Where have all the days gone? The minutes that imprint themselves into the vacant spaces of our days?
So much has happened the past few weeks…I feel like I have traversed into time —into the past pages of our lives, journeyed into the future in the promised pages of our lives and somehow forgot the present. Where is it? It seems that each day slips by faster than I make it. Time rarely pauses and even if it does, it offers but a cursory glance at me before resuming its merry affair again with the sun.
Night falls- day begins. Day falls. Night begins. Somewhere I get lost. I plan so much but vacillate more – my moods swing like a pendulum with each stroke of the sun’s rays – if only we all had a commandment in the Bible that says – Thou Shalt Read, then we would set aside time for the good books. Or if there was a commandment that said Thou Shalt Leave Time for Love – then maybe we would prioritize our lives better and give all our space and time to the ones we love, including ourselves.
Ah, Sunday evening. I am lost in these thoughts. I applied the Epilogue to the China Letters- now it is all ready to be sent.
Tomorrow I begin work afresh. In a finance company called Thomas White International and for the first time in a long while, I am excited about what I have to do there – which is to write. Maybe that might help me unlock the keys to writing – do we need patience to write? inspiration? hope? talent? or sheer persistence? I have none of it…:-( and maybe I might discover a hidden key that promises all for those with nothing within. Ah too morose for a Sunday evening! And the funny thing is, I am actually happy. When I write it seems tinged with melancholy.
I finished reading “The Kite Runner” —bought some more books, one of which is “Letters to a Young Poet” by Rilke. I am reading “Last Seen in Lhasa” by Claire Scobie. Now ,I am wishing for a little plant to care for. Did I tell what happened to Liu Hua? I wrapped that little lotus-looking plant carefully in a wad of old curtains – but it died when I opened it 8 days later. It was a shrivelled mass of dried dead leaves – the curled swirls of the leaves long gone – all that was left was leaf dust. The small ceramic pot survived. Inside, a new plant has been planted. But it is not on my desk –sits down next to the staircase…and now makes me wish I had Liu Hua back.
With this I will go, send the manuscript, and pray for a leafy clover of good luck to embrace us all and grant us shimmering dreams of moonshine.
