could be the sweetest of sounds in an orchestra played? Sounds come in different tones, timbre and pitch, and the definition of ‘sweetest’ is subjective; varying from individual to individual.
Perhaps the sweetest of sounds is the sound of someone you love with all your heart; a laugh, a cry, a snort, or a song. The ‘orchestra’ could then symbolise the harmony of people in your life.
Who is someone you love dearly, and would never let go of?
Yet, this ‘sound’ is never seen in the orchestra.
Could it then refer to the song of a loved one long gone? The beautiful memory of someone cherished dearly but no longer by our side?
What of the other natures of this entity?
For now, the one idea that comes to mind, is the human soul. For the human soul can only keep going with a leap of faith, which we often take by holding our breath – holding our breath against doubts and fear; holding our breath by pushing ourselves to keep going even when darkness is near; to enter the balance of grey. In darkness, humans may be consumed, whilst basking in excessive arrogance or toxic positivity (light), we may also hurt ourselves.
However, do humans have feathers? No we do not, which raises eyebrows for the line with the descriptor of ‘gay plumage’.
How, then, shall we conceive of another possible answer?
After some discussion with my brother, it has come to light the possibility that the entity referred to in this riddle, could be Lucifer, the fallen angel.
Why so, one might ask? Lucifer, as a fallen angel, can no longer exist in the mortal realm of earth, air and water given his deeds of shame and banishment to hell. Darkness (corruption) destroyed his grace, and light is his death given his sins.
Where can he hide? Nowhere. Nowhere is safe for him. Yet he is infamous for his fall from Heaven, with wings of former gay plumage turned a gargoyle grey.
Hence, the conclusion that any mortal would be able to guess his name, regardless of gender as long as one were acquainted with beliefs of the Christian faith. In fact, all religions share a common understanding of good and evil, so in some way or another the entity of evil exists as an age-long archetype. Lucifer is simply one variation.
Wilberforce himself was a bishop and had a strong inclination towards faith, so it stands to reason that this riddle must be about darkness against righteousness.
As humans we fall on the greyscale. Sometimes we sin and sometimes we do good. There is no perfection. The only perfection comes when we strive towards excellence. It is important that we treat ourselves with compassion as well, however. Treat others well as well, and you won’t be lost. For some it is easy, for others they are still in the midst of finding their way. For yet another portion of humans they have found their way but lost it again. Some of us want to sleep forever.
Would sleep be counted as a possible answer as well? Sleep is the space of the liminal; the space where dreams coalesce and peace unfolds. Sleep may expand into gay plumage of iridescence of subconsciousness, and bring peace of silence to suffering of the soul.
Yet it could also descend one into darkness, or light, depending on one’s deeds. Sleep brings music to the soul, for it is the rest that the mind and body needs, though never heard in the tangible sense. Sleep is also the bedrock of death; it can only keep going by holding one’s breath.
So we have some ideas here right now: 1. Lucifer
2. Sleep
3. Human soul/spirit
What are your ideas? Feel free to leave them in the comments below!
A short reflection about the mind and its links to artificial intelligence, Japanese puzzles and life.
A line is a dot that went for a walk.
What is a route? What is a dot? Is a dot the beginning and the route the line? Do both lead to the destination or a never-ending journey beyond the full-stop? What does it mean to grow? And where will it bring us till the very end?
One fine day, I decided to embark on a journey of slither-link puzzles, one of the types of Nikoli puzzles. Slither-link puzzles are dot and number challenges created by the witty Japanese community dating back to the 1980s. In order to solve a puzzle, one is to draw a complete loop within the square box of dots and numbers, ensuring that there is the stated number of lines around each box corresponding to the number within. Where boxes have no numbers, there can be any number of lines surrounding the boxes.
