How to love

"Life is inherently a little depressing. Some people fill that void with religion; other people fill it with constantly trying to find something exciting and passionate. Some people just accept it and find joy within those parameters." (Seth Rogen, 2012)

2015 is the toughest year in my life to date. Despite only a bit over a quarter into the year, I have experienced days that is so emotionally volatile that left me, for lack of a better word, spent. (It doesn’t help that for two consecutive months, I was also financially spent.) There is too much to say on why I feel this way, and truth is that it might bore most of you. I am someone who writes about the things that happened in my life based on my understanding of the matter at that point in time. My understanding is dynamic, it changes as I experience more things, and it gets challenged on a regular basis, and I openly struggle with a lot of these challenges. I do not have the answers to everything, and as it is right now, I have more questions that remain unanswered – and one of these questions is how to love.

Often we ask the question ‘do you love me’, and the person answering the question would hopefully answer truthfully with a ‘yes, I love you’, but we often don’t ask why we ask that question in the first place, or why we are given the question. The short answer is that we don’t feel loved; and this feeling is independent of whether the person who is supposed to love us (or has promised to love us) actually loves us or not. And as the person who is given the question, it is easy to take this so personally, that the persons we have been trying to love with our every being do not even realize that we love them this much. To put it in another way, it is very possible that we have exerted all that we can in an attempt to love these people, and they, for whatever reason, just do not feel our love.

I admit that personally, when I ask the question (‘do you love me’) out loud, I never take it seriously. Because on a deeper level, I feel that if the question goes as far as entering my mental space then it is obvious that I don’t feel the love this person has for me, thus the question is redundant. This can be attributed to: (1) there was no love to begin with; or (2) there was love, but it was terribly expressed. I use the adverb ‘terribly’ because I, as the intended recipient, do not get it. If and when this happens, I am of view that this is not entirely my fault, because who doesn’t want to be loved? I believe that we are all equipped with an in-built love preceptor as part of our biological make up. In fact, because of this, the reverse scenario is a lot more dangerous – when you feel love (or thought you were loved) when you were, in fact, simply not. You are either self-absorbed or just plain delusional.

And when I am on the other side of the equation, when I find myself on the receiving end of the question (do you love me), I don’t take it seriously most of the time. As far as I can remember, it is rare, if ever, that I actually get asked the question; I don’t recall any occasion whereby I was asked this question. I would like to think that this is because the people whom I love know that I love them, although how they know this remains a mystery to me. I would not claim that I know how to love; I would only like to think that I love the people whom I love well. I only love a selected, privileged few. Contrary to popular belief that there is more than enough love to go around, I choose to deliberately limit the number of people I love. To me, it is not about how many people you love, nor is it about who you love, it is about how you love them.

So how to love?

Whilst talking about love the other day, we got to talking about intimacy, and specifically, about sex. This is not the kind of talk whereby you discuