A little ray of sunshine

There are times in our lives where we need something to jolt us out of our sadness. For the past few months I have been sadder than usual, and missing the company of a close friendship that has fallen apart.

It’s difficult for me to know what to do in these situations. I really wish that I could have that close friendship again, but at the same time I feel as though I’m the only one trying to mend it, and it doesn’t make me feel good about myself.

But today, in my usual sad mood, I recieved a little ray of sunshine. A friend of mine messaged our group of friends and told us that there was a travel deal going on.

Does anyone want to go to Japan? was the question I saw when I opened up my phone.

I’m still in the middle of work, but I have to let him know within 2 hours. So without checking with my boss, without checking the itinerary, I make a spontaneous decision and say Yes!

Who knew that I’d start the day feeling sad, only to end up booking a flight to Japan!

The spontaneous decision has jolted me out of a much needed wake up. I like it. I want more of this feeling. And although I know my sadness won’t fade away right now, I’m just glad to have a brief reprieve from the sadness I’ve been feeling in my heart.

I’m sitting here all alone at work, listening to the traffic rushing outside and making sure I finish typing this before I go home.

Sadness is not my forte. I want to get out there and start moving. I hope today will be the start of a happier me.

How will life work itself out?

Just spent 4 hours working on my freelance work. It’s now 1:22am. I’m feeling extremely tired, my head’s spinning, but it’s so worth it.

Everytime I do a substantial amount of work I go to bed smiling.

Lately, my schedule has been extremely busy. I come home from work at around 6.40pm, then try to spend an hour each night working on my freelance project.

I say try to because some nights I just feel like sitting in front of the couch watching trashy TV.

I know I’ll regret it in the weekend when I have to make up for the time lost. Like right now.

My target is to spend at least 10 hours a week on freelancing. I could do more if I quit my job, and I could earn a lot more too, so I’m weighing up my options.

The past few months have been emotionally draining and this freelance job is the only thing that’s sort of helping me get over someone.

Without it, I would feel so lost. I wouldn’t have this feeling of accomplishment that temporarily eases the pain of loss.

I’m glad I followed my strengths because they’ve helped me climb out of a bad rut I’ve fallen into. Which happens quite a lot!

Remember, you might think dreams are useless, but dark days are the times where our dreams are needed the most.

Goodnight.

Finding treasure

I knew somebody who knows of a place to look for gold. Somewhere up North. The first time he contacted me, he was already there, bent over backwards under the baked sun, scanning the ground for gold. He used a tiny piece of equipment, the picture he sent me wasn’t too clear, but there amongst the sludge of grime and dirt were specs of gold. It wasn’t much, he grunted.

Later on, he showed me his collection of gems. Emerald, pearl, and sapphire. I even got some for my birthday. Not the store-bought ones that people give each other on special occasions, but the raw ones. Tiny, tiny stones. And he even proved to me that they were real, with that little equipment of his that buzzed when it touched genuine stone. He knew his stones. Even his last name meant stone.

I thought he was either a con man, or a black market dealer, someone who shouldn’t be trusted.

But I didn’t know anybody like that, so I found him interesting to talk to.

I uncovered facts about him. He was a loner of sorts who travelled around the world, but he could carry on a conversation with ease and make someone feel as though they were being listened to.

I taught him what a metaphor was by giving him a rose.

Some time later, when I came back from my trip overseas, I found him alone and sunken. He wasn’t the same person anymore. He lost his attentiveness, his soft-spoken voice and his sense of curiosity about people.

Genuine stone never loses its shine, but this stone lost his.

The trouble with using an equipment to find treasure is that sometimes machines can get faulty or stuck. He had scanned his equipment over the piece of ground, and it had passed over the single most biggest treasure he could have ever found, and it didn’t buzz.

Sometimes there are no easy ways of knowing when we’ve found our treasure or when we’ve lost it. I often wonder, where did that person go? The one that bent his back looking for treasure under the hot baked sun. He no longer does that anymore. Instead, he sits there on the couch, watching TV, letting other people find his treasure.

