Tuesday, March 25, 2014
My feet are aching... but they are itching to leave...
To walk away, and traverse the endless paths that make up our universe.
I want to see. Do. Taste. Touch. Feel.
But my feet are bound. Not by culture. But by desk and by duty.
My passport, always on the ready. In my bag, like a gun in a holster, waiting to be drawn.
How wonderful it must be, to not be tied down to anything. To fly free. And experience all that life has to offer.
How amazing it would be, to do that with you.
The more I experience, the more I realise, that we are not unique. That our experiences, our emotions, sometimes, even our fates and destinies... others have seen, thought, felt, or gone through before.
Like we are drawing from a collective memory bank. Making withdrawals from the same pool of shared experiences.
How else does it explain a poet, so accurately expressing what I feel in words..
A song, so perfectly capturing my tears.
How else does it explain so many people, on instagram, all over the world, professing that they too, are like you. They want the same things. Go the same places.
But they are not you..
We are all as unique as everyone else...
p.s. A friend once likened me to the movie Runaway Bride. I guess, it is true.
I do tend to run away.
When will I find someone who will want to make me stay? Not because I feel a need to. Not because I feel like I have to. But because I want to.
A question that was shot to Julia Roberts' character in Runaway Bride, when people around her told her that all she did, was conform or adapt to the guys she was with.... how do you like your eggs?
Well. That's just it right? It usually depends on my mood and where I am. I just love eggs. Scrambled with cheese, and when I fluff them up with a splash of milk and add a lil truffle salt. Egg white omelettes. Or stuffed with a spinach ricotta mix. Poached - eggs benedict. Hard boiled sometimes, with a dollop of mayo, or sambal. And at others, half-boiled, with a dash of dark or light soya sauce, with pepper.
I guess, what I need, is not the eggs. But a chef who can make them all.
Sigh. It's so tough to find someone who knows or can keep all my plates spinning.
Meanwhile, my mind.. and my heart.. keep wandering.