Grains of sand fall thru my fingers... disappearing into the currents that are tossing my leg hair about. Friendly fishes nibble on my toes, helping me get rid of my corns. Sunshine on my face from the setting sun... fresh air.... woah...
No matter what happens in life, one can always hope... always dream, always imagine. It is this gift from above that has allowed Man to survive and persevere, making it thru the storms of life... conquering seemingly insurmountable odds.
Nothing is as it seems. There is a story recorded, the synopsis of which is written in our eyes. The prose is engraved in the language of poetry, dancing like tow-kay on a musical score, sending the rhythm of life resonating within our souls. It's not a boring story. It's the type of story that made us lean forward at the edge of our seats as the storyteller (perhaps a teacher or a parent or a friend). Most of us don't really pay attention to the story that resonates within our souls with every lub-dub of our hearts. Most of us will only listen, when the body slows for one reason or another... when we're unable to just jump into things like we're used to.
And so i listened, pondered at the story that has been written thus far. I knew most of it, forgotten some of it, never thought much about the rest of it. It's not a perfect story. It's not without regrets for things done and things left undone. It's not without the tears and despair that makes one want to pull out hair (trichotillomania), knock down a car or MRT, or get a rush from seeing the ground rush towards your as you look down from atop a generic 25 storey HDB flat. But it's a real story, my story. And it's a good story.
