“Your screen time was up 15% last week”

Somewhere in Chelsea, March ‘22

Isn’t it strange to fathom that not too long ago, we used to set up face-to-face meetings for important conversations and meetings? Yet so many of these interactions now can be a video or conference call. Here – from a tiny box on the monitor screen someone is sharing how war has affected her and her hometown, while other people in their respective boxes on the screen attempt to hold space by providing empathetic gazes and nods which would later on turn into follow-up questions and verbal acknowledgement. “It’s good to have this group,” someone remarks. Most of the people on this call have never met each other in real life.

Another screen – this time, only one face fills up the entire phone screen, an 87-year-old about to turn 88 in a few months but he has no idea. He has an idea who he is talking to, but the name is always at the tip of his tongue, never mind where this person is calling from. He is cheery as he talks about his own forgetfulness, the meals he wants to buy when the person watching and listening on the other end finally comes back home for a visit, and all the souvenirs he’d like to receive. He repeats his sentences like a broken record, it’s all he knows in the moment. You have to prolong this camaraderie, act as if there is nothing wrong while reining in the sadness that comes from watching dementia ravage a person who was once so spry.

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Essential reminders:

Pause the internal monologue, leave the preoccupations behind, don’t linger on your notifications too long or open a new tab to browse idly when someone else is talking. Take a moment to listen and really engage with the person before you. Forget the many things that you think you share in common with the story the person is sharing, let go of the compulsion to center yourself in someone else’s narrative. Do you really understand what is being said? It doesn’t hurt to allow the occasional shared silence in your interactions. There is nothing urgent to fix, nothing you have to immediately offer as assistance. Hear what they are saying and notice the mannerisms they use to convey their story. Have you shown compassion and curiosity in this conversation?

//

Isn’t it comforting to know how you can still provide so much space and presence even if you’re not sitting across from someone or walking next to them? Relationships can be nurtured and grown regardless of geographical distance and time difference. You leave the phone on as you eat your lunch in front of the call screen while one is preparing her evening meal and another wraps her books before going to bed. Ten thousand miles away, someone bids you good night before getting off their commute to begin their day, and you go to sleep feeling a lot less lonely in a city that you are still trying to fit into. Technology is wonderful in bridging distance, but what’s better is how the ones behind these screens foster connections despite all the limitations.

The present moment is safe and warm

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.

– Rainer Maria Rilke

Santa Monica, Jan 2022

I finished my first semester of clinical graduate school with a pace and effort that for once, was enough for me to feel content about. And to finally, finally believe that I am worthy and capable of the progress yet to come.

The mind is such a wondrous, wondrous essence of being. This was a place where dark thoughts and fleeting distractions that did not matter once called home, a prison that set in place the heaviness I felt on so many mornings, tethering me to bed longer than I should stay; corroded the ends of my sentences before I can retrieve them and complete whatever I intended to say to the person before me; permeated my being with a fear of wrongdoing and failure when coming across even the simplest of tasks and obligations. And despite all the hopelessness and gripping anxiety it has held on to, it is also a sponge that soaked up the nurturing words of a support system over the past two years, while slowly recognising the habits I struggle to build to get through the demands of daily living in a new city that moves notoriously fast.

It is not time that heals – it is in the little things that occur and etch themselves like indelible ink into the parched crevices of a traumatised past self. They come in so many beautiful and unexpected forms: thoughtful recommendations on where to visit in this new bewildering country sent my way by lovely, lovely souls, the cup of coffee and danish set out on the bedside table many mornings in a row, the soup reheated and garnished when I came back from JFK, an invitation to engage in movement and breath work together on a Friday night, and even the occasional tropical sunset caught on camera and shared with me from an apartment balcony I have never been. My heart grows fuller with every blessed interaction I gain with the ones who unknowingly leave their impact. And in allowing space for newer interactions, this inexplicable process of change happened even for self-proclaimed creatures of (bad) habit and sentimentality.

