Oh! The rapture of seeing
ideals spring to life
In the blazing sun
so bright,
one is blind
To realities that wither
In the shadows behind.
But when one turns back
Ideals rapidly become balloons.
They untangle their knots,
Float into the infinite
Depths of the sky.


I occasionally think about what it would be like to choose independence. And then the years would stretch out long and dreary before me, and I would shrink back from the precipice. It is not company I want, yet it is loneliness I fear. I pull myself out of the bubble, chiding myself that I am indulging in overwrought drama again… I cannot escape from what I essentially am, a woman raised with practical Asian sensibilities, from a country with a non-existent social safety net, who coos over toddlers…and when my flights of fancy have finally screeched to a halt, that, and regret, will come into sharp relief. How does one know what is ‘essentially’ one or not? What is euphoria and what is contentment? Is youth a time of erratic, temporary dreams, or is it uninhibited glorying in what is real about yourself that is eventually stamped out with age?


From Maria Popova’s blog:

“If it seems to you that I move in a world of certitudes, you, par contre, must benefit from the great privilege of youth, which is that you move in a world of mysteries. But both must be ruled by faith.” – Anaïs Nin