The treasure seeker couldn’t even see the gold that was right in front of him.

Stones are put under pressure to see what they are made of.

Writer’s cave

I am sitting outside the entrance of Organ cave as I write. There are wasps buzzing around me, and I can’t get any peace. No shelter from the hot sun either. I’m baking and regretting my earlier decision not to follow my friends inside the cave.

A lot has happened since I last wrote, which was about a week ago.

In that week, I’ve found a freelance job that pays me twice as much as what my current one does!

I’m still keeping my daytime job for now, while I get used to freelancing.

I feel like I’m one step towards my dream life. A life where my time is my own, where I can be anywhere I want to be without being restricted by my job. A life where I have the time to write and make a living all at once.

Right now, I feel a nice cool breeze lifting the air, which makes writing a bit more enjoyable. The wasps are still circling me though, probably telling me to get off their territory. I must be underneath a wasp tree, I hear a swarm of wasps nearby.

It’s the long weekend over here, which means I get a three day break. I’m travelling up North with friends and trying to fit in a bit of freelance work.

This trip is also an opportunity to test out what it’s like to travel and work at the same time. If it’s manageable, I’ll take myself across Europe and go on a long vacation.

I’ve been writing for an hour already?

My friends are back. I hear their voices. I have never been so glad to hear their familiar voices, and to get away from these angry wasps.

Until next time.

Weekend getaway to a writer’s home

I’ve always wondered what a writer’s home looked like. Rooms full of libraries, books that span across shelves, a reading corner, a warm fireplace, something a little reminiscent of the Beast’s library.

Last weekend, I got a chance to see such a home with my very own eyes, to live and breathe the space where a writer once worked.

Let me describe to you every breathtaking detail from the drive up the long winded driveway, to the little speck of dust on the kitchen counter.

It was as if we had stepped into a house that was waiting for us to enjoy its simple pleasures.

The ferns waved at us from either end as we rounded into the driveway, the door swung open with an easy click that opened into a homely kitchen and lounge, and there were cats, all six of them, roaming freely, so that you never got to see them all together at the same time.

After we had settled our bags down and pinched ourselves in disbelief, we gave ourselves a mini tour.

A little note was stuck to the kitchen counter. “There’s pizza in the fridge. Help yourselves.”

We did more than just that.

We cooked in the kitchen. Roast chicken and salad, while my friend prepared dinner for the cats. There was a pantry full of all the spices one could ever need, and drawers and drawers of utensils.

As I recall, my friend got mixed up between the cat utensils and the human utensils. You can tell that the owners were very fond of their cats.

After dinner, we melted cheese on bread and sat outside on the deck that overwatched the sea, and later that evening, we spread ourselves across the warm rug in front of the TV, while the cats joined us, purring contently.

Even though it seemed like an hour, we sat this way for five hours. The house seemed to have its own time.

It was midnight, when we reluctantly peeled ourselves away from the warm rug and entered the cool night, leaving this oasis behind us.

On the drive home, I struggled to keep my eyes open. The next day was a work week, what was I doing out so late? Still, it was the best decision ever.

Yawning loudly, we drove towards a purple-blue horizon lit up by a single streetlight. Lights multiplied by the dozens as we drove on – out of the countryside and back into the city, with just a touch of remorse tainting this lovely Sunday evening.

A jar of quotes

When I was teaching myself how to write, I kept a small jar of quotes beside me. They kept as a reminder of the reasons why I chose to become a writer.

If there was ever a day where I was easily discouraged, I would pick a few quotes out of the jar and read them silently to myself.

Afterwards, I almost always found my courage again.

Today I picked a quote from the jar and it said:

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s the quiet voice saying I will try again tomorrow.”

These are the quiet steps taken by a writer. And if not tomorrow, then the day after tomorrow, or even fifty years later, all these words will culminate into something it was always meant to be.

As I close the lid to my jar of quotes, I know that there are many more writers hiding out there.

How do you find your courage to write?