kulturbrille:amanuensis

For a moment there, it seemed almost perfect that every metaphor to do with spatial, humanly-possible location was resonant with how I feel today. I leapt from cosmic, inter-galactic comparisons, to stage directions, traffic signals, running lingo, the entire corpus of how we locate ourselves. Distance, remoteness, isolation, was what I wanted to convey. Together with the faintly ascendant feeling of euphoria and anticipation of novelty comes the fear of oblivion (what other fear is there?).

5 months in a new job, and a year into a new life, and still unable to pin down the flailing, thrashing ideas that still come for me, every night. During each fleeting encounter with meaning and purpose, I find myself weakly faltering. Starkly brutal, keenly raw, these long and bittersweet days. If I had been 6, 7, 8 years younger, fearless and unfettered, how I would have destructively smashed everything in sight. Now I cherish and treasure each pithy moment, clutching at sand and shivering in the torrent of otherworldly, Singaporean, correctness. There is only one way to conduct one’s life, with eyes open and holding one’s breath, lest.

There are players on the stage, entities and amorphous ideas and constructs that stubbornly, wonderfully linger and dance, dance, dance. I have no doubt that the penny will drop, soon. Somewhere at the back of my mind - the thought coalesces, the knowledge settles into place - that a life of metaphors is no life at all.