Open-Ended

Darkness...

We all have some amounts of it in us; some more than others, and of course some more obviously so. Does the darkness make you uncomfortable?

Anna doesn't think so. Neither do I; not now, I don't anymore.

Ever since about a week ago, three isolated incidents have showed me more about myself and that presumed darkness within me. I had the opportunity to counsel with the black phantom several times over the past days over firstly, an essay and secondly, over digital chatter.

While blog posts come easily for me, essays don't. Don't look surprised, I think if you considered this a little more, you would find it rather logical that the two forms of writing are quite different, and are taking place under rather different circumstances. I get stuck on essays a lot more easily than blog posts. In fact, I can always put a post off, but I can't put essays off for that long. Plus, there's always the issue of grades. I'm sure I can write a decent paper, but they seldome turn out that way -- not the way I conduct them, at least. You see, I'm one of those deadline-pushers. Yes... one of those people.

Still, I couldn't help but chance upon a fitting description for this situation I am in. While embraced by warmth, it suddenly dawned on me that my imagination could be likened to water, or something fluid. Basically, it flows; not all the time, but especially when the conditions are right. It sometimes run dry, gets frozen, bubbles over, or even sublimes.

Now that's not new -- I've heard that description before. Definitely, and quite aptlly so. Now the trick in my situation was that my thoughts and faculties were all flowing, and like the random nature of molecules, pushing in all sorts of different directions. It's no wonder I find comfort in philosophising the random and generally about life -- it's the easy way out. How so? It dawned on me that it's precisely the fact that I don't have to take responsibility for or be judged on my lyrical graffitti that makes it so easy to spill forth.

Just for confirmation, I noticed the same effect when I overshot a deadline and had to work on an late essay, knowing that I would be marked down for missing the deadline. The confirmation came when I knew that it was beyond me now to alter my fate, given the series of events that put me on this losing end; the essay flowed much better than the previous one, where I cranked letters and phrases out up to 10 minutes before the submission deadline.

And so, I went on to breeze through the rest of the already-late essay. Well, that was until the second instance -- the digital chatter, all the way from England.

I had a friend (not mincing my words here), Nicole. She was a pint-sized tom cat. She fought long and hard for the dreams she had, even though she knew the odds were against her. She fought hard to understand the law so that she could make a case for her father's ailing health, allegedly caused by occupational hazards -- all this while knowing full well that her father has shown her little more TLC than one would to a despised child. She worked interns and part-time jobs between her withdrawing from NUS until she could save up enough money to buy her ticket to UK and afford a formal education -- knowing well that the road was long and hard, not to mention that she could have at any time settled for second best. She bore the responsibility of taking care of her mom and sister after suffering the passing of her father earlier this year.

The most surprising thing for me was the fact that she still remembered me after such a long time. In fact, she was the one who initiated contact with me again. Given the circumstances of our parting, I wouldn't even blame her, should she choose otherwise. Nevertheless, she sounds and seems wiser than before, perhaps somewhat hardened. But, unfortunately, she is still as fiery in both speech and mannerism. Which IS a good thing, really.

Did I mention that Nicole is only 20? Well, she seems pretty wise and bright for a 20 year old. She's got game, and she won't hesitate to prove that she's still got what it takes. Her digital chatter makes delightful company at 2 am local time, some 8 hours ahead -- sorta like mental gymnastics, except not so tiring (probably only the stretching part).

Anyway, she speaks of wisdom, helping others, fulfilling her destiny and being a human rights lawyer. Sure, at 20 years, what does she know? Wait til she enters the work force for good and gets jaded. Thing is, she already IS in the workforce, and she already IS jaded. She could get worse. I hardly think so, and I'm pretty sure of it. You see, it's simply because it's a matter of choice for her -- she chose to be so.

She told me that I could choose it too. I remembered that I once felt that way too. But then...

Things changed for her, but she still chose to push on, roll with the punches. Things changed for me, but I only grew more frustrated and disappointed by what potential people saw in me and the discrepancies in the results I was producing.

"But Kiat, we know you're not that kind of smart." Comforting words, but stinging reality.

I need to rethink my assumptions. Seems like all this time while I thought I was meditating and thinking things through, and that I had made up my mind, I was merely closing my eyes and my heart.

You came and opened my heart, and that made me feel immensely comforted. Now, for us, I shall open my eyes. Because we deserve, You deserve more than a potential.


JKLM