is it too late to announce that this blog is on a hiatus, having a long break, taking a rest, lying dormant, slumbering in hibernation ...
.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
20/20
My children teach me a lot of things in life, the 'truer' things in life, the better things in life, the real meaning of life. In reverse, I do not, or seldom, not that I know how. I find that as a parent, I don't really 'teach' my children regarding life, I instil values in them - values that I think are important and should be adhered to, values that I think might be of any beneficial value to them in the future, values that might turn out to be as valuable as the poop we step on when getting out of a car.
I recently took my 8-years-old boy to the optician and got him a pair of glasses, reluctantly. He'd been complaining about not being able to see what the teachers write on the board in school. Knowing that his near-sightedness is hardly caused by over-reading or over-studying, and most probably by excessive TV or Gameboys, I was a bit upset.
My 10-years-old daughter had the same problem last year, but we managed to avoid the spectacles by teaching her how to relax her eye-muscles when looking at blackboards in school or doing homework, or watching TV at home. She had managed to shake off the slight handicap, proven by her eye test when we took the boy to the optician. So, I tried to teach the same trick to the boy.
I tried to explain to him how to relax his eye-muscles when looking at things from afar, how not to strain his eyes, etc, etc. All in vain. He doesn't know how. Time and again I would catch him squinting his eyes in front of the TV. Then I thought of a brilliant idea, or so I thought.
"If you see it clearly, you see it. If you see it blurry, leave it be. That's looking at things in a relax way."
Well, he didn't get that either. I still catch him squinting his eyes in front of the TV. I was frustrated. Then it struck me.
Perhaps this little fella is trying to teach me another lesson in life. Could it be?
Here he is trying to get a clear view of the world, and yet I ask him to "if you see it blurry, leave it be". It suddenly dawned on me that maybe there might be something fundamentally wrong with what I'm trying to 'teach' him. Suddenly I have doubts regarding my mentality on looking at things. I'm still not totally convinced that I'm incorrect, but I have doubts.
My children teach me things, but they are not necessary good teachers. Like in this case, I think I'm getting a slight hint of what this lesson is teaching me, but the boy hasn't given me any further explanation ... unless ... unless he's trying to make me think!
This little fella is trying to make me think! Instead of laying it out clearly to me, he's given me a lead and make my mind dwell on it.
Hmmm ... what's he trying to say? What's this lesson in life about? Is this another lesson in life?
.
I recently took my 8-years-old boy to the optician and got him a pair of glasses, reluctantly. He'd been complaining about not being able to see what the teachers write on the board in school. Knowing that his near-sightedness is hardly caused by over-reading or over-studying, and most probably by excessive TV or Gameboys, I was a bit upset.
My 10-years-old daughter had the same problem last year, but we managed to avoid the spectacles by teaching her how to relax her eye-muscles when looking at blackboards in school or doing homework, or watching TV at home. She had managed to shake off the slight handicap, proven by her eye test when we took the boy to the optician. So, I tried to teach the same trick to the boy.
I tried to explain to him how to relax his eye-muscles when looking at things from afar, how not to strain his eyes, etc, etc. All in vain. He doesn't know how. Time and again I would catch him squinting his eyes in front of the TV. Then I thought of a brilliant idea, or so I thought.
"If you see it clearly, you see it. If you see it blurry, leave it be. That's looking at things in a relax way."
Well, he didn't get that either. I still catch him squinting his eyes in front of the TV. I was frustrated. Then it struck me.
Perhaps this little fella is trying to teach me another lesson in life. Could it be?
Here he is trying to get a clear view of the world, and yet I ask him to "if you see it blurry, leave it be". It suddenly dawned on me that maybe there might be something fundamentally wrong with what I'm trying to 'teach' him. Suddenly I have doubts regarding my mentality on looking at things. I'm still not totally convinced that I'm incorrect, but I have doubts.
My children teach me things, but they are not necessary good teachers. Like in this case, I think I'm getting a slight hint of what this lesson is teaching me, but the boy hasn't given me any further explanation ... unless ... unless he's trying to make me think!
This little fella is trying to make me think! Instead of laying it out clearly to me, he's given me a lead and make my mind dwell on it.
Hmmm ... what's he trying to say? What's this lesson in life about? Is this another lesson in life?
.