One of the puzzles I embarked on, Route Takana, proved especially challenging, and so I detoured to the next challenge, Kazuya Kogami, which proved somewhat promising as a challenge to-be-conquered. The irony in the latter is that whatever the challenge, it is bound to be conquered; which is why it is called a challenge in the first place. Unless it was created to be unsolvable, which we could take the Bishop’s Riddle as an example.
The point is, all challenges lead somewhere, as do all journeys. A challenge is the gateway to a journey that is neither inherently good nor bad; but a balance of both, and eventually, to goodness.
These two Nikoli puzzles got me thinking about the concept of different routes, and the application of such not only to life, but to how we navigate reality – both the physical and metaphysical.
With this, we can relate to concepts of breadth search and depth search algorithms. How is this related to the aforementioned topic of routes in life and the mind you might ask? Well, with the rise of technology and the virtual world we must as well look into something trending.
While a breadth search algorithm involves identifying multiple ‘starting points’ to solve a problem, a depth search algorithm looks for pathways deep into the existent space to reach the desired endpoint or destination. We can think of one as surface-level (breadth), and the other as an expedition into the iceberg (depth).
Looking at the differences of these algorithms, we can relate them to life and the mind in a few different, yet overlapping ways.
Every event or action in life resembles a unique ‘starting point’ to which may progress a route towards success. If we apply the breadth search algorithm to our paradigm, every event or action in life is therefore, a venture-point to a journey of goodness.
To the cynical readers, perhaps ‘goodness’ is too much optimism for one, for every journey has its obstacles and rewards. If we want to narrow it down further, not all events or action points may be appropriate venture-points leading to a particular goal – depending on the goal to be defined. However, what is not to say that the routes may overlap nevertheless, bringing one to similar end-points of success depending on the decisions one makes in life?
There is more than one pathway in life, and none are, objectively speaking, inherently good nor bad, as each pathway may branch into a solid optimistic possibility.
It is our decision to decide. When we take one step forwards, the previous step counts as the foundation to the route we embark on. Every step counts, and it is as simple as treating yourself to a coffee when you feel down, or helping a neighbour out one fine afternoon in the lift lobby. Or giving a sincere smile to someone you know on the street.
When life hits you on the head, or when you trip and fall because of some self-negating belief, there’s always the opportunity to swing back up. And that opportunity is now.
They say an identity crisis occurs usually when one is in his or her mid-40s. In truth, it can happen anytime when one experiences unsettling events, both personal and environmental.
The journey then begins, for unravelling whatever knots remain inside the heart, and the new ropes that can be forged towards the optimistic destiny.
Have you ever wondered about the human psyche as a mass galaxy with hundreds and millions of stars – of which may represent neurons firing away at will so rapidly that the brain cannot fathom which are shooting away and which are resting?
Everything is happening all at once and does not stop for a moment, it is truly breath-taking. The thoughts that flash pass your eyes are stunningly radiant – they emerge and emerge until you are dizzy, even as you try to distract them with real or offline interactions, they will not go away.
In some form or another there is the voice that suggests, you are going crazy.
And it is a quiet voice, a droning, that happens even without conscious thought – a subconscious recurrence in the space of the liminal. Somehow you believe it, even if you don’t want to. Then again, this is a paradox for you believe against believing. The cycle goes on.
When you close your eyes, you see yourself in the center of all this humming, and within this center you sink, as you try to stay afloat by kicking relentlessly.
Thoughts of death, thoughts of life, thoughts of people you love, thoughts of people you’ve hurt, thoughts of people you’ve offended, thoughts of people you’ve made sacrifices for, thoughts of all the good you’ve achieved, thoughts of mistakes you’ve made, and thoughts of your future – both visualisations of bleakness and brightness, coalesce into a mass that is indescribably difficult to unravel.
Thoughts lead you back to moments when you weren’t yourself; moments when the highest pinnacle of perfection you’ve attained were strangely and unexpectedly violated. Thoughts that can’t seem to go away no matter how much you try. Faces that stare, eyes wide and bloodshot as you try to keep your head held high and look onwards. It is simply a facade by the over-runing mind.
