We are only here for a while
Just passing through,
A whirlwind ride.
The skies burst into a kaleidoscope of colors
The beauty is but short lived
Like everything else in life.
I wish time would never slip through our fingers
I wish time never existed.
Oftentimes you danced in my mind
But I know,
You are never really there.
When the night creeps in
And the fear sets in
You are never really there.
When I wish for an embrace
And I think my heart is about to break
I know so well,
That you will not be there.

The days of skipping stones
Watching the clouds form shapes
Remembering the scent of petrichor
Of the summer rain.
We paint the sunset with our fingers
Build sandcastles with our hands
We dream of days in the spring
We dream of summer storms
We dream of red and golden fall
We dream of silver winters.
The days, the hours, the minutes
The moments when all our senses were alive
The days, the hours, the minutes
The years they roll out to sea.
Maybe we will find them again
Maybe they will forever be lost
Let me dream for a while
Of the days stolen
Of the souls time have taken.
Let me feel your breath once more
And hear our hearts beating wild again.

Been on a reading spree these days. I think I’ve read 4 books in the last 3-4 weeks. Anthony bourdain’s medium raw, Robert Louis stevenson’s Travels with a donkey in the cevennes, karl pilkington’s an idiot abroad, and lastly bear grylls’ the kid who climbed Everest. I guess the common thread among them is traveling but each with different purpose: bourdain’s for food, stevenson’s For travel’s sake, pilkington’s sort of a “dare”, and grylls’ for a dream. Of these, I found stevenson’s Perspective on traveling and the way he travelled extremely romantic. There wasn’t a Real purpose  to it but to simply move. He travelled from town to town, dropping in on inns, monasteries, and sometimes the open for a night’s rest. I thought that borders a little on insanity, sleeping in the open without any form of shelter. Will perhaps review a bit more next time.

Moving on next to James Joyce’s Ulysses. Finally found it in the library and it does look like an impossible feat to complete the reading within the loan period.

On another note, I think I must be totally spent after a year of studying. These days I could barely do the things I used to do- playing the piano/ukulele, painting, calligraphy, etc. I’m just vegging most of the time and reading. I wonder when i will start doing things again.

In a material world

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move. 
Robert Louis Stevenson 

Feels like eternity since I last travelled to a faraway place. 

What entices us to move? I wonder. 

On another note, finding myself impatient these days, at people mostly. People moving too slowly, people talking too much, people being unappreciative, people asking for too much. I’m tired of people, I guess. 

Finding myself getting annoyed, disturbed, and disgusted by the constant coercing of the world to indulge more and more in material things : the shoppee advertisement (buy everything!) , the crazy queues for the latest iPhone/huawei, the pop-up Hermes carres thing (god knows what that is). I’m not sure why these things just irk me so much these days when  it’s not like I don’t indulge in things too.

I don’t know I just feel this world is getting so empty and superficial but what do I know...