beginningtomoveforward

[beginningtomoveforward]

[beginningtomoveforward]

Looking for a Second Start

The last time I saw her, I was deeply in love, indebted to her for opening my heart to the wonders of the world and for expanding the very universe as I existed within it. She allowed me to glide through hopelessly trusting in her every word, flittering around as she held me close, reassuring me on every chill and anxiety, making me feel more than loved, allowing me to be safe. Our first kiss was set under the backdrop of stars glistening in the night sky, under the comfort of an oak tree that gave us the privacy to exist alone, trapped in a moment forever.

Yet standing under the oak tree now, I found that the light had disappeared from my life, and the branches showed their death in the dead of winter. In the cold snap that held my heart and gripped this city, I came here to depart, the place where it all began, the end of the beginning.

I took off my backpack, heavy with the weight of my memories, and slowly began taking out the supplies I would need for the Stygian plunge I was about to embark on, settled not into the peace, but into a release of hope.

It was fitting that where it all began, it all fell apart, and now I was here falling apart. The last time I saw her, it was right under this tree, for the last time, as she muttered under her breath, eyes unable to meet mine, that our love was never meant to last. A fleeting joy that she cherished, but now it was time for her to move on, and the next part of her life couldn’t involve me anymore. She had given me my sweater back, tears running down her face, as she desperately tried to remove the part of her life that my presence had infected.

I transposed my materials out of the bag and into the night, readying it like a key for the door to next abode, a home of nothingness.

The last time I saw her, she held my hand to say goodbye and turned away. She left me to watch her float to the next part of her life, leaving me stranded in the wasteland of the past. Before she left me, before she kissed me goodbye though, she looked once more at the tree in despondency, staring near the base of the tree in a solemn fashion. Like that, she was gone from my life.

A rope swung over the sturdiest branch that extended its arm from the tree, looped for a portal into the next world. As I steadied myself and held my ticket for the one-way trip, I turned to the tree once more, the stalwart guardian over our relationship. I had come across the old carving that we had made when we first found each other, our initials betwixt a heart, embedded into the heart of such a figure. I came down, put my hand across it, and let a tear fall. This wasn’t the end, because this would always last. Maybe I wouldn’t ever be with her again, but love wasn’t dead, this was proof, and I wasn’t to be dead either.

[beginningtomoveforward]

photo source

[beginningtomoveforward]

I miss my old friends, 'cause they know when I need them the most.

Jasmine Thompson, Old Friends

[beginningtomoveforward]

Brothers Again in Tragedy

The last time I had seen my friends was years ago, so far in the past that it was nearly impossible to suggest we were even still friends in the current moment. I hadn’t reminisced about them in years, but something about today was significant, a lasting impact that shook the core foundation of what made us up as a group in its entirety, and yet I had my doubts as to whether any of us still talked.

I pulled out my old yearbook, nostalgic for days of the past, for the lives that I had lost in my life, those who weren’t passed, but simply existed outside of the confines of my personal. I saw pictures of our old selves, 17 and 18 year old children, because that’s what we were, children who were ecstatic and raring to get out into what we deemed was the real world. Little did we know that for the next little while, we would miss ever so dearly what had come to pass, our days of everlasting bliss and ignorance to the doldrums of reality. With a smooth touch, I rolled over a picture of us at graduation photos, suits and ties ready for our photo ops, with my finger, trying to find a way to connect to us once again.

A friend of ours had crossed into the next stage of life, or rather, the next stage in our journey in the universe, as there was no more life breathing through his body. We hadn’t even found out through any proper channels, but simply a Facebook post from his mother, and an Instagram post from his sister. As I stared at the comments, expecting to see half-hearted comments citing “We’ll miss you!” and “You were the best!” and other empty platitudes from those within the childhood context, I hesitated when all I saw were truly heartfelt comments from those I had not recognized at all. We simply weren’t a part of his life anymore; we weren’t part of any of our lives any more.

As I gazed at the pictures on his media, and I looked at our faces in our yearbook, I couldn’t help but feel as though our brotherhood had lost a brother. Even if we hadn’t spoken in years, we lost our brother. Worst of all, he passed without any of his brothers being around. Despite the fact that he may have moved on, as well had, going about our own lives, starting families, starting careers, finding new beginnings, we still had the same start, we originated together.

I carefully looked us all up on all the media we could, and started a group chat. I wanted all of us back together, one last go in honour of our fallen brother. With a simple message, we came back to where we started, we found our roots once more, we came back.

[beginningtomoveforward]

Mission Space billboard

[beginningtomoveforward]

[beginningtomoveforward]

Banned from Disney World

The last time I saw Disney World, I must have been seven years old. I was far too young to have properly enjoyed or appreciated what I was being brought to, nor the monetary sacrifice that had to be made on my parents’ part. Nevertheless, as I look back to it, for the most part, I am filled with elation, and most of the memories are happy, which makes sense, given that its supposed to be the happiest place on Earth. Funny, that it’s the happiest place on Earth, when they are a variety of locations designed to reap the rewards of capitalism.

What stands out though is an image of myself crying, bawling, absolutely drenched with tears, as my mother forced me to get onto a ride. “Misson: SPACE” is what she wanted me to go on, despite my protests alerting a crowd and drawing attention to our family. I remember her dragging my arm along, pulling me towards the line to get in; it wasn’t the most popular day for the ride so there weren’t many people in line being bothered. What was being bothered however, was my family’s patience and level of shame, as onlookers saw a young Asian boy being forcibly conscripted to enter a ride that was designed for fun.

I did not want to enjoy that ride though, as I had mistakenly mixed it up for a roller coaster, and I was deathly terrified of even the slightest of heights. What ended up convincing me though was in my brother’s absolute confidence when he told me:

“If you don’t go on, they’ll ban you from the park for the rest of your life.”

He has a right laugh when I bring it up to him now, confused as to how I would believe such an obvious lie. Although, I don’t regret the tribulation that they had subjected me to, they had known me very well and knew that I was going to enjoy the ride. It was not a rollercoaster, simply a simulation, and I loved it, wanting to ride it once more after getting off.

It was in that experience that gave me a love of trying activities that scared me, so long as I had the support of my family to support me. In return for that, I would try my best to support them as well, to not be a nuisance, but to have fun with them.

I felt this strongest as I held my daughter’s hand as the cart slowly climbed to the top, ready to descend with a burst of speed and giving us the joy of adrenaline and rush. She was braver than I was at her age, and now it was her turn to try new things at this park, and my turn to support her.