The thing about setting a bar is that from then on, there’s always that God damn bar to meet no matter what damn thing you do.
Set it way too high right from the start and you’ll kill yourself trying to meet it every time.
And it doesn’t help that it’s human nature to get complacent and also to compare.
It’s a lose-lose situation, really.
It’s good isn’t it? To have someone to depend on. A shoulder to lean on, a shoulder to cry on. No matter how bad things get, you can still count on having someone to depend on at the end of the day, someone to share the burden with.
But in a society where leeches are aplenty and people are expecting to be spoon-fed left, right and centre, I find independence to be a much better trait. To know that you’d always have your own back. To know that you can and will survive in this big scary world even if no one else is there for you to depend on.
It sounds lonely, and perhaps it is. But look at it from a different angle and you will see it’s not all bad on this side of the moon. You won’t have to feel indebted to anyone. You won’t have to feel obliged to make adjustments to suit someone else. You won’t have to be affected by someone else’s whims and fancies. There’s just… so much more freedom.
Yes, independence brings freedom. Liberation. Something that dependence cannot offer. Because when you depend on someone or something, you lose your independence.
Independence is something I treasure. Which is why I need to learn to become stronger and more independent. What I also need to learn, is to depend on others a bit more. After all, the strongest man in the world gets tired too, right?
Never would’ve thought I’d start off this year with a post that’s this sombre. But life is often unpredictable, and unexpectedly cruel.
Today, I lost another little piece of my childhood. Today, the world lost the gem that’s Alan Rickman.
Thank you for making my life magical.
Until the very end.
Like a wound, the longer you leave it, the worse it festers.
Soon, it will turn toxic.
My patience is running out. Cauterise the wound before I chop off the entire limb.
I’m done waiting.
When we were young, my mum and I would play Christmas songs all day in the days leading up to Christmas (and often sing along at the top of our lungs, much to the chagrin of my dad and brother). And we’d take out our tree from the storage room and dust off all the ornaments before taking a few hours just enjoying the process of doing up the Christmas tree.
Oh, the joy of picking out which ornaments to use, putting up fairy lights, and of course, choosing the perfect tree topper as the finishing touch (I’d always needed help putting that on). There’s something indescribably satisfying and fulfilling about it. This was before the age of social media, so we never took photos of the decorated tree and posted them for the world to see. In a way, it made the entire experience more personal and gratifying, knowing that you did it not for some random likes on the Internet, but for the simple joy of having a beautiful Christmas tree to celebrate this wonderfully magical season.
It didn’t matter that our tree had a broken leg and had to be precariously balanced by random objects. It didn’t matter that it was missing a few branches, what with it being a hand me down from my aunt. What mattered was that we spent time and effort together to decorate it and make it uniquely ours. A tree to call our own.
One year, the tree finally gave way, with its other leg breaking off as well. And with a single leg, its days of perching upright ever so precariously were over. And along with it, our little yearly routine of decorating our own tree.
We never did get around to getting another tree. And I realised just how much I yearn for the old days once more.