Lights always bring a strange kind of comfort to me. It could be the very superficiality of its attractiveness that works its magic on me. It could also be the beautiful distraction it brings, acting as a mode of escapism. With lights, the world ironically, becomes more like a fantasy, a little less real, a little more comforting.
My earliest recollection of my passion for lights stems from the old days when my Malay neighbors hanged tiny light bulbs attached to a wire (the similar kind we use to decorate Christmas trees) around their window, or even railings at the corridor of their apartment. I would try to sell the idea to my parents about making our apartment as easily identifiable, as majestic. I remember trying in vain to convince my parents and coming up with a silly plan of coloring papers with highlighters and stapling them to a long piece of paper to hang during the day. That, for my elder brother to execute.
Things were so easy then. If you like something, you like it anyhow. I can’t say much for myself now. If I were to have that mangy bulb of paper-wires, I would just stuff it into somebody’s mouth.
I think life is a bell curve of which the x-axis is lifetime and the y-axis stands for complexity. As we grow older, things become increasingly complicated. We need to account for more actions, take up responsibility and handle more issues. Then things become easier somehow. Perhaps one is seasoned, things are taken more easily. They say ‘take things easy’; I will say it comes with age. And someday somehow, we realize that we have become the old fogies with lots of stories to tell. When we were young, scraps were treated like a treasure, kept with love and a sense of inquisitiveness. When we are old, scrapes were treated with reverence, kept with fond reminisces
Jacqueline
10:40 AM