Somewhere between letting go of past expectations and allowing life’s surprises to come as they are instead of micromanaging every outcome, I learnt to embrace a little more intentionality with what I do. To replace idle time for truly restful or productive activities – reading, writing, getting on to that next house chore or school task. To carve out time for the people who matter – be it through a shared meal or a video call. To view travel as a way to explore my own interests and learn of the world around me, and not to blindly tick off an itinerary based on what some guides dictate as something I must visit or do. To create space for unfamiliar terrain when old notions and habits which give me comfort do not sustain my growth and happiness anymore.

In a world of endless things to be infuriated and fearful of, and things that society and media want me to consume more and more of, I hope I am timely in discerning what serves the needs of the authentic self I want to develop. That I continue to see beauty in the mundane. That resilience continues to carry me through the challenging moments that call for courage. That in this delicate period of time we know as life on earth, I live this new year and season of life as fully as I am able, with good faith and grace.

Shedding a different kind of weight

Early this year, I found myself waking up to the task of writing about the benefits of participating in sports, something that had very little personal relevance for most my life. To my surprise, I finished this write up within half an hour of starting. And during that half hour while typing away lines like “the cultivation of focus and discipline” and “lessons of perseverance and humility along the way” on my laptop in sleeping clothes, the clear voice my mind conjured was primarily E’s. It’s been a steep learning curve the past half year, thanks to you, I said to him when I eventually showed him the write-up.

It had started with being shown videos of him climbing crags during a work break in a café. I nodded along at the jargon he used as he described climbing to the total novice that was me at the time, noting belatedly that this was the first time someone had bothered explaining to me the ins-and-outs of the sport. Later, I had yielded to his invitation to go for a 3-hour indoor climbing session despite my various half-hearted remarks made prior to conceding. Little did I know, that first visit together would lead to many others. Once, I had been overwhelmed by his sudden segue into the latest drama surrounding the Lakers while everyone was listening to Tame Impala in the car after a long day of hiking. Months later, I would find my curious self tagging along to the basketball court, leaving my book on the bench to learn how to shoot hoops. I finally understood what fantasy football was all about, and sounds from EPL video highlights in the morning slowly ceased to be grounds for complaint. What I have come to accept as part and parcel of his being, became interwoven in my everyday too.

My initial reluctance stemmed from the self-belief that I would always be lagging behind at any kind of sport. I cited having terrible hand-eye coordination and being a klutz so often, it became a well-rehearsed self-deprecating joke among my friends. In hindsight, what contributed to my abysmal rates of participation were the lack of encouragement and opportunities from my immediate environment. The first time I joined a top rope climbing class, it felt impossible. I was unaware until a year later that it was common for beginners to find the routes at where I started out too difficult. All I knew was how easy it seemed for the rest of my friends who were present in that same session. My sense of inadequacy quickly dimmed as I went on to share the excitement of my ex-partner who discovered how much he enjoyed climbing after said session. He started to visit other climbing gyms, but these were plans that never had much intention on including me. Regardless, I was happy to hear that he was on his way to develop a healthy hobby outside of stressful work demands. I just did not know how much happier I could be if I were properly encouraged to participate alongside, instead of being seen as some dainty being who should stick to more feminine activities.

Assumptions I made regarding my own physical capabilities started crumbling as I began to join my eager personal private trainer in various sports, primarily indoor climbing. I think I am scared of heights, I told him. We quickly discovered that was not the case; I was immensely afraid of falling instead. I felt comfortable going up all my routes, but once it was time to let go of my last hold on the wall – I was paralysed. Fear flooded my brain whenever I knew I could no longer hold on to anything, causing me to take a ridiculously long time before I would finally allow myself to fall. My next few climbing sessions were filled with trepidation simply because of this newfound fear, but I was heartened to learn that I could manage decreasing the time spent being afraid with every new route I took on. I also initially believed I would never be able to tie safety knots accurately when he casually asked me to replicate a figure 8 knot on my own after his demonstration. I now see that these automatic thoughts of mine echoed the same thoughts I had nearly ten years ago when I watched a Boy Scout from school flaunt the different knots he could make. This time, the person in front of me was not trying to show off. He was guiding me to become more independent. Repetition and consistent practice made me better. Improvement seemed minuscule each time, but it was progress regardless.

