Things I've Learned

Sometimes I really wish I were a dog. All a dog knows to do is to love unconditionally. If only I could learn a thing or two about love from Piper.

I tried to, though. And I thought I was doing pretty ok in that aspect of my life; sometimes life just doesn't treat you fair, does it?


If there's one thing I've learned from the man, it is that coldness is just a matter of relativity. Everytime I whined about being cold - in the cinema, supermarket or just about anywhere, he would offer good advice: "Cold? Just take off all your clothes. When you're at the same temperature as your surrounding, you won't feel cold-er." Hmm, just like how you take off your shirt when it's hot so that you don't feel warm-er. Technically it makes sense; culturally it doesn't.

I dumped my luggage in the hotel room, sorted my stuff out, found out I didn't have to start on my samples today after all, and so decided to take another walk outside. I had to find somewhere that offers free wi-fi again - something cafes in Singapore gotta learn to do, if they want my business. Somehow, though knowing it'd be chilly out there, I decided to try walking out sans jacket, just a light tee shirt and jeans and my open birkies. And guess what? It really didn't feel that cold after all. I suppose when you're warm, you just crave for more warmth when you feel the cool wind gushing at your face. We're never satisfied with what we have, aren't we?


I'm discovering some new things - like this new cafe I've just stumbled upon. It offers free wi-fi, reasonably ok latte and late opening hours. Just perfect for me.

I've also learned that things always seem much easier when you turn back.

The train ride to Seattle was unexpectedly slow and torturous. I couldn't decide if I should sleep or read or just look out the window. When I finally decided to take a nap, I didn't get any rest at all though I had a two-seater where I could lie across. It took me four hours, instead of the planned three-half hours. But, surprisingly, the ride back was much easier. I managed to read a little, but mostly I was just sleeping soundly, though I only had a seat to myself. It took me four hours and a little, but it definitely felt like a two-hour trip.

When I took a bus to the Museum of Flight from downtown Seattle, I was quite unsure if I was on the right bus or even in the right direction. It seemed like a long way out from downtown, and I kept looking out anxiously from the window to make sure I hadn't missed my stop. I thought the ride took me 45 minutes, and had planned my time to make sure I wouldn't leave the museum too late and get into trouble with Aunt Lynette. But on the way back to downtown, I realized the trip took only 15 minutes or so.

When I first reached Portland and had to trudge from the city center to the train station with my heavy luggage, I felt like I had to walk a long way, as the map made it out to be. When I reached the train station, my arms and back were almost breaking from the load and I thought I must've walked 20 minutes or something. But today, from the train station, I walked again and was pleasantly surprised to find that I'd reached the city center pretty quickly. I looked at my watch, and realized I only had to walk 10 minutes or so.

Was my mind playing tricks on me? Maybe, but maybe not.

Perhaps the journey always looks harder and longer when you first start out on it. After all, you're stepping on unknown territories and you're walking on unfamiliar grounds. You don't know what to expect, you cannot really trust on your own plans because there's a high likelihood they will get screwed up, you're thrown into further disarray and confusion. You worry and you fear - fear of missing your destinations, fear of being alone and unfamiliar with everything around you, fear of losing sight of what you've always known. And it always seems easier if you could turn back and return to familiar grounds. Things you've always known, feelings you've always had, people you've always been with.

If only things were that simple. If only turning back would be so easy. Wouldn't it be great then, that you can have everything back in your arms and feel safe again? But life doesn't deal you easy cards just like that. Sometimes going back is the most natural thing to do. But sometimes you just can't. And sometimes maybe you shouldn't. Sometimes you just have to learn your way and move in a new direction.

Fear will always be there, everywhere you go. But do you want it as a friend, or a foe?


I seem to be good at talking, huh? But that's all I'm good at. Sometimes I seem strong to friends. But that's all I seem to be. I don't get myself most times too.

Sometimes, I wish I were someone else. I wish I weren't born me. Being a dog would have been good. But then again, I'll never know what I might get. I could be better off, or I could be worse. I could have been someone's beloved pet, or I could have been a stray longing for someone to love.

Just like how I'm feeling now: am I someone's pet, or am I just going to be a stray?

Questions will continue to come my way. Though I think I'm getting better, I know I am not. The day I can talk to you and say I am ok, all without wanting to cry, will be the day I know I am alright.

In the meantime, all I've written here will be all the answers you'll ever get from me.