In the will of the sane mind the streaks of insanity spread; they keep spreading as the will of the sane mind tries to curb it with the opposite; of what is real, what is objectively true about your real capabilities and intentions; of what you have done before and what you have attained in a perceived past life.
But regardless of what the sane will is trying to do, the endless conundrum sounds again, as reminders are found metaphorically in almost every context; every mention of an acquaintance, sight of a bird flying and then roosting, a leaf, a pot of flowers with petals wilting.
This is not a story but a story in the making. This is a story about the clouds in your head that keep floating by even as you try to fan them away. Fan them away not some say, and simply watch from the window with ease as you continue down the right path of doing what is right through self-sacrifice and positivity.
Fan them not, is what they say. Fan them not and they will remain, but harmless to you.
The conundrum is easing, growing silent as the voices of thunder and failure seem to surround you regardless.
Things will get better. For they have to, and they must. For in life change is the only constant.
When you walk out of the maze that is the stratosphere surrounding this abysmal darkness, you will find that there is true light and hope – and true feeling, once again, like how you lived in the months before this conundrum began.
Hope is the word.
Hope is what we tie to.
As is gratitude, and resilience. The resilience to walk on and smile even when there is the endless humming that does not rest.
It is a decision in every millisecond, in every good thought that you can seed from every negative, like the black films that emerge from failed pictures wherein white scratches can be etched for a better look into the possible future.
What is the ‘window’ then? Is it just any ordinary window in your home? Your shopping mall? Or the church you frequent on Sundays, or the temple where you meet your relatives after long months?
The window, from one simple literal figure of a window defined by panes and glass coverage (or lack thereof), also can refer to the window in our heart, and mind.
What do we choose to see? What do we choose to feel? What do we choose to think? All of these colour our worlds, and the scenery that we see through our window.
The window is objective. Like the literal window with panes and glass, houses and clouds floating by are the objective spacial reality in which we live.
What we notice, then, is what we choose to colour our personal experiences with while looking out the window. And how we see it matters as well.
What are the things that we want to fill our windows with? Clarity and acceptance for the way things are? Or colours from irrational judgement? Or, heightened sense of awe for the simple joys in life?
How we see things, can be described with the metaphor of what we frame our windows with; is it with a curtain of grey mist, a panel of multicoloured stained glass alluding to art nouveau, plain glass, or nothing at all?
In some points of our life, we will realise that the window is covered with something that’s limiting us.
In my current stage, I find myself seeing my window through grey. It is like a shroud that does not clear away.
But look, this is a thought that is simply a thought. What will happen if you choose to blow the misty grey away, and see that there is clarity and blue sky? Again and again we repeat this, and overtime, it becomes undeniably clear, that blue sky in the window of the heart.
I hope I reach there someday. Every moment is a blessing to do such.
If you are reading this now, and feeling the same way, I wish you well.
In the meantime, let’s grab a cup of tea or mocha, and enjoy the sunset outside your balcony window. What a view. Look, someone is there as well. It’s your loved one. You have never been alone, and never will be. Because another stands beside you as well.
If tea or mocha isn’t to your taste, maybe a glass of wine. Or simply water. Every drop of life is something to be grateful for, may it fall into the soil of your heart and blossom like a seedling into a daffodil.
Enjoy the view, this movie of life.
May every moment of my life and the life of others be one of wisdom, flourishing, and inner peace! ~ Matthieu Ricard
Books that I’ve written and which I am trying to complete
Hello! With 2022 whizzing through the first month I thought I’d do up a catalogue of books (ongoing and completed) that I have managed to finish/start on in my short human life. Hopefully, by the end of a few (human, not light) years, the unfinished books would be completed. I don’t think it’s possible to complete them by the end of this year, because it’s simply hard to write 24/7 and when it comes to details I can’t help but be picky. It’s the thing with writing, perhaps. The characters may take a while to decide which pathways they would like to explore as well.
