Cosmic

Perhaps if we just let go of our fears we’d see that life isn’t bad at all. Perhaps if we become more forgiving of what we are and what we could not be, we’d find more reasons to smile.
- - -
Memories, well, sometimes we have to step back and say enough is enough! There’s a balance between remembering and regret. A line has to be drawn, what you see when you look back are often times more make-believe than real. Not that they didn’t happen but memories are fickle and are easily malleable. And because the heart (especially a sad heart) can be a traitor, it’s never a good idea to find strength in those memories you hold dear to you. I remember a line I read in a chick lit. It’s so banal that it’s so true: I can’t bloody hell change my past but I can always drop it and be new.

There are so many things to lose ourselves into. So many people we can choose to be into. It’s the thing with our modernity. Choices should make life breezier, instead we get stressed. Adding melancholic memories will not do you good.

I’m beginning to see that memories are better when you’ve let them simmer for a while. When you can look at them like nothing but an array of cans and bottles in your pantry of thoughts. They become commonplace, and you can use them instead of them ruining your day with a turmoil of emotions.

---

Except for a run at the grocery, I have cocooned myself at home for the weekend. I have missed being alone and happy. I have missed going into this zone. Feeling that I have all the time in the world to be doodling on white pages. So I’ve shut the books, told myself I can buy those client orders after work anyway. Found no overwhelming desire to run out or even go to the gym.

I think all I wanted is a sense of serenity. Not simply bliss but something cosmic. When the little worlds inside myself are aligned and I am paying enough attention to bid my deepest desires.

Which is why I found myself baking hand pies and macaroni and cheese yesterday. I needed to do something culinary to be in the groove. I made a small batch of flaky crust, created a filling for the hand pies purely out of my head --- ham, sauteed mushrooms in garlic butter, sweet pepper, in a roux of cheese and milk, baked them in half an hour. Made a pasta sauce out of the left-over roux and found my room filled with that aroma of comfort, a hint of buttery goodness clinging to the air, and just enough food to last me through the weekend.

----

An acquaintance of mine after discovering that I write for a web magazine occasionally, kind of expressed wonder why I am not doggedly pursuing the craft. He gives some naive suggestion, “If I had any writing talent, I’d write for the Times, or apply for jobs at local magazines.” I just waved it off. I have ceased to write for the sake of recognition. In fact, I have stopped writing for quite a few months. And so where, pray tell, can I find the time to even try to be good enough or create connections to write for The Times?

One day maybe, but I am quite happy just with the thought that on a weekend when my world is at peace, I can have this; a few hours to talk to myself by blogging.