Day 72 - The tightrope of life.

— 3 minute read


I look at the date and it means nothing to me. This afternoon I found in my backpack a receipt from Langkawi, dated 26 February 2020, and it took me a moment to realise that that was only and already three months ago. My time perception is warped through and through. I wonder if that's why I've been so tired.

From day to day, I walk the tightrope of life. The beginning and the end are not seen, and I've learnt that there are two ways to walk: staring straight into the unknown and treading confidently, or looking down into the abyss and teetering. Training my eyes to look forward requires energy. If I have a bad night of sleep, or something happens that breaks my concentration, it is easy to forget that the way is forward and not downward. And if I get philosophical or melancholic and ask the unanswerable - what's the point of this all - I sway precariously. Empty thy mind and just keep going.

The garden keeps me strong when I get overwhelmed. I saw a bunch of wilting kangkung in the supermarket today selling for RM1.60 and was a little disappointed by the amount that I'm saving by planting my own, until I realised that my kangkung plants do not only provide me with alimentation, but also a place to rest my weary soul.

I spend a lot of time staring at my plants these days and touching the aromatics and smelling my fingers. For the kangkung I love the shape of the leaves and the fact that a grown leaf is the same length as my hand, from the root of my palm to the tip of my middle finger. My sunflowers have lush green leaves as well and buds are starting to form. My heart leans hard on the tender buds, pending on the day when their petals would open. In the meantime I'm trying to plant more and plant better, so that I have more things to lean on.

The daily 10cm growth of the bittergourd plant, almost reaching to the top of the trellis now. The day when I can make pesto out of the many varieties of basil plants that I've somehow accumulated - they're all still babies now. That one tiny unfurled tomato leaf contributing to the three pairs of true leaves that I'm waiting for so that I can transplant it to a bigger pot.

So much to look forward to. Trained eyes. Ahead.