Completed book(s):
Songs for July artbook (2019)
Synopsis:
Emotions, as we know them, can be more than ‘mere feelings’, impacting the soul and our psychological, emotional wellbeing. Everyday, there are children and elderly who feel lonely, depressed, or even suicidal because of the situations they find themselves in. Even for you and I, life isn’t great; there are ups and downs, and we are never always ‘okay’.
I self-published this book to capture the real stories and expressions from the people around me about what it means to heal.
For my friends, family and I, healing is to express what we feel deep down, to appreciate for a moment that it is okay to be, in essence, not okay. In our society, we may sometimes feel the pressure to cover it up, and while we can do this for awhile, it’s not very sustainable nor healthy to do it for long. And the outlets for us range from art, to music, and other forms of expression like photography. And this is what Songs for July is about. To heal through art and self-expression.
This book was hence written to raise awareness about the importance of healing and how art could help in the process. 40% of all proceeds also go to The Red Pencil, a non-for-profit organisation that empowers children, the elderly, and other vulnerable individuals through art therapy.
As of now, at least $500 has been raised through the sale of Songs for July artbook to support the cause of The Red Pencil (Singapore) and also to raise awareness about art and healing. The book can be purchased here (worldwide shipping), and here (local shipping).
Everyone deserves a chance, the time, and the support in healing.
Genres: art, healing, slice of life, non-fiction, poetry
Ongoing books:
Tales from the Woodfolk (2021 –)
Synopsis:
A shadow passes between two trees as you hear scurrying across the leaves. A wind blows through a curtain of swaying ivy. Flowers fall as a maiden kisses her lover’s cheek, only to disappear in the light of dawn. Have we really listened to the trees when they rustle in the wind? Or hear the gossip of swallows as they rest in their nests? The woods are dark with secrets, we just haven’t really listened to them yet. This is a collection of short stories inspired by both human nature and the nature of the Earth in which we live. There is a story behind every crushed bark, gnawed bone, raven’s quill, giant’s skull, and fallen wreath. If you like Fantastical Beasts, Grimm’s Fairytales, or the Book of Khaidan, this may be for you.
Lily is a sickly 6-year old child, knowing little of the outdoors. She has been sick for most of her short lifetime. One day when her parents have to leave for a very long business trip amidst the pandemic, her grandmother comes to stay, offering her stories to feed her imagination, and calm her anxiety. As they recount the stories, they encounter adventures of different measures and forms. However, the stories can only last for so long, before reality strikes….(what happens? We shall find out).
Meryl is an ordinary girl. Maybe not too ordinary. There is one ‘problem’. It’s hard to explain. But if you look closely, you can see a cauliflower peeking out from her hat and strands of hair. Still, what does it mean to be ordinary?
All she wants is a peaceful life with a stable income. Struggling to build her savings, she hopes she could feel completely normal someday. However does she plan to do that, and would the ideal always work out the same?
With these preoccupations, the last thing she expects is to fall in love.
What if it happens?
Would things be the same?
A story about what it means to find yourself, a girl who falls in love, and more. Spontaneously written on my way home from a craft market. Let’s see where this goes.
Genres: slice of life, forbidden romance, school, technology
Firelight at Dusk (2021 -)
*My pen name is Dreamy Lark
Synopsis:
What would you do when the epitome of your happiness is threatened? Would you claw at it desperately? Or would you look into the threat And find in its mirror A reflection of something else Perhaps yourself?
When Hera learns of her boyfriend’s scandal, she does not expect that it would ever happen, nor does she ever imagine the day when she would come face to face with the mistress of her lover of 15 years.
