RAIN and WORDS|Saturday, August 18, 2007
The rain is falling. It has been falling since yesterday. The rain cleanses the earth. It damps what was dry a few days or weeks ago. They say water cleans up and purifies. It does and it will always be the panacea to all ailments…I am now sitting in my room. The window in my room is slightly ajar. And the rain is falling and pattering against the window. The sound of the rain can be deafening. And it can be unnervingly soothing. The rain smells fresh. I always love the smell of the rain. I think, whenever I breathe in the rain smell, I feel as if I have breathe in new air. Not the one recycled via the hydrological water cycle. This new air that I am breathing, it is like as if…it is fresh, first-hand from God.
And just a while ago, I thought…I smell you. I thought I smell the perfume that frequently hovers around you. The smell that I sniff just now only lingered around just a little while. I had wished it lingered around just a little while more. And then, I glanced at Garfield. It looked back at me…the same look it had every night. The every night that I teared…
Sometimes I do wish that I had been born, emotion-less. I wish that I had been born heartless and ruthless. Wreaked of power and authority. I wish I was never born good with words. I wish I was never born sensitive to words, its nuances, people and their subtle gestures and their slight twitches of discomfort and the soft smiles from their eyes. I wish I was never born loving to read and write and listening to stories and songs and watching plays and dances and performances.
Yesterday, I had an enjoyable but tiring ordeal during my ‘contemporary irish poetry’ lecture. The lecturer was wonderful and simply brilliant. And I love the way he speaks. His eloquence and wittiness. He is so full of witty ‘quotations’, of which I have the knack of writing down instead of his lectures. He was trying to tell us that irish poetry is very enjoyable and they are very brilliant pieces of writing. He told us to enjoy the class instead of aiming to get a bitter A-grade. I love him already. But there was one thing that he said which baffled me and reminded me as to why I love reading and writing (blogging included).
"A handle in language…means a handle in life.”
Having a strong grasp in the language means being able to understand and comprehend the world. I take both fiction and non-fiction seriously, simply because I know that each piece of writing, no matter how fictitious or imaginative it is, it is still a personal piece by the author. And for the kind of person I am, I get very unsettled by uncertainties. I don’t like if I don’t understand you. and I don’t like if I am not understood.
And for now, I am in a state of much confusion. Plans I had two months ago have gone POOF! I do not know what is my next course of action. My blog is in a state of semi-private or semi-public. I am in a state of in-between. Happiness is a second. Dejection takes up an hour. To frown seems easier than to smile.
“Tok Selampit…boleh kah Tok Selampit bercerita lagi…”
* spoken&willspeakagain*
12:39 PM
