Before I begin my series of rantings, I have a complaint to make.
Nah, this ain't about the ever on-going noise pollution, and neither is this about the must talked-about global warming. But yes, this is about the very hostel I'm living in, and to protect her reputation I shan't disclose her identity.
But you can very much guess it right. I remember fairly well I said once, that this hostel always does good things that turn out bad. First they had a card-tapping system which they abolished due to some brainless reasons, which now they embraced again for some weird unknown reasons. Then they wired the entire place, but with connection speed comparable to a tortoise's. It may even be an over-statement. After which they changed our chairs, from an uncomfortable red one to a more uncomfortable yellow one. And NOW, they don't seem to have learnt any lessons from previous series of unfortunate events. Days ago they tore down the mimic gates on ever level of the girls' block. Not exactly a bad thing, if it was meant to give easier and free-er access between both wings. But no. They erected some blocks of wood at where the mimic gates used to stand on, and why those block-heads are there remains a mystery. Til they are fully done.
Alright. Let's move on to something more today.
Ever discovered a certain mark or scar of a wound on your body which you have forgotten you ever had it over the years? I just did.
Because of some unforseen circumstances I bathed without removing my contact lenses today. Then I saw IT. An oval shape the size of the size of a sand grain, that bears an evidence of chicken pox which happened some twelve years ago. Twelve years. Flames faded to ashes. Memories put in cold storage. I was never reminded of chicken pox again in the past twelve years.
Though my life barely had anything to do with chicken pox, it doesn't mean it's out of my life now and always. Quite on the contrary actually. Time can seal wounds, more skin tissue can cover the scab, but they never heal. A scar will always remain. It will always be there, waiting for you to look at it one fine day.
Distance. It can be a physical matter, when two objects are separated from each other by 'distance'.
Time. Is a form of distance. It separates the present from the past, the future from the present. To live truly happy, a man should forget woes from the past and plan none for the future. When people say time will heal, it's as true as cows can fly. Really. You'll just get immune to the pain, it became part of you, and you start to live happier, carrying the pain still. And you forget, or force yourself to forget, so that's why it doesn't hurt anymore.
I can't stop wondering, why, do we only realize something ought to be done always only when it's too late? Something should have already been done in the wake of global warming decades ago, yet nobody give it a big damn until the heat gets onto our nerves. Likewise, chances were given, yet again and again, people just never fail to SEE it coming. Then when the decision is made not in favour of them, they then feel the pinch and go "why did I not do this earlier?" or "if I had realized it sooner I would have done this done that".
Folks, it's just too little too late.
Time played a big prank on me. And I'm never gonna repeat the same mistake I did.
Once bitten twice shy.
Somehow we are fishermen (in this case, fisher-women), out in the vast blue sea, each fishing for the fish of their dreams. Some have already caught theirs, while most of us (including me) are still waiting for one to take the bait. We look for different kind of fish - some fancy big ones, some want deep-water precious, others prefer good breeds. In the water we fish from, there are plenty of high-grade fishes around. But whether they will take our baits is a different question. For those who've caught theirs, can you be sure they are THE ONE fish you truly prefer?
"Lengthen your thread and catch bigger fish" that's what they say. No hurry, that's true. I don't exactly need the high-end fishes, nor do I need those with GOLDen scales that worth millions. I just need one which takes my bait at the right moment. I just want a fish that's just right for me.
I thought, for one moment, I've caught it. But it seemed to have hesitated in taking the bait, so in the end I decided to free it back to it's ocean to find another taker. Perhaps there's another fisher-woman who values that one more than me.
But did I make that decision a bit too hasty?
I don't know, but I'm moving to another part of the ocean. May there be more choices for me!
