Paradoxes

It’s funny when I think of life’s lessons that I’ve learned sometimes come in paradoxes. There’s no this or that. Only this and that, and everything in between.

Like when I questioned myself what is my purpose in life, I found how tiny I am in this universe—nothing but a speck—and somehow, on the contrary, I realized how unique I am, how intricate I was built to be different from any other, how everything was already written even before I was born. That doesn’t really answer the one most baffling question human race ever encounter, but somehow it gives me an assurance that I am not without purpose.

About a week after my father passed away, I was sitting alone in a cafe, trying to read a book, when suddenly I was overwhelmed by so much emotions. I was struck at how small and insignificant everything is. And yet, how important it is to cherish the ones you love. Family is always the one you can count on. When all else fail, you can always return home.

And a year after, when we were faced with the possibility of losing our childhood home, I found myself staring at how fleeting everything is—nothing is permanent, even something you thought was rock solid.

…you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans, and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flights.
…you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much, so you plant your own garden instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And yet somehow, it’s not such a bad idea putting an effort to build something, to invest in something. Starting a relationship. Building it, maintaining it. In the course of human history, they must have gotten something right, haven’t they?

Well, as frightening as it may be, it doesn’t look so bad at all.

Reflections |