Rambles

I write & shoot (photographs) occasionally

atlas

this is where it begins: where our paths stop crossing (i hope not permanently) and we go out and forge new roads, discover roiling seas, set foot on never-before-seen lands, start to truly map out and extend the atlases of our lives. from here we will sail the seas of strange, selfish, beautiful people, explore lands echoing a different reality beneath each pair of feet- little christopher columbuses in our own rights. one day the experiences you speak of may be too vivid, too large to be contained in my little atlas, my understanding of this world. i will watch as you sketch out new terrain, outline the lands you’ve found and forests you’ve fought through, extend the boundaries of what you know and understand and have experienced onto a scroll which has your whole life to unfurl.

and even though our rivers run and meander through different lands, distributaries stretching out in every imaginable direction, i hope that somewhere or other they meet and overlap again, as they did at the source; the beginning.

a haiku

how weak our minds are
resolve dissipating like
sugar in hot tea

passages of stillness

on 8.43am buses filled with adults on solitary journeys to work
composing intermittent melodies of footsteps and card beeps
the sigh of windowpanes supporting weary heads

meaning

disclaimer: this post will probably not give you any meaning.

it seems like my life thus far, my problems, my worries, have been part of a natural progression. i could have worried all i wanted, but it was always just a question of doubt and ability, never direction. naturally and thoughtlessly primary school would give way to secondary school, secondary school in the same way to a tertiary institution. you could argue that this time it’s the same: university will invariably be the destination, but why do i feel so lost and confused now? going off on a tangent here; i guess it might seem shallow to worry about education when millions of others have much more pressing concerns of life and death. but if i could carve out a selfish little space in my mind to worry about me alone, this would be it. i am basically choosing my life path here, but do i know with certainty what i want to do; what each course entails; are the things i know i love doing encapsulated in a course or potential career in the tiniest of ways? and i guess that’s the cruelty of life that so many before me must have encountered: you can have a passion but in all practicality and hopefully fortuity, it has to pay.

eight months, give or take, is a really long time. maybe this is our peek into the ‘adult life’, the system-free life, when you have the power and autonomy to decide what to do with your days- a very scary prospect. i desired freedom so desperately but now this aimless freedom is weighing down on me, the potential in each moment and day lying dormant and unused, like light in a room with no openings. the unending quest for satisfaction: what i appreciate is finally seeing the faces of friends i haven’t caught up with for so long, having conversations and coffee and renewals of friendship and feeling. but in the corners of my mind i cannot fight off the feeling that there should be more than this; what can i do with eight months that will give me true satisfaction; that will make me feel like i have used my time well? i am searching for meaning, but i haven’t found it yet.

feeling like so many others are doing bigger things than me, but maybe that’s how we all look like to each other.

old draft featuring confusion

these days the days are no longer the distinct black and white stripes of a zebra crossing, the boundaries are no longer tangible. more often i find myself struggling to remember what i did yesterday, what day today is (saturday) and what day yesterday was; these things don’t seem to matter or register much anymore when you have escaped a consistent schedule and routine. these days the days are a mass of marble, melded together into swirly patterns in which the days and nights become confused and memory is charted more by events and people and conversations than what i did on mondaytuesdaywednesdaythursdayfriday.

little india photowalk

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night run ramblings

my phone is spoilt. the songs break apart in the middle of themselves and the intermission time is not calculable. all that’s left to hear are my footsteps, cicadas alive and screeching past 8pm and my own body alive and panting, heart pounding so hard i wonder if i can endure another round without collapsing. i haven’t run in so long i’ve forgotten how this fatigue sounds like; can’t really feel my legs but it is a good feeling. when my feet are hitting the ground i’m looking at my own shadow leading the way ahead of me in a tired shuffle (as it looks to me); my shadow across the ground of grass clumps, slanting across the asphalt path, overlapping and criss-crossing with other shadows so that it becomes an undefined dark mess and i can no longer tell which is mine. my shadow enjoined to my feet, pulling me forward.

the elements

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city lights

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backs

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