This was the first time in the longest while I was learning something so hands-on from the ground up. It was different from acquiring a new language or picking up a new way of writing. Where do I begin? By just angling myself towards a different side or shifting a foot to a hold I thought was not there until someone pointed it out, I could reach another higher hold. Problem solving on the wall was simultaneously a mental and physical challenge. Despite being in a territory so far removed from my usual comfort zone, these gym visits were never truly uncomfortable. This was largely due to the patient guidance of my personal climbing instructor, and the supportive climbing community around us. Many of the new faces and names that I came across in the past year belong to this community, who were often generous in sparing encouragement and helpful climbing advice. Allez! One of my shaky legs would finally find the strength to straighten, making another hold materialise within my sight. Despite my many fears, I knew I was in safe hands whenever I climbed. Routes were also rendered less intimidating with people I trust at the bottom of the wall alternating between loud, motivating cheers and suggestions on where to move my limbs next. And suddenly, I have manoeuvred my way to the top – adrenaline quickly replaced with fulfilment and relief.

The year before, I told myself how lucky I was that my body was pristine from bruises. It was at most a shove here and there; I was not hurt in the end despite how much anger there was in every argument. How I self-deluded with my ideas of safety and security then. When I pointed out the patches blooming on my legs after my first outdoor climbing session, my friend looked in horror. On the other hand, I was fascinated by the physical evidence of spending a whole day climbing actual rock. Gone were the colourful holds I was so accustomed to at indoor climbing gyms, out there I was free to find my own footing in the crevices of limestone. I had never felt more alive. Previously, I had associated the whole experience as something only seasoned climbers do. But there I was, managing at least three outdoor routes on my first attempt, a far cry from my initial expectation that I would not finish any and end up being there only to spectate. These bruises on my legs reminded me less of being a klutz, and more of little victories against self-imposed limitations.

In the early days of the pandemic, I exercised only to achieve an enhanced physique, yearning the validation of an ex-partner who seemed more pleased when I lost weight. However, as I became more physically active, I focused less on appearances and more on the strength I can gain and the refinement in my technique across different workouts. I was becoming more comfortable in my own skin, even when weight was regained and I could no longer fit a size 2 or 4. Seeing my improvement in climbing – an activity I never thought I could master also stoked my curiosity to attempt other kinds of sports. Instead of associating sports with failure and embarrassment, my renewed perspective saw them as platforms of learning and play. Never mind how many cuts, blisters and bruises I have collected along the way, or the pulled hamstring that took months to recover after too many hours of badminton and ping pong. As I allowed myself to engage in more childlike play, I felt less self-conscious about the skills I have yet to hone, freeing up more capacity to enjoy these experiences. Oh, the heady thrill whenever I received positive comments on improving or picking up a new skill quickly. The wonder and joy at learning how much my body can achieve if I just set my mind to try. Just try.

brain tangles

Two trains collide in the city centre at a time where hospitals are crying how full they are. People debate whether the occupation of a land is truly an occupation. There is a lady crying at the sight of an intubated man on a screen, her cries perpetuating in the re-posts of social media. There are tragedies happening near and far, in silence and in anguish. How do you take one thing at a time when everything is happening all at once? Even well-intentioned words fail to spark warmth and replace the dread reverberating in the mind. Yet another night I hold myself a little tighter, hoping just a little longer.

liminality

I. Before

Norman fucking Rockwell plays and suddenly I am no longer driving in broad daylight. I am in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the volume to the same song. Goddamn, man child. Lana Del Rey’s first line comes on, and I wonder if he registered the lyrics too. I am caught in a slow crawl somewhere in the city centre, rain on the windscreen making the lights a hazy blur. “How can you focus on adjusting the music volume when I am trying to tell you something you have done wrong?” I am not paying attention to him. I always find myself too slow to respond. His tone grows louder. The accusations keep on coming. The quieter I am, the angrier he becomes. I do not remember a single word he says. I wonder whether I will even get to the location on time. I want to be anywhere but listening to this tirade. Everything I manage to say sounds too careless and insincere, fueling his rage further. Are you even human? He shouts. You aren’t trying. At some point I give up freezing. I scream at him to stop until I can no longer hear him. Until he is satisfied at the reaction he could get out of me. I no longer care about the event I wanted to visit so badly minutes ago. How did we get here? The anger only stops when I fight back, or show signs of breakdown. Norman fucking Rockwell continues playing in present time, but no one is in my passenger seat tearing my sanity apart. I am all alone.

