The Art of Living

You didn’t think about it because you didn’t lose it.

Time ticks and change upper hands – everything merges to memories.

Memories. Time. Change. These don’t quite fit together in my head. Disturbingly, these have this power to make things matter much more that they are supposed to; to make things look farther than they really are; and, to change things – and even people themselves. They can warm me up from inside but they can also shatter me into tens of thousands of pieces. But, I still don’t get why nothing remains the same with time forever. I don’t understand why things have to change, even if the process kills you metaphorically. I am troubled of the things left behind just to be remembered and not to be relived. I know I need to accept whatever comes my way because they’d make up my being. But, is life really made up of stiches?


I once lived in a perfect circle where everything was right. Nothing could go wrong. But in a blink of an eye, something happened then everything changed. Parts of the circle fell apart; the outside world came rushing to my own private paradise and things inside tried getting out. All was natural. It’s the projection of self and object, the revelation leaping over the borders of the everyday. But, at that time, I couldn’t just accept it.

Some things arise to cheer you up, and to teach you how to grow. Paradoxically, some things exist just to tear you down, and will never leave you until you’re nothing but less than a loss. And, I could not easily dare let go of the stitches on the scars left; they prove that I was living.

All you need to do is to move from the ‘what if’ to the ‘what is’ – your own battle of self and object, and environment. Instead of thinking of the thousand pieces you have lost, focus on the reason why they’ve been torn out of you. By doing so, you’d know how to make life out of what has been left.


I am staring, looking at the moist from the windowpane. Yet, my sight extends through the glass to the endless grey outside. I can see the sky. A bird rests on a tree, continuously shifting its focus to adjust from the wind passing by. It’s nothing but an ordinary day. But, when I think of not seeing these tomorrow, everything suddenly becomes special and precious.

In this world where things are continually damaged, where the heart is deceitful, where time flows past without a break, it makes me dream of a place in the world beyond the flow of time.  Yet, dreams are unreliable when finding the key for the entrance.

It’s all these tiny encounters that changed everything. I saw them with perfect clarity long after the moments have passed. If I hadn’t had them, I wouldn’t have these stories to tell. I would have been a different person.

Yes, life may just be a matter of…time, a time yet to face. Should all the metaphors reduce the distance between worlds, time would still fill even the minutest distance; memories would still satisfy the void within; and, change could still build a bridge to patch up the purpose.

Hegel believed that, “At the same time that ‘I’ am the content of a relation, ‘I’ am also that which does the relating.” And, as for me, 17 years of projection and exchange of self and object is not enough to entirely understand life, with all its ungraspable concepts of time, of change and of memories. The whole concept, I think, of today’s human life is punctuated by the edge of never.

However, the projection and exchange never stops; someday, if time allows, you should never be the same as he who was sitting at the beach, in summer, on a deck chair while feeling the roughness of the canvas against his skin – being Kafka on the Shore, caught up in a whirlpool, pulled beyond time; he who cannot be free. But rather like the most genuine article, be someone of a brand-new world.


Don’t think about your life. Live it with all its stitches.


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