Friday, February 12, 2010
He's Here!
Weighing at around 300 to 400 pounds, nobody would regard him as obese, or even fat, not when he can measure up to 10 feet from end to end.
With crises and predicaments strewn unresolved here and there by his predecessor, his bravery and courage is much sought after as amours against difficult times, his power and grace are much desired for overcoming obstacles that are here and forthcoming, foreseen and unforeseen.
Eleven years we've waited, and here he is again - the Panthera Tigris ... or - the Tiger!
As the Year of the Ox is nearing its end, the silhouette of the tiger is slowly taking shape and colours, emerging from the cloud of dust blown up by past furies. As he saunter majestically to the centre stage, he doesn't uttered a noise, but we could already hear his thunderous roars.
The roar of Bravery.
To everyone, let's usher in the Year of the Tiger - Happy Chinese New Year!
May the Tiger Walk With You!
.
With crises and predicaments strewn unresolved here and there by his predecessor, his bravery and courage is much sought after as amours against difficult times, his power and grace are much desired for overcoming obstacles that are here and forthcoming, foreseen and unforeseen.
Eleven years we've waited, and here he is again - the Panthera Tigris ... or - the Tiger!
As the Year of the Ox is nearing its end, the silhouette of the tiger is slowly taking shape and colours, emerging from the cloud of dust blown up by past furies. As he saunter majestically to the centre stage, he doesn't uttered a noise, but we could already hear his thunderous roars.
The roar of Bravery.
To everyone, let's usher in the Year of the Tiger - Happy Chinese New Year!
May the Tiger Walk With You!
.
ROAR!!!
.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Life
Life is simple. Grow up, make a living, if you feel the need, find a partner in life, make a better living, if you feel like walking alone, that's fine too, if you're adventurous, have a child, and if you're game enough, have children, make an even better living, teach your children to grow up and be independent, learn to let them go, then let them go, grow old and die, presumably life ends then.
Life is simple, when it concerns the "what to do".
When it comes to the "how to do", or "how much", "how good" - life is a bitch.
Life could be a bitch, it's all down to perspective. Shift your angle, the bitch could be a challenge, shift it a little bit more, it could even be interesting. And if you are wise about it, life could be simple.
Life is simple.
I wish.
.
Life is simple, when it concerns the "what to do".
When it comes to the "how to do", or "how much", "how good" - life is a bitch.
Life could be a bitch, it's all down to perspective. Shift your angle, the bitch could be a challenge, shift it a little bit more, it could even be interesting. And if you are wise about it, life could be simple.
Life is simple.
I wish.
.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Wall
He stretches out his right hand, feels the wall carefully. He can sense the contemptuous stare of the wall on him. He retracts his hand slowly, drawing in a long, deep breath. He never blink, not in front of such defiance. He lowers his body, as slowly as he draws in another breath of calmness. He curves his slightly spread legs to steady himself. Then he shuts his eyes.
His eyes are closed not because of what stands in front of him, but what is rising within him. Although, there's no denying the cause and effect relationship between the two. He needs to contain the various simmering negative emotions that are bubbling vigorously deep within him - frustration, discontent, helplessness, confusion and the ensuing rage. He wants to rein in each and everyone of them. He tries to direct them to where he wants them to be, at the centre of him, within him, under control, however arduous the task seems. Sweat starts to ooze out from his slightly grimaced face. The task is not at all easy, despite his numerous unavoidable encounters with them.
It's hard to focus when there are so many of them, each pulling him in different direction with such force, each trying to get out from his body with such haste. He's clueless as to where to start, and how. In the end, everyone of them converges at the top of his chest and he is shaking.
"Arghh ..." he lets out a punch with all his might; a punch that is powerful enough to crush any wall of negative emotions.
He opens his eyes. The wall stand in front of him. Intact.
His fist is a quarter of an inch from the wall, which is seemingly staring at him still, laughing even.
He extends his index finger from his fist and points at the wall slowly, repeatedly. Pulling back his hand, he stands up straight and turns in silent.
As he turns his back towards the wall, he suddenly reverses the direction of his turn in lightning speed, leans his body slightly backward, lifts his right leg from the ground and kicks towards the wall.
Unlike the earlier all-out airy punch, the kick is a controlled release of force, with just enough energy and right at the centre of the wall. There's no shouting from him this time to punctuate his action. But the wall gives out a loud thud.
