dustyweaves

Child of the wilderness
Born into emptiness
Learn to be lonely
Learn to find your way in darkness

Who will be there for you
Comfort and care for you
Learn to be lonely
Learn to be your one companion

Never dreamed, out in the world
There are arms to hold you
You've always known
Your heart was on it's own

So laugh in your loneliness
Child of the wilderness
Learn to be lonely
Learn how to love
Life that is lived alone

Learn to be lonely
Life can be lived
Life can be loved
Alone

“Writing is an act of communication, it’s an act of love, it’s something you do in order to be understood.”

I've been writing elsewhere.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

The home stretch..

oh yes.

I hear the children's laughter as they skipped down the steps; and the smell of wax and lighted lanterns weaves through the half-opened windows. The moon's at it's fullest and brightest, a celebration of summer's harvests and a time for family reunions. I watch with envy the lanterns the happy children hold in their hands, and with longing the mooncakes in their pretty packaging, stacked outside the bakeries.

Yet you say, we're are one, this very night, much opposed to my whines. It was children I see admiring each other's lanterns at the void deck of the opposite block as I dusted the blankets by the window; the smell of candles burning as I vacuumed the floor, the chatter of the ol' folks gathered at the void deck as I mop the floor; the children's giggles as I stood by the window washing the dishes; thinking about the mooncakes being savoured as the cookies bake in the oven of our mooncake-less home. I made them especially small, for in its numbers, I hope for the appearance of abundance. Like a 3-legged chair, we're not even complete, I sulked. Not everyone's home.

You beg to differ, saying we can't do it always like others do. You emptied the water tray after I vacuumed, you filled the bucket as I mopped, she helped with the dough mix, you picked at my first batch of cookies, we shared the pot of sweet potato soup you cooked. The sweet potato, with all its nutritional value, more than makes up for the mooncake, you say. He isn't here, but you messaged and he replied. He's alive, having fun with friends at a chalet. See, we were together, in spirit, you say.

Together, in spirit, indeed. Happy Mid-Autumn Festival.

I'm content.

Love is free and love is blind.

I haven't said it in honesty for a long while, but now I do, once more. Life is good. Life now, cannot be more flawed, within and without, but t'is good.

The last time life was good, I thought it would go on forever. Somewhere along the way, life got a little topsy-turvy, in more ways than one. It's still far from perfect, and each day something new less than perfect, yet life's good, for all the ugly, shameful and vulgar notwithstanding.

Everything cannot be more in place in its disorder, the fault lines widening and new loathsome flaws unveiling with each passing day. There's a calm amidst all the mess and lest I forget: this life that is good is mine.

This time, methinks, it's gonna last. If not, life is still going to be good. Helluva blardy gut.

The nose bleeds again.. but the Earth doesn't and won't stop revolving this time. Not that it did the last time.

I once called SOS, on a very lonely night some months back, in hope of finding someone to talk to. My call was picked up and I was hopeful. Finally. Someone to talk to. She said hello, can I help you? Yes. (I need someone to talk to.) She asked if everything is okay. Yes, everything's fine. (I just need some company 'cos it's a lonely night.) Where are you calling from? Home. Is anybody at home? No. (That's why I'm calling you.) Are you suicidal? No, I'm fine. I just feel like talking. (I am lonely.) We are a suicidal prevention hotline. If you are not suicidal, there might be others waiting to get through. Do you have a TV at home? Yes. Maybe you can switch it on or read a book. Okay. Alright, bye. Bye bye.

Statistics:
"Globally, the World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates that there is one suicide attempt every 3 seconds, and one suicide death every minute."

Analysis: One of 20 succeed.

Statistics:
"Unfortunately, every year, over 1 million people die by suicide worldwide."

Analysis: Over 20 million people attempt suicide worldwide yearly.

Discrepancy:
If there are 60s in a minute, there are 20 suicide attempts each minute.
60 minutes to an hour: 1200 suicide attempts each hour.
28 800 suicide attempts every 24 hours.
365 days to a year: 28 800*365 = 10 512 000 attempts in a year.

Conclusion: 10 512 000 suicide attempts is far from 20 million.

Alternatively,
1 suicide death every minute makes 60 in a hour.
24 hours to a day: 1440 deaths
365 days to a year: 1440*365 = 525 600 deaths a year.

Conclusion: 525 600 is barely past half of 1 million.

Nonetheless, discrepancies aside, it is comforting to know that in what is perhaps one minute of conversation with my SOS volunteer, there has only been half a life lost.

Yet, with every life precious in its own right, half a life lost is still a loss I suppose.

Reach out for the book instead.