Falling Into You ...

Oh my dreamland.

I won't take your name, not for now, not in a public forum. But all I can think of these days is getting to you, coming to you fast enough. I have no plans for New Year's eve, and here I am, spinning dreams of spending 31 December, 2013, in you. 

When I visualize time in my mind, especially the period of my life from now until the moment I land on your shores, all I can see is a black nothingness. As if the dates have been plucked out of the calendar and hurled into a gaping void. And all becomes unusually magical after I have reached you.

I pine for you. But I also want to make the most of today, so when I look back I can let go of Singapore with no regrets. And join you, to embrace my future in you, knowing well I have made the most of the opportunities I have had in the past.

And now it is time for bed. Time for dreams, for bed-time stories that I will pen down during the day.

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Evening Breeze

When I listen to this composition, I lose myself in the moment. I usually have this playing in the background when I am writing. It helps me imagine.

I may be sitting in my living room on the sofa but in my mind I am in some sort of a fantasy tale. Mostly this melody transports me to the outdoors, where I lie under the shade of a tree in a large tract of forest, birds twittering, my heart leaping with joy at the sight of sun rays beaming through the leaves of the tall trees, sunshine keeping my bones warm and my skin radiant. All the wood creatures are my friends and we have several adventures together, and I write tales of our adventures and of magic and of fantasy, and children and adults in all corners of the world read these stories, and like me, they are transported to a different world even if only for a brief period of time. 

I am a dreamer. My dreams are so vast that my heart often gasps in pain trying to contain all the thrill and zest that dreams bring along with them. 

And I am also a wee bit scared. There, I said it. Not a wee bit, but actually quite scared. The sensation is overwhelming. When I write, I feel as if I am consumed by some sort of paradisiacal bliss. 

That is the only real world for me, the only one that has any meaning. The world conjured up by words. Where everything is only as real as you believe them to be. 

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The Wait ...

I am waiting for the big move to happen in 2013. I won’t reveal details now, but the anticipation is killing me. But I am also beginning to understand that I must take this time that I have and use it wisely. 

There is some sort of surreal beauty in waiting. It is filled with so much hope and faith, the belief that our dreams will come true is so strong it eventually manifests itself as reality. I have seen this happen before in my life, I have no doubt as to where we are headed in coming months, the signs are all there, the Universe is on our side, there is no reason for anxiety, I keep telling myself this over and over again. Faith grows elusive with the cynicism of age. Ironically, that is when we need faith the most. 

I must seek solace in the innocence and blind faith I had, all those years ago. I must now prepare myself for the move. There is so much to be done, so many stories to be written, so many more to be read, so many more to breathe life into. 

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