He stands facing the wall again.
He turns, for the second time, and walks away. The wall stands in defiant.
"One, two ..." he counts silently, at tempo to his steps.
On the contemptuous face of the wall, cracks appear, and spread across its face within seconds.
"Three."
On that count, the wall crumbles.
As the dust settles casually onto the ground, the corners of his mouth curl upwards into a smile.
.
His eyes are closed not because of what stands in front of him, but what is rising within him. Although, there's no denying the cause and effect relationship between the two. He needs to contain the various simmering negative emotions that are bubbling vigorously deep within him - frustration, discontent, helplessness, confusion and the ensuing rage. He wants to rein in each and everyone of them. He tries to direct them to where he wants them to be, at the centre of him, within him, under control, however arduous the task seems. Sweat starts to ooze out from his slightly grimaced face. The task is not at all easy, despite his numerous unavoidable encounters with them.
It's hard to focus when there are so many of them, each pulling him in different direction with such force, each trying to get out from his body with such haste. He's clueless as to where to start, and how. In the end, everyone of them converges at the top of his chest and he is shaking.
"Arghh ..." he lets out a punch with all his might; a punch that is powerful enough to crush any wall of negative emotions.
He opens his eyes. The wall stand in front of him. Intact.
His fist is a quarter of an inch from the wall, which is seemingly staring at him still, laughing even.
He extends his index finger from his fist and points at the wall slowly, repeatedly. Pulling back his hand, he stands up straight and turns in silent.
As he turns his back towards the wall, he suddenly reverses the direction of his turn in lightning speed, leans his body slightly backward, lifts his right leg from the ground and kicks towards the wall.
Unlike the earlier all-out airy punch, the kick is a controlled release of force, with just enough energy and right at the centre of the wall. There's no shouting from him this time to punctuate his action. But the wall gives out a loud thud.
He stands facing the wall again.
He turns, for the second time, and walks away. The wall stands in defiant.
"One, two ..." he counts silently, at tempo to his steps.
On the contemptuous face of the wall, cracks appear, and spread across its face within seconds.
"Three."
On that count, the wall crumbles.
As the dust settles casually onto the ground, the corners of his mouth curl upwards into a smile.
.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
At The Park
"Ah ... it's a good day to run."
That reminds me of Flatliners - Julia Roberts, Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, life, near-death, death, near-life, life, and Julia Roberts. Although I'm not here to deal with such weighty issues, there's no more appropriate statement than that at the moment.
NOTE: This is not a repeat of my previous post - Running. This post is actually my intended finished article. When I reached the part at the end of the previous post, I thought it would be fun to stop there and then with "I stop." I call it the Joker's Version. My thought to myself then with that abrupt ending is "What a Joker!" If you enjoy my last post, I hope you would like this full version too.
I'm standing on the running track that circles the big green land of grass. The sun is trudging westwards and drizzling what's left in his bag of tropical elements through the openings of the evening clouds. And the wind is casually laying its cosy warmth across the park. On any other Sunday afternoon, I would probably be enjoying a nap in the comfort of my bed under the cooling fan. But not today.
Sans of the tiring colours of any concrete-greys, the lushness of the greens reflecting under the cloudy sky off the trees and the grass is therapeutic, to the mind and to the sight; a splash of liveliness is added by the vivid colours displayed at the corner of the field, where a playground stands. I take a deep breath, trying to draw in the scene of serenity in front. I smell grass, trees, tropics, laziness in the air, and life.
Running was never my choice of exercise, but it's preferred over swimming. When I run, I don't feel the fear of sinking if I stop. Since the time I promised myself I have to run regularly when I hit the big 4-0 until now, two years and less than ten runs in between, another run is way past overdue. Okay then.
I start to walk around the field, slowly immerse myself into the buzzes of the place - joggers running past me, walkers walking in front of me, chatting if they are in pairs; in the middle of the field there are youngsters playing football, families flying kites, kids yelling at the playground; friends having a chat on the benches situated around the park, food lovers having a bowl of local delicacies at the mobile stalls. Ahh ... such vibrancy. Loving it. For a sport as lonely as running, I very much prefer to do it in a crowded place like this, much like how I enjoy a meal in a crowded eatery, alone. Part of being a human being, I guess - we need space, yet we need companionship.
