I want to remember moments like these- The 11.17 pm-into-the-night moments where there’s no one else but ‘me’ sitting and listening to the quiet of the house.
Me, the night, and dad with his music, testing out his new speakers, and the bundt cake waiting to turn the right shade of golden in the oven.
I’m writing this today because I want to remember myself as having a time where I am completely, perfectly still in just being- And not trying to be, or planning to be, or working towards a being or even a thinking about being. Days where I have not yet started to work for a living, or the concept of the quality of my living having to rely so precisely on my toiling, hasn’t yet sunk in.
I’m writing this, because I foresee a future where I will have days that I will tend to forget. Days where I’m caught in a whirlwind of ‘commitments’ and being discouraged, days where I will be too busy to even tell the days in the week. Or days where I’ll be so tired of being ‘in the system’, and trying way too hard to adapt to that ‘system’ that none of us were made for.
If I ever get too lost in the world, or misplaced, and when I’m trying hard to even remember why I’m ‘here’, or if I were ever content, I want to remember myself as having moments like these.
A moment in time where I’m not consumed by any identity I’ve tried hard to craft, or succumbed to any of the labels anyone has ever tried to fit me in. Moments where I’m not a friend, lover, sister or daughter. Moments where I am not confident, or not a leader, or not intelligent, or not a musician or a writer. Moments where I’m not thinking about something funny to say, or where I don’t have to speak to people. Or moments where I’m not nervous, because I’m almost always nervous before I speak to anyone.
Moments when I’m at my most original state (if origins where even possible), at comfort, one leg tucked under me, and the other swinging over the seat, with not a trace of make-up on my face, bespectacled, irritated by the heat, hair in half a bun and the other half a pure mess.
Moments where I’m not pretty, not just on my face, but on the inside. Where I have so many unflattering thoughts, and less than beautiful opinions about people and the world. I so honestly think, if God had not reached for me, I would be a misanthrope.
Its moments like this where I’m not writing to inspire or to encourage. Where I have no new insights, nor nothing to say about politics. I’m not talking about anything witty or funny. There’s no earth shattering event that transpired to talk about, and there isn’t anything that struck me as a particular lesson to be learnt, though I am sure there are lessons to be learned everyday, whether I realize it on that day or not. Days where I’m purely just writing for myself, selfishly, no reason, agenda, not even a resolution to end things with.
There’s a moment of still, quiet, silence where you hear the inconceivably sure, voice of God, that reminds me that life is a breath, and the moment I take that breath, is the moment God breathed His life into me. It’s the most overwhelming assurance that I will never, ever get too lost, as long as I look upwards and know that there’s a bigger purpose to all this, and for all things.