thoughts, reflection, Uncategorized

How expectation is equal to reality 

Expectations — It’s one of the many things we get less fond of and less attached to as we grow older. We don’t blame ourselves for this. Instead, we blame letdowns, grief, and scars we’ve lost count of.
“Reality hits hard,” we say with resignation and acceptance, but without any trace of defeat. Our armor, we believe, is actually at its strongest at this point. This armor protects us from our head to our toes. But its thickest layer lies in our heart, which repeats everyday: “I’ve built a defense mechanism within my veins. I don’t hold on to expectations, and so I don’t worry. My blood flows freely, and I’m happy.” 

Our self-defense against expectations and our hostility towards it stem from too much trust in ourselves and too little trust in the world. Though we gain a lot of good things from such a defense mechanism, we also lose a few that are far more important than what we gain.

Too little trust in the workings of the world means being less receptive to their charm and enchantment. It means closing ourselves to that innocent, special kind of optimism that lives only through ideas we often see in fairytales: glittery magic and sparkling wisdom. When magic and wisdom start to sound ridiculous and impractical, that’s the time we have to tap and bring out the child in us. 

We were young when we first fell in love with wonder. Though we can never re-create the feeling that tickled us when we first learned how to tie our shoelaces by ourselves, we can re-create–as adults–the excitement that showed on our little faces when we tied our shoelaces the second time around, the third, the fourth, and the fifth. 

When we let the child in us speak and do the work, we break the rope we tied around expectation. We allow it to breathe and we allow it to be the gateway to our future reality. Every expectation becomes magic our mind crafted; every expectation becomes wisdom our heart has set for ourselves. This brave take on expectations becomes the very motivation that pushes us to believe that we can break the barrier between expectations and reality. 

We learn that it’s not “expectations versus reality.” It is, rather, “expectations equal reality” all along and in every step of the way. 

thoughts, reflection

You’re a season. Your warmth enveloped me. Your rays of sunshine exploded into a countless fraction of light, bringing me to a standstill. 

Your waves met mine. Your tide against mine sent trickles of water in the dullest crevice, keeping me afloat and unafraid. 

I loved and welcomed your season. Every leaf that turned a hue lighter. Every leaf that turned a shade darker. Every leaf that fell in your wonderland and flew into your skies.

But just like season, you came and you went–all at once and all of a sudden. Your warmth, I realized, was only for the sunny days and never for the cold ones. 

You’re a season. And though your lips are sealed, I hear the whispers of your breeze flying out into the distance and merging into a whirlwind I don’t belong to. 

As I stand here in a vicious blizzard, I can’t help but think not of your warmth that was once mine, but of a warmth that will never be seasonal. 

A warmth that will embrace me through and through. 

The Seasonal Kind 


To the one who meant the world to me 

You broke the word that bound us together for months — months that felt like a wonderful infinity. I wish I could say I broke it and you didn’t. That way, things wouldn’t feel unbearably heavy. But my heart heard you, and there’s no way of rebuilding what I thought you would hold special no matter what.

Maybe I said the right things at the wrong time. Or maybe I said the wrong things at the right time. Maybe my brutal honesty pushed you to put a stain on what defined us and the world we shared. But here’s what you didn’t know that night, and what I hope you’ll understand someday: I was so careful even as I was putting my walls down. I was so careful even as my emotions were running high. I was so careful because you meant so much to me even when you thought I was careless. 

I have nothing but endless tears for that split-second moment you questioned the very idea that made me see the two of us, together and apart, in such a bright light and in such amazement. I’ve always thought you were that special friend who would think I’m more than enough even when I’m at my most vulnerable. I guess I was wrong, and I guess it’s time again to smile, laugh, walk, and talk like everything’s okay and like you didn’t break me. 


Numbered chances: New Year’s Eve thoughts 

We flip one page, and in a matter of seconds, we’re one year away from those moments we said yes to changes and challenges. We’re one year away from those moments we said no to letdowns and heartbreaks. 

It wasn’t easy saying yes; it wasn’t easy saying no. But we did it. And we deserve to pat our shoulder and smile our hearts out for the simple reason that we did it.

New Year’s Eve reminds us of how resilient we can be after a 365-day ride on that bittersweet thing we call life. It reminds us that life simply goes on even after we didn’t get a reply from the person we miss so much, or even after we didn’t get our dream job or our dream house. 

Though the last day of each year marks the beginning of looking ahead, it still gives us the kind of nostalgia that makes us itch–the kind that makes us carry and embrace our beautiful, wonderful past. 

It’s the kind that makes us cry and cling to what was and what could have been. This is the ugly part of New Year’s Eve, but we accept this with open arms because, truth be told, even New Year’s Eve isn’t exempt from the idea that things can both be pretty and ugly at the same time. 

With all these thoughts running in our fearless, tireless minds, we also realize once more that we have 365 chances to smile at a complete stranger and make his or her day a bit better, to be gentle to the person who annoys us, and to be loving and warm to those who continue to stand with and by us. 

In the coming new year, let’s turn the other cheek and whisper to this harsh world that we are lucky in little ways as well as in big ways. After all, we have 365 chances to make or break, to ponder on or let go of. 

Many times, it’s hard to believe in the bright possibility of things, but if we try a little harder and believe a little more, we just might be able to turn our numbered chances into an infinite collection of all things great. 

Poetry, poem, thoughts, reflection

December magic 

    There’s magic in your very core. 
    Figures become shadows 
    Voices fall like feather 
    When I stand there, listening to you. 

    Your magic takes in colors.
    And just like that, with that one gentle brush stroke, 
    You paint me in unimagined colors. 

    The palette of what if
    has never been this comforting. 
    The canvas of so what 
    has never been this real. 

    The art you drew upon my spirit fills me 
    with a kind of happiness that can last 
    a lifetime. 


    The speed of light: A thank you note 

    When everything conspires to drain the best in me, even the most cliche positive quote waters and refreshes the driest parts of my heart.

    It’s no wonder then, that for the first time in a long while, I understood again what it feels to have tears of joy running down my cheeks when a special friend sent me this: “Some days, you just have to create your own sunshine.”

    It was strange having those tears fall like waterfalls in the instant that I read “create” and “sunshine.” Maybe it happened because I said the syllables of those bright and empowering words on such a dark and discouraging day; maybe it happened because I received the big, sweet reminder on a day I never wish to relive. But if I were to dig deeper in the recesses of my heart, I think those tears of joy meant that I truly, really want to act on the belief of creating my own sunshine–my own glow, my own light, my own glitter–on days when everything seems cold and colorless from all corners. 

    I may not recover from a letdown faster than the speed of light, but thanks to a special friend, I know I can stand and think straight again even if I’m bruised and frustrated.

    As I’m writing this, I’m wondering how I can repay my special friend for carrying me up in the clouds after I fell hard on the ground.

    It’s 4:01 AM, and all I can think of right now is a long, warm hug coupled with this short blog and another little thank you note–this time on a fancy paper. 


    Etched in my universe 

    You’re etched in my little universe, and I’m not surprised. You showed me what it feels like to linger in someone’s light. You shook my quiet and tamed world, and made its dullness a complete blur.

    Your free spirit glides in and out of mine. Your free spirit beats the finitude of time. I’ve never believed in the boundlessness of things. But in the twinkle of your being, I sense the infinity of feelings.

    You’re never too little or too much on my bruised hands that you unknowingly but daringly clutched. I wish you’ll never let go. But if and when you do, my little universe will not forget to thank you for what you’ve shown.