After completing one cycle around the field, I pick up the pace from walking to jogging, or running, at the slowest possible pace; any slower, I would look like dancing in a forward motion non-stop, feet hardly lifting off the ground. I straighten my back, pump up my chest and the music of Rocky starts to play in my mind.
Running being a solitude sport would eliminate all distractions from excitement in trying to outdo any opponents and let you get to know your body better. Three minutes into the exercise, and half way around the park later, I find out that if I am to die naturally, my lungs would probably be the first to go. Barely over a century of steps run, it suddenly dawns on me that I'm breathing. The subconscious mechanism now appears possible only with great conscious efforts, and my rib cage seems too small for my lungs to expand and draw in bigger breath for my dire needs of oxygen. As my breathing changes gear, I start to time it with my steps. Two steps in, two steps out, two steps in, two steps out ...
As my breathing gets into the heavier and louder rhythm, I realise another thing about another part of my body, and my life expectancy if ever I found myself stranded in the great plains of Africa and saw a hungry lion hundred feet away from me. Yeah, I wouldn't be able to outrun the guy for more than 20 seconds, 21.3 seconds top, even if it's senile, and crippled. The muscles of my thigh and legs start to harden. And a pull in my abdomen is a clear sign of lack of exercises over the past years.
By this time, the uplifting beats of Rocky have long gone. In its place is the more desperate "I think I can, I think I can, I think ..." I'm not giving up just yet. I read somewhere that there's a pain barrier that if our body is able to surpass, we can continue for a lot longer. But that's best left to be found out later in another run at another time.
After another three minutes pushing myself against the pain barrier in futility, I slow to a quick walk. This is the part I enjoy most about running - the satisfaction from having conquered another barrier (although in this case the "conqueree" is rather insignificant, compensated only by the fact that this is my first run after a long time) and the feeling of being alive - the thumping of my heart, and the sweat oozing out of my body so fast, so thick that I can feel them crawling down my body like worms sliding down me. Not a pretty description, but I think it's eerily apt. Sweating under the evening tropical sun outdoor is an enjoyable experience.
As I slow my walk slowly from a quick walk to a normal walk, I begin to enjoy the scene at the park again. Now that my mind is not busy pushing my body to perform the mechanism of running for an extended period of time, it has more space and time to appreciate the surrounding. Coming back from the lone battle against self-inflicted pains, I feel my presence within the crowd again.
By this time, the evening breeze has picked up slightly, giving hints of the nightly coolness that awaits us. As the crowd slowly dwindles, it is joined by a few evening strollers out to enjoy the sunset. With my wife and kids away on a mini-vacation and my work tied me back at home, I continue my walk around the park, until I notice the shadow my body is casting on the running track. I find a bench and sit down for a rest.
The middle of the park is slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night, surrounded by a band of light formed by the street lamps that stand guarding by the running track. The white noise from the crowd has subsided, leaving the yelling from the kids lingering at the playground ringing in the air. The place is slowly coming to a still, pierced occasionally by the shrieks of a few rusty swings. Suddenly a sense of loneliness rises within me, which reminds me of the days working in a big city with nothing but furniture waiting for me at home. In a way, I miss that.
Sitting on a bench swallowing the feeling of solitude with a bottle of water, I find myself deep into thoughts of this, that and everything, reminiscing of the younger days. When I realise the park has fallen completely into the night and I am surrounded by its accompanying stillness, I pick myself up from the bench. The occasional shrieks of the rusty swings continue as I leave the park.
.
That reminds me of Flatliners - Julia Roberts, Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, life, near-death, death, near-life, life, and Julia Roberts. Although I'm not here to deal with such weighty issues, there's no more appropriate statement than that at the moment.
NOTE: This is not a repeat of my previous post - Running. This post is actually my intended finished article. When I reached the part at the end of the previous post, I thought it would be fun to stop there and then with "I stop." I call it the Joker's Version. My thought to myself then with that abrupt ending is "What a Joker!" If you enjoy my last post, I hope you would like this full version too.
I'm standing on the running track that circles the big green land of grass. The sun is trudging westwards and drizzling what's left in his bag of tropical elements through the openings of the evening clouds. And the wind is casually laying its cosy warmth across the park. On any other Sunday afternoon, I would probably be enjoying a nap in the comfort of my bed under the cooling fan. But not today.