When they meet, their conversation sets a turn in many events of her life, turning her world upside down, and also bringing back something buried from the past…
Genres: slice of life, marriage, forbidden romance, drama
~
As of now, these are the self-published works that I have completed/ am currently working on. To be honest there are other novels that I am working on at the same time, but for these I might save the publishing for later. Eventually, I hope to be able to publish at least one book traditionally, but that will have to wait after sufficient practice and progress. Rome was not built in a day.
I am also open to feedback for improvement to hone my craft 🙂 So, if you’d like, feel free to contact me or leave a comment or two!
We are not descendents of the Pheonix nor are we eagles, dragons or angels, but we have the human blood of Icarus. To soar too high would send us plummeting down to the depths of hell, while to fly too low would risk us drenching our wings.
But we can break free from our weakness and achieve what is in our reach and build upon that.
I think now, while writing this, that the meaning of ‘soar’ does not necessarily equate ‘flying as highly as possible’.
But to steer one’s wings well at the epitome of skill at a suitable height that will not drown nor scorch us.
Even this requires specialisation and tenacity, arduous revision of skill.
But for some of us thrill comes in touching the sun.
So perhaps the meaning of ‘soar’ differs for each of us.
What does it mean for you?
~
Often there are so many things that cloud our mind, coalescing into a blanket of stars that we want to pluck from the sky, or reach in our ships, one by one. With too many islands the map’s routes become a tangled mess, and with too many seeds in a plot of land the saplings may compete and rid themselves of sufficient space to breathe in the long run.
It’s a human plight to have too many things on the plate, so many ambitions all at once, lumped together under one long list for ‘Ambition’, ‘Dream’ or ‘Mission’ in life.
There are bound to be different points in life where we find ourselves standing at a crossroad with criss-crossing signs. We have to decide what to continue, what to drop, and what to move on from. With every step forwards, the road grows narrower, and we find that life itself becomes like a shrinking tube as we are forced to streamline the things that we are doing to make the most of our last moments on this Earth.
It is definitely a tragedy for people who like doing many things, such as myself. Though, I find, with each passing day, that it is the reality.
Perhaps it does not have to sound so bleak, for in the shrinking tube the vines of attention may condense upon a single route together, blooming at the crevice when the route is completed, before branching off again to begin another.
In every bloom of pea-flowers we can see the greyness of the tube sprouting blossoms of colours that expand and become a part of the overarching form, widening into a horizon like the bell of a morning glory.
There will always be things to explore, that we want to explore, that we want to do. The question is how many, and for how long.
I can go on and on, but then there wouldn’t be a conclusion to this passage, which just goes to show how undecided I am, myself, when it comes to streamlining the things that I want to do in life.
It will be frustrating to have to let some projects go as others bloom into the years, but hard choices have to be made, and if life were ever too easy such that anything and everything could be done, perhaps it would lose its meaning.
Because we cannot have everything, and anything.
Just as we cannot do everything, and anything.
I guess I will trust in the process, and learn to make hard choices. There are reasons for happenings; as there is a reason for everything. As Einstein believed, the Universe does not play dice. I quote another person whose birthday we’ve just celebrated yesterday: “Perfection simply doesn’t exist…without imperfection, neither you nor I would exist” ~ Stephen Hawking. These two quotes mean different things, but they are complementary.
For, on one hand, we must accept that there are bound to be imperfections in the routes that we take; paths may be blocked, stops may be anti-climatic, and hail may rain. On the other hand, the detours, re-mapping and accidents may all be part of a scheme of heaven or whatever you call it – fate, for the paths that we would eventually take.
In a world of chaos, there is one compass that we may trust – and that is the compass of faith. Faith that whatever we are experiencing, have experienced, and are to experience – are crucial to the shaping of our imperfect yet insightful human voyage.
When the time comes, perhaps there is always room for exploration, and it does not have to stop.
As long as we don’t fly too close to the Sun, it should be fine.
And we can look back on the road that we’ve taken and feel that we have travelled long and far, and relish in the warmth of the setting sun.
The Writing Den 