II. Temporal

Wordlessly, my laptop is pushed closer to the centre of the table. I do not look up. I have become fearful of taking up too much space. I’m fine, I usually say, as I cramp up my workspace to allow more for the other person sharing the table. There is the briefest moment I held my breath, waited for a sign of reproach. A stare, a sigh, a reprimand. Be patient with me, I want to say. I watch the hands that moved my laptop go back to work. Later on, I would watch these same hands prepare our meals or check my figure 8 knots before I climb a route at the gym. The mistakes I make, be it burnt garlic, or a hand that goes too close to the belay device, are met with nothing but composure and occasional light-hearted teasing. Let’s start over. Surprise strikes me once again when I am shown how rolled chords in Clair de Lune can be played. There is no ounce of frustration from this person guiding my stiff fingers to do better. Gradually, I grow a little braver and ask for more attention from these very useful hands. A rub for my almost constantly tense neck and shoulders, please. Hold me just a little longer, will you. I have never felt more at ease.

III. Headspace

Open your eyes, look. Look at the unedited report before you. A blank document for a new press release to finish before midnight. All this information on too many websites that I have to absorb while applying for a doctorate. I close my eyes at every rollercoaster ride, and I want to close them at every other encounter that terrifies me. Fatigue overtakes and I forget that I am capable. I succumb to sleep so, so many times. The right words that I am looking for are always out of reach. Someone points out how I let my sentences trail off midway. I catch myself saying, I miss my old self. She had so much drive and wonder. I look at other applicants sharing their application process on forums, reading their long list of achievements and experience makes me think – can you have impostor syndrome if you do not even qualify?

IV. E-mails

Dear Ashley, the book chapter you wrote is getting published (painstakingly done, few words per day, over the first lockdown). Here is a pdf copy for now. Dear Ashley, we would like you to take up this short-term role/ task (isn’t it a wonder how in the midst of a pandemic work offers of sorts still come to me and are often also good learning opportunities). Dear Ashley, we are pleased to offer you an interview (despite being the last application I have submitted over this application cycle, and at the very last hour). Hi Ashley, here’s what I think would help you prepare for your interview. *lists XYZ* Although it can be hard to believe this, know that the program wants you as much as you want them (immensely thankful for the essay advice on how to prepare for a doctorate interview, I must remember to get this Samaritan a meal someday). Dear Ashley, we are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted (for the first time I can remember, I am crying big, fat tears of relief instead of sadness and anger).

V. Unlearn/ Learn

There are five parts on this self-care assessment that I am filling up – physical, psychological/ emotional, social, spiritual, and professional. While tallying up my score, another participant on the Zoom session I’m in jokingly remarks, “If it’s not difficult, it’s not self-care, it’s self-indulgence.” At one point of this distraction-filled season of sorts, I recall waking up to a reminder that stood out among a sea of other notifications, asking me to take care of myself; my throat tightens slightly and there is a weird feeling of dissonance that I will not understand until much later that I was reminded of how much more ground I have yet to cover when it comes to serving my own needs. After a decade going from partner to partner, I have cultivated reliance even when often there is nothing solid to rely on.

In a dark room, two pairs of thin arms close in on me as I let myself cry. These are the moments I will learn to love and cherish, from people who have shown consistency in their words and actions, who stay for the right reasons. I let curiosity lead the way with every small step, further away from fear, opening myself up to the unknown.

Objects of Affection

Morning comforts in Helsinki, 2018

I listened to a Tourist album titled Everyday, and am reminded of my focus on little everyday things, instead of on an outing or an event. Objects of affection, I called them in my head. A Moleskine journal for carrying around your quick scribbles and scrawls. A water bottle later. One you carried around for some time before losing. Then a toner for your dry skin. Your cheeks lifted so when I complimented how much better your face felt after consistent use.