Sans of the tiring colours of any concrete-greys, the lushness of the greens reflecting under the cloudy sky off the trees and the grass is therapeutic, to the mind and to the sight; a splash of liveliness is added by the vivid colours displayed at the corner of the field, where a playground stands. I take a deep breath, trying to draw in the scene of serenity in front. I smell grass, trees, tropics, laziness in the air, and life.
Running was never my choice of exercise, but it's preferred over swimming. When I run, I don't feel the fear of sinking if I stop. Since the time I promised myself I have to run regularly when I hit the big 4-0 until now, two years and less than ten runs in between, another run is way past overdue. Okay then.
I start to walk around the field, slowly immerse myself into the buzzes of the place - joggers running past me, walkers walking in front of me, chatting if they are in pairs; in the middle of the field there are youngsters playing football, families flying kites, kids yelling at the playground; friends having a chat on the benches situated around the park, food lovers having a bowl of local delicacies at the mobile stalls. Ahh ... such vibrancy. Loving it. For a sport as lonely as running, I very much prefer to do it in a crowded place like this, much like how I enjoy a meal in a crowded eatery, alone. Part of being a human being, I guess - we need space, yet we need companionship.
After completing one cycle around the field, I pick up the pace from walking to jogging, or running, at the slowest possible pace; any slower, I would look like dancing in a forward motion non-stop, feet hardly lifting off the ground. I straighten my back, pump up my chest and the music of Rocky starts to play in my mind.
Running being a solitude sport would eliminate all distractions from excitement in trying to outdo any opponents and let you get to know your body better. Three minutes into the exercise, and half way around the park later, I find out that if I am to die naturally, my lungs would probably be the first to go. Barely over a century of steps run, it suddenly dawns on me that I'm breathing. The subconscious mechanism now appears possible only with great conscious efforts, and my rib cage seems too small for my lungs to expand and draw in bigger breath for my dire needs of oxygen. As my breathing changes gear, I start to time it with my steps. Two steps in, two steps out, two steps in, two steps out ...
As my breathing gets into the heavier and louder rhythm, I realise another thing about another part of my body, and my life expectancy if ever I found myself stranded in the great plains of Africa and saw a hungry lion hundred feet away from me. Yeah, I wouldn't be able to outrun the guy for more than 20 seconds, 21.3 seconds top, even if it's senile, and crippled. The muscles of my thigh and legs start to harden. And a pull in my abdomen is a clear sign of lack of exercises over the past years.
By this time, the uplifting beats of Rocky have long gone. In its place is the more desperate "I think I can, I think I can, I think ..." I'm not giving up just yet. I read somewhere that there's a pain barrier that if our body is able to surpass, we can continue for a lot longer. But that's best left to be found out later in another run at another time.
After another three minutes pushing myself against the pain barrier in futility, I slow to a quick walk. This is the part I enjoy most about running - the satisfaction from having conquered another barrier (although in this case the "conqueree" is rather insignificant, compensated only by the fact that this is my first run after a long time) and the feeling of being alive - the thumping of my heart, and the sweat oozing out of my body so fast, so thick that I can feel them crawling down my body like worms sliding down me. Not a pretty description, but I think it's eerily apt. Sweating under the evening tropical sun outdoor is an enjoyable experience.
As I slow my walk slowly from a quick walk to a normal walk, I begin to enjoy the scene at the park again. Now that my mind is not busy pushing my body to perform the mechanism of running for an extended period of time, it has more space and time to appreciate the surrounding. Coming back from the lone battle against self-inflicted pains, I feel my presence within the crowd again.
By this time, the evening breeze has picked up slightly, giving hints of the nightly coolness that awaits us. As the crowd slowly dwindles, it is joined by a few evening strollers out to enjoy the sunset. With my wife and kids away on a mini-vacation and my work tied me back at home, I continue my walk around the park, until I notice the shadow my body is casting on the running track. I find a bench and sit down for a rest.
The middle of the park is slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night, surrounded by a band of light formed by the street lamps that stand guarding by the running track. The white noise from the crowd has subsided, leaving the yelling from the kids lingering at the playground ringing in the air. The place is slowly coming to a still, pierced occasionally by the shrieks of a few rusty swings. Suddenly a sense of loneliness rises within me, which reminds me of the days working in a big city with nothing but furniture waiting for me at home. In a way, I miss that.
