And in an instant, it seems like I have rid of my past. Like sweet wrapper out of the car window on an open highway. A non-Singaporean one of course, what with the 50km/h limit. But Life simpers at such puerility; as if 'twas that easy. I have no intentions to relinquish whatever ties I have with history. I love the path I have travelled. The footsteps of Jesus on the roads, fields of lily and desert sand. I have never really walked on my own, always gripping onto His back too tightly than necessary or cradled in His arms. This is my history. And what I meant to say is that it is not birthed from remorse, neither any sense of escapism.
On the contrary, to keep it untainted, a glass-display of not just the 5 years it had stuck with me (or rather, I had stuck with it, seeing how I needed it as well), but the culmination of all twenty-one years that I have lived, died, laughed, cried, loved, be loved, pained and realised thus far; like a whitewashed wall, I have inked myself, stamped my life all over it. At times in a serious and real way, other times less so.
Forgive my uncanny sentimentalism towards the intangible/inanimate.
Take it as a consecration. To keep perfect an imperfect work.
When I look back I see a maelstrom of all (including people) that may have once defined me. Some ugly, some pretty awesome, but none unproud of. And as I prepare to crossover to another phase of my life, I pray that He be all the glory and I none. That He will be the one living (but I be blogging) not me, out of myself.
And most of all,
May God make me sexier.
/2:00 AM