A lavender mist for your erratic sleep. ‘It Works’ was printed convincingly on the largely minimalist bottle. You brought it along every time we had a trip, so we could both fall asleep under the same fragrance and comfort.

A pair of earphones after your previous pair broke. A book by your favourite author.

A sturdy plaid coat for the winter you visited and spent with me. And when we were both home, a perfume bought impulsively but which suited you so, so well. For work every now and then.

As we progressed further, an organic shampoo for your new bathroom. You used so much of it without me noticing. For your first house party in ages, an oven for the reluctant chef in you.

And the very last time, sourdough bread and kombu butter. An ode to our shared fancies in the past, as well as a simple gesture before we parted ways. ‘The bread molded and grew an ecosystem,’ I was later told.

I wanted these things to express what I am sometimes slow to say, imagining how affection can weave in and out of your everyday. But now I have run out of words; I can no longer be present. But most of these objects remain, and I suppose that will have to do.

Home, very soon

2 weeks ago

This is the longest time I have been away.

My sense of nostalgia is a slow burner. Partly inspired by a college friend, I have just made a list on my Notes what local dish I shall have when I get home. Top of the list, pan mee. Followed by claypot loushufen, chicken rice, roti pisang. Round table dinners at Chinese diners. Funny how the palate craves for what I don’t even eat on a regular basis back at home.

The Night Before

‘Get ready for the blast of humidity.’ My Malaysian flatmate had said. Getting out of bed dressing for the occasion instead of for the weather that changes throughout the day. Car rides with perpetual a/c, a lot of them. The need to go around filled car parks looking for empty spaces whenever I go to a public place. Goodbye 5 minute walks to the Tube, rushing to the lift before its doors closes, joining orderly lines on elevators. It will be a while before I hear the now-familiar ‘mind the gap’.

Very soon, I will be embraced by Malaysian accents again. Ditching the exchange of ‘how are you’ where people naturally answer positively despite the reality behind. A little less exoticism to be felt in new situations where I am assumed to be from elsewhere, and surprisingly with decent spoken English. I don’t mind it too much; probably more than half the population in central London is from elsewhere.

Not long before I go back to the rojak tongues of Chinese and English. No more awkward pauses that I have had here before I switch into Mandarin, knowing how foreign I sound despite my Mainland Chinese friends here complimenting my general accuracy in pronunciation. And how wonderful, that I speak more than one dialect. Yes, I can speak in Cantonese too. And I recognise Hakka. ‘hao bang, hao li hai’ they tell me. My Malaysian Chinese identity dims as I automatically adopt how they converse. Occasionally they playfully comment how ‘cute’ I can sound speaking in Mandarin. When I commented about this to my flatmate from Shanghai, she had echoed the same thoughts, noting how her largely Northern Chinese peers have influenced her originally Southern accent. We laughed over these little details, and I feel a little less alien.

Things became hazy. My early excitement faded into a sense of surrealism; I struggled to pack and only started past midnight. My other flatmate came in every 10 minutes to make sure I am not lazing about. Thankfully, packing did not take long. At the end of it, my room still had many items strewn around that I won’t take back home with me – clothes, documents, gifts from people who I have only known for 9 months or less over here. These are things I will return to in two weeks. I proudly announced being done with packing via text to my flatmate, and he came in one last time – a goodbye hug.

Before I went to sleep, I briefly wondered what I would feel being back on the bed that I had been used to in another 24 hours.

2 hours before departure

And the people. People I have known for years. My social calendar will need a lot of coordination again, possibly much like the last 2 months before leaving to London. And an eccentric 3 year-old cat with the bushy squirrel-like tail who may or may not recognise me.

I have a half-eaten cupcake from one of my birthday celebrations next to me now as I type these last sentences, and the person who bought it had sent well-wishing messages just hours before, ending with ‘I’ll see you when you’re back’. Yes, indeed, I will be back again for a different chapter – work placement, completing my dissertation, a new place to stay at until my visa expires. So much more to explore and learn.

‘Don’t fumble. And just come home safely.’ An endearing message that I woke up to, sent from an endearing one from back home. With that in mind, I continue on – home, very soon.

