Once in a while, we are all able to wear that strong feeling that everything is alright that nothing in this world could ever take that glorious, invulnerable feeling away from us. A very good friend has once told me that we all have this capacity to turn even the loneliest moment into the most memorable and happiest one. It is sort of turning a piece of paper into linen or silk. A person who is able to do this could live his borrowed life, turning it into his own. It is as if an opportunity or some kind of invitation that was long forgotten by man. Well, most of us sort of did. Our existence is like the pages we read, a story waiting to be told. The question I guess is how you would want it to be written. I’ve read somewhere in a film script, setting it up as a punch line in a joke that was being thrown to another character, that good writers are those who lie the best. Maybe, but I guess for those who live in real life, as we all attempt to make our own stories to be soon told by another in our eulogy perhaps, if we are that lucky, that our journey can be defined by those who had the opportunity to walk with us in this very short and humbling existence that was lent by the one hand who created everything.
All of these ramblings perhaps came from oversleeping and too much sugar from cupcakes and chocolates that I had eaten this afternoon I don’t know. But to be able to realize such, may it be scientific or cosmic in nature had made me nonetheless learn that every step that a mere mortal would take has a corresponding end result that would affect another human being. If we are to use and insert the subject of physics in the matter and relate the aforementioned to what one is about to say, that the concept of Newton’s third law of motion is that, as the textbooks had ever so defined it – for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
This was the guiding principle my high school teacher had once insisted us her students to memorize sometime in the 3rdquarter of the senior school year. I never thought it could be of use outside our classroom and it took me many years to even pay little attention to it. In college, I would then hear it in a group discussion, of drunks, trying so hard to be philosophers in their own bold ways. One quoting a famous figure, a cynic one, who said that dreams are for those who choose to live their lives with eyes closed. Another would then concur, just to please, but twists the premise and sort of explaining to disagree, “yes, and when us fools dream with our eyes closed, that is because we have got faith”. Funny, that in the morning, these poor slobs won’t even realize what they have spoken about. They are what I would like to call, the world’s most “humble philosophers”.
And that had struck me thinking to myself that we can pick up these fragments of wisdom in almost everywhere, during whatever circumstance we are into. Most of us would work all our lives to just grasp that higher learning and to just live a better life – based on how we would define it, and we would travel great distances just to discover that what we are looking for is already within us. We would literally kill ourselves by slowly out work our bodies just to taste that free air. A dream to achieve most of us would enjoy in our graves, as soon as we are all forgotten in time.
What is it really we are in search for? Have you ever stopped in the middle of your busy life and asked yourself just that?
Maybe you would probably say that you have got everything figured out, maybe you do, but an invitation still awaits us all to reevaluate.
On this moonless evening, it is like walking with eyes closed. But it does not matter, I have got more than one sense to help me out. I guess the things that refuse to be seen are those that matter the most. Like the air that we breathe, or the softest whisper from a loved one before we rest to sleep, the warmth of a friend’s companionship that can be felt in a degree further within during the cold. The funny thing is that all of these can also be seen if transformed. In fact, it can be written on a piece of paper or in the sand if one wishes so. So that it can be read and shared in different ways without having to lose its real form. It is like the water bedded in the strongest river, the same as the still when poured in a glass.
I guess we are but each chapter attempting to finish this book we call life.