I was correcting some papers today (I work as an English teacher). And was inspired by one of my 1st-grade students. She wrote about a character she had drawn, 'She cannot swim. But, she likes the sea.'. I couldn't move on from that line for about 10 minutes. Why did I ponder it so much? Well, I'm a daydreamer I guess. Call me Mr Silly?
What if you could make an attempt. What if there are things you can do that could ultimately bring about change in your life for the better? What if you have more power than you believe? Could you turn this around? Could you overthrow this oppressive regime that suppresses your deeply held desires to live freely without pain and torture? One thing is for sure: the result of inaction is a big fat NO.
There are people in this world who would keep walking if they saw you falling in the street. There are some who will discount you at first sight. There's even a few who would keep driving if they knocked you down. And what of it? These people don't know you or care about you.
Just want to thank all the awesome people who contributed to my blog reaching 500 likes. It's a pleasure to be introduced to you all here on WordPress where we express ourselves freely.
There's a certain safety in isolation. A refuge from responsibility. A complete freedom from the voices of others - all but your own. His voice was starting to dull. The remaining remnants of sanity were fading, sometimes vanishing for brief moments before reappearing again, albeit just as briefly. His mind was starting to flicker like an old TV with a broken antenna. The safety of isolation is not without its defects.
You're walking down a busy shopping street, it's bustling with all shapes and sizes: the young and beautiful, the middle-aged and worn out looking, the old and ready to leave looking, the happy couple, the hot chick, the homeless man, the half-wit, the shady creep, and finally there's you.
At 34 (12,450 days old, including leap years since 1983), I do worry about it. Constantly. Every day. It's safe for you to conclude that I don't feel like one at least.
It was not the fact of crying that struck me, it was why he was crying. He was crying because he had recently been thanked by hundreds of young men who claimed he had saved them from a life of uncertainty and depression - I should investigate this man I thought.
I arrived at the Vipassana centre along with a busload of fellow meditators. There was little to no conversation on the way. It seemed everyone had already taken the vow of silence before it officially started. I didn’t mind. We were all here for very personal reasons I guess. Mine? Self-destructive thoughts and emotions. I was eager to get on with this.