Goals/ Resolutions – Knowing them and More

Somewhere in February, I came out of a paid interview on goal facilitation a lot more enlightened. At that time, I had no new year resolutions written down (and I still had none a month later) but I knew that if I were to note them down somewhere, I would have a clearer idea on how to make them work realistically. In the one hour session I attended, I had already wrote down or told the clinical psychology doctorate student conducting the study what were my thinking styles, beliefs on goals, and what facilitated or conflicted with my goals. All the scales I filled up along with the notes and think-aloud recordings I produced were perfect draft material behind my list of resolutions. I roughly knew what my goals were, but being asked to list the immediate ones out were different. I had to be specific. I had to be so specific that I had to rate how did each goal facilitate or conflict with the other. This was rather new to me, as people generally work towards a number of goals set but not think about how these different goals might sometimes work against each other. Say if I wanted to be more diligent in work as well as being healthier, would it not conflict each other if the night owl in me worked late nights for most of the year? If one goal happened to be increased focus and thoughtfulness, it would facilitate the goal of attaining good grades easier. The idea is this: how can I integrate all these goals into a lifestyle instead of merely independent entities to tick off at separate times?

On the penultimate day of March, I finally took the time to write down a list of goals and resolutions, categorising them into eight major sections, while songs from my Spotify Top Songs 2017 played through my earphones. It was not a conscious pairing. I had just decided that I needed a break from hours of deep house and trance, and went with familiar songs I hadn’t played much lately. It was only when I started writing all these hopeful plans and hearing what I thought was Flume’s saddest track – Weekend (taking the top spot for my list), that I felt a poignant contradiction. Hearing this now really hit home how different last year was from now. I can no longer relate as strongly to my frequently played songs from last year because I am living so differently now. It has been more conscious and deliberate, instead of floating in a vapour-like state and getting caught up in confusing interpersonal relationships around me.

Eight aspects of my life are going to move its cogs without stopping this year, and so far they are not showing any signs of stopping. From academics to light-hearted leisure, conscious living is going to be a permanent theme. Take it slow, but make it productive. It is high time I de-clutter further and make space for what matters lest I get lost in the recesses of stagnation.

Slow Sunday things

I have my blinders open, catching in the last rays of daylight before they fade into dusk in another quarter of an hour while I type. The ticking of a gifted watch I barely wear, and the sounds from outside my window – sighs of an exceptionally cold wind that somehow reminds me of waves as they come again and again, occasional twittering of birds, and shrill shouts of children from the park, accompany my enjoying my first meal of the day. Time check, it is 5.52pm.

It has not been much of a day, except for an early tutoring session with a well-mannered child too smart for his age, followed by discussions with the parent on balancing wants for the child’s future in terms of extra language subjects for private school and activities outside of school, with what the child can withstand or enjoy. After more than half a year of not doing face-to-face tutoring sessions, I once again found it reassuring that parents were generally willing to have more or less open communication on educating and caring for the child when they have the opportunity, instead of adhering to one-sided schemas that may not benefit anyone in the long term. Initially intimidated by the teaching expectations, after having met the family and a warm-mannered nanny with a firm handshake, I left with hopeful steps.

The day would have been lovely for exploring about with a sheet of light snow falling over London for possibly the last time before spring properly arrives, but being under-dressed and running on less than five hours of sleep before hindered any sort of wanderlust so I walked pass a snow-covered Hyde Park with its growing crowd, getting into the Tube straight back to my accommodation. Here I napped for a little over 4 hours, hence also cancelling lunch plans with a friend. I woke up feeling a little less fatigued but still bleary-eyed, and tried to get myself to start the day with some tinkering about in the kitchen. My efforts with a fresh, hard beetroot and a small knife took a while, so I ended up going on Google to see how long it takes for it to become tender in my future attempts (answer: 45 – 50 minutes in the oven). Hmph.

7.11 pm. The streets outside have grown much quieter, streetlamps lighting up the edge of a nearby park, and with only the sounds of the wind, ever wave-like, making up my current background soundtrack. What I have on hand is a plate with beetroot stains waiting to be washed, a bag full of laundry for handling much later, and plans to do some light reading before getting ready for my last week of classes before Easter holidays. It is a quiet revel on my own for the most part of today, a welcome break from happenings in the past few days, hence for that I am content.

