Back to track

Summer. Just a word that can ignite so many sparks, dreamy afternoon naps, long, leisurely vacations, bright skies into the night, blazing sunlight and a lot, a lot of vanilla, peanut butter, and pistachio ice-creams. I cannot count all the memories of beautiful summers that have passed through my early twenties and thirties. They are all woven into a beautiful swirl of vibrant colours every time I think of them.

And now, in the middle of summer, here I am, sitting by my window shadowed by the big green leaves of my hydrangea that has passed its flowering season, faded lilac and dull powder pink hues on dried petals withering under the sun. Just in front of me, a large, low folding table in the asian style full of books and notebooks on both ends, in the middle sits my good old laptop, wide open in WordPress. I toss and turn from side to side, not knowing how to quiet my mind in order to start. I haven’t been writing for so long that it feels akward to just type on the keyboard. A long-lost but somehow still warm feeling lingers gently on the tips of my fingers. I still remember there was a time when I lied in the dark at night, thoughts running through my head as I tried to organize them into words and sentences and couldn’t wait until the next morning to jot them down and share it with the world. There was a time when words came to me easily, and I felt blessed for being able to express them.

How long has it been since the last time I could breathe easily? Since the last time I let myself impregnated by emotions, endure through their waves, surface and express them? How long has it been?

These days are blurry days. I get by but not live by. With things big and small clouding my scattered brain I could only focus for a few minutes, not more. But amid the stress and anxiety, I try to dug small holes on barren land, put a few grains of good thoughts here and there, drag a watering can to pour over and wait. Sometimes it is wonderful just sitting around, doing nothing. Just existing, like a human-“being”. It reminds me of my favourite Haiku poem by Basho:

Sitting quietly, doing nothing
Spring comes
And the grass grows by itself

The little seeds will take some time to prepare themselves before popping up from the ground. And when the spring comes over, my garden will be full of flowers. I’m sure of it.