Sitting on a bench swallowing the feeling of solitude with a bottle of water, I find myself deep into thoughts of this, that and everything, reminiscing of the younger days. When I realise the park has fallen completely into the night and I am surrounded by its accompanying stillness, I pick myself up from the bench. The occasional shrieks of the rusty swings continue as I leave the park.
.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Running
"Ah ... it's a good day to run."
That reminds me of Flatliners - Julia Roberts, Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, life, near-death, death, near-life, life, and Julia Roberts. Although I'm not here to deal with such weighty issues, there's no more appropriate statement than that at the moment.
I'm standing on the running track that circles the big green land of grass. The sun is trudging westwards and drizzling what's left in his bag of tropical elements through the openings of the evening clouds. And the wind is casually laying its cosy warmth across the park. On any other Sunday afternoon, I would probably be enjoying a nap in the comfort of my bed under the cooling fan. But not today.
Sans of the tiring colours of any concrete-greys, the lushness of the greens reflecting under the cloudy sky off the trees and the grass is therapeutic, to the mind and to the sight. A splash of liveliness is added by the vivid colours displayed at the corner of the field, where a playground stands. I take a deep breath, trying to draw in the scene of serenity in front. I smell grass, tropics, laziness in the air, and life.
Running was never my choice of exercise, but it's preferred over swimming. When I run, I don't feel the fear of sinking if I stop. Since the time I promised myself I have to run regularly when I hit the big 4-0 until now, two years and less than ten runs in between, another run is way past overdue. Okay then.
I start to walk around the field, slowly immerse myself into the buzzes of the place - joggers running past me, walkers walking in front of me, chatting if they are in pairs; in the middle of the field there are youngsters playing football, families flying kites, kids yelling at the playground; friends having a chat on the benches situated around the park, food lovers having a bowl of local delicacies at the mobile stalls. Ahh ... such vibrancy. Loving it. For a sport as lonely as running, I very much prefer to do it in a crowded place like this, much like how I enjoy a meal in a crowded eatery, alone. Part of being a human being, I guess - we need space, yet we need companionship.
After completing one cycle around the field, I feel ready and pick up the pace from walking to jogging.
Sure enough, with the last run happened more than a year ago, after less than ten minutes -
I stop.
.
That reminds me of Flatliners - Julia Roberts, Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, life, near-death, death, near-life, life, and Julia Roberts. Although I'm not here to deal with such weighty issues, there's no more appropriate statement than that at the moment.
I'm standing on the running track that circles the big green land of grass. The sun is trudging westwards and drizzling what's left in his bag of tropical elements through the openings of the evening clouds. And the wind is casually laying its cosy warmth across the park. On any other Sunday afternoon, I would probably be enjoying a nap in the comfort of my bed under the cooling fan. But not today.
Sans of the tiring colours of any concrete-greys, the lushness of the greens reflecting under the cloudy sky off the trees and the grass is therapeutic, to the mind and to the sight. A splash of liveliness is added by the vivid colours displayed at the corner of the field, where a playground stands. I take a deep breath, trying to draw in the scene of serenity in front. I smell grass, tropics, laziness in the air, and life.
Running was never my choice of exercise, but it's preferred over swimming. When I run, I don't feel the fear of sinking if I stop. Since the time I promised myself I have to run regularly when I hit the big 4-0 until now, two years and less than ten runs in between, another run is way past overdue. Okay then.
I start to walk around the field, slowly immerse myself into the buzzes of the place - joggers running past me, walkers walking in front of me, chatting if they are in pairs; in the middle of the field there are youngsters playing football, families flying kites, kids yelling at the playground; friends having a chat on the benches situated around the park, food lovers having a bowl of local delicacies at the mobile stalls. Ahh ... such vibrancy. Loving it. For a sport as lonely as running, I very much prefer to do it in a crowded place like this, much like how I enjoy a meal in a crowded eatery, alone. Part of being a human being, I guess - we need space, yet we need companionship.
After completing one cycle around the field, I feel ready and pick up the pace from walking to jogging.
Sure enough, with the last run happened more than a year ago, after less than ten minutes -
I stop.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