Small delights: a visual diary

Museum visit and a new addition to my ever expanding collection of cute journals

I finally visited Victoria & Albert and boy, was it a sight for the eyes. Not only was the museum’s feature of decorative art impressive, but so was its architecture. Every hall was not without fitting architectural design. There was just so much to take in, but I did not go early enough nor feel well enough. I was wandering around after a sleepless night, enjoying my headache immensely, being very conscious of my low attention span. While not a completely comfortable experience, it was a weekend after a difficult week, and for that I am glad that I got to just do something different. At the end of the day, an attempt at appreciation and learning of art was more worthwhile than nothing gained if I stayed home.

Receiving and writing postcards

It’s been a joy receiving postcards from all over the world, seeing thoughtful sentiment accompanied with actual penmanship all condensed into one small card magically appearing in the mailbox. It will always be a delight to receive these mementos. I have never made the time to send postcards when I travel due to rushed schedules but now that I am here in London, I’m relishing in the opportunity to reciprocate. It’s a slow progress in churning out each one, but I’ll get there.

Gifts for new year, new Ashes: Flowers to brighten the room, and a planner to keep life organised

At the time that I am typing this post, which is a little after a week of receiving this unexpected bouquet, the flowers have mostly wilted and dried, with only the inner parts of one avalanche rose still soft to the touch. I think this is the longest I have kept any flowers alive, with past floral gifts of any size dying within days. The thought that went behind this, makes it a gift with value extending beyond Valentine’s Day purposes. It is strange to think how far things have come for both of us, in so many aspects, but what remains constant is a regular exchange of gifts heavy in both sentiment and practicality.

Books from one reader to another

I stumbled into an esoteric themed bookstore while walking around university and if not for my brain immediately recognising that they were selling books for 1 pound each, I would not have went in and discovered more gems (though those were not priced the same). If there is one thing I struggle that I used to not, it is with reading. It would be much easier for me to finish books at speeds that astound 5 years ago, compared to a much more disappointing, inconsistent pace today. I cannot tell you that it is because I have so much work and other things to do in life, because that is not true. I could have automatically reached for a book instead of reaching for my phone to browse feeds that I may forget the next minute. After a year of trying to restart a habit, creating a target on Goodreads and failing by almost half the target, this is the year I set a more realistic goal and be more conscious about what I do with my time until it becomes natural again.

Seeing the sun differently

There is this Chinese saying that goes, the moon from another country is always brighter. It carries the same meaning as the phrase ‘the grass is greener on the other end’. I can attest that while the moon is not brighter, the sun surely is. I have now developed a newfound affinity for the sun, despite not owning any sunscreen. While I do not have as much qualms about the near-constant grey skies as the usual Londoner, I realise I enjoy feeling sunshine on my back and watching how it makes the buildings just look, well, cheerier. Winter isn’t too hard to bear honestly, but I think I finally understand on a deeper level the appeal of spring and summertime now.

Productivity.

I can’t remember what got into me last week but I have been trying to develop the momentum of productivity since the time I came back from Paris. Well, after almost a month, it’s finally in full swing. The number of naps I take a week have gone down drastically, and I am consistently catching up with my daily to-do’s. There is a lot more conscious effort going into making sure I have time for working in a concentrated manner, time for earning extra allowances from experiments and odd jobs, and some for self-care sort of activities. The next thing I’m going to incorporate into my schedule is regular yoga sessions again, since my ankle seems fully recovered from a sprain three weeks back. Hooray balance, hello again namaste.

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Being content, or happy, doesn’t rely on a regular dose of gifts nor constant stream of validation from others. It takes time, it takes practice. It requires keeping track of daily habits and how interpersonal interactions go. Most of all, it requires so much expansion of the mind – to develop grace for the self, and for others. For the self: It is never too late to change, or grow, as long as there is progress. For others: Never hold grudges, or complete indifference, for villainous perceptions of others or lack of thought will never yield long term benefits. Stay in the present, and be kind.