You always have a secret admirer. Sometimes, this secret lives in the mind of the admirer and is never expressed to anyone at all. Ever. Other times, it is the worst-kept secret in the history of secrets (apparently, like the intern we had last summer totally had a thing for me and I was oblivious). Either way, odds are that someone in your life, whether you are friends or whether it is just someone that you see on your daily commute, admires you.
Contrary to popular belief, the word “intimacy” is not solely used in the context of relationships; the dictionary defines intimacy as “close familiarity or friendship”, meaning that we can also use the term in the context of relationships, friendships, or a familial relationship.
With this said, do we have enough intimacy in our life? What is intimacy outside of the dictionary definition?
I had not realized that it has been a little over three months since I last posted here until WordPress notified me that my blog was now two years old. Life has kept me busy, and my apologies for having neglected you, my loyal readers.
So, what have I been up to? On June 10th, I started my first full-time job. The long hours have me concussed every night by about 11 or 12 (yes, I know that is shocking), and not wanting to even look at my blog, let alone my laptop. As you can guess from the title of this post, I work as a salesman of sorts (for those of you that don’t get the reference, go read Death of a Salesman). My official job title is “recruitment consultant” in the oil and gas industry. So, what exactly do I do?
I have already told you the story of the first time I said “I love you” to somebody. Here is something that is slightly cuter in nature: the story of my very first crush (that I remember).
Before I launch into the story proper, I just want to explain why I decided to write about this. My cousin, Jessica, happened to be involved in a small school bus love triangle when she was in Kindergarten. I don’t know all the details, but these two boys definitely fought for her attention, and one of them gave her a ring and promised to marry her in the future. At any rate, almost twenty years later, she ran into this same boy again – completely by chance! – and they have been dating since.
If water is life, experiencing rain after weeks and weeks of humidity and awful heat is like experiencing reincarnation. Perhaps there is a good reason why religion associates water with purification: baptism, the great flood, amrita, etc. The list goes on.
While most of the northern hemisphere has seen some of the harshest winters in years, Singapore was not without its share of bad weather. From the new year up until today, March 16th, there was absolutely no rain whatsoever on the east coast, and a small sprinkles that don’t really count as rain on the rest of the island. I won’t pretend that a drought in Singapore is anything like a drought in a third world country (we never got to the point of rationing water); yet, when I woke up this morning, I woke to the sound of the land being cleansed, and despite my struggles these past few weeks, I could not help but smile. I quelled the (child-like) urge to run aside and frolic in the rain, so instead, I am sitting on my porch for the first time in a long time, and writing here instead.
Forget everything you have heard about humans only using 10% of their brains. Nonsense. Drivel. Rubbish. Bullocks. Several other impolite words I would like to use but probably should not. Many, many studies have shown that music and language activate almost the entire brain, and because of this activation, many magical things can occur. Today, instead of a long-form post, I am going to share several short stories about how music is love, and love is music.
(I have source links in every title, so if you want to read more in-depth about what I have written about, go ahead and click)
Imagine this: you were in a hurry this morning, and on your way out of your apartment building, you didn’t hold the door for the lady who was following closely behind you. Because she was not expecting to have to catch the large and heavy door, the door slams on her fingers and a few of them are broken. You, of course, have not noticed because you are already across the street and in the subway station before the woman even yells in pain. This woman, a doctor who lives in your building, was supposed to perform urgent surgery on a very important person at work that day. Another surgeon had to do the surgery, but because this surgeon was just a little less experienced, the patient died.
As it turns out, the patient was a key player in mediating peace talks between nations in a conflict zone – that was part of why the operation had to be done so urgently. Nonetheless, his death meant that negotiations ended, and war broke out, ending millions of lives on both sides.
Is it harder being the leaver or the one being left?
The human heart is a strong and resilient organ. In our life, it never rests until our dying day. We can push it up to 250% of its resting rate, and it often does it without skipping a beat (pun very intended). Even if it does stop, a very strong jolt of electricity or a hand squeezing and massaging it can start it right back up and keep you going for many more years. Yet, sometimes strong emotions feel like they are enough to stop our hearts right in our chests, shatter it to pieces, or ache so badly we wish that we never had one or that we could just tear it right out of our chest. I can think of no event that elicits such a strong response as saying goodbye to someone.
Of course, there are many different kinds of goodbye. All of them elicit these same feelings in varying degrees. There is the pain of the permanent(?) farewell, where people pass away; there are the feelings that occur when you break up with a significant other or are forcefully separated from people you love because of estrangement, divorce, etc.; there is also the type of farewell where you know that it’s “bye for now, see you later”, though you may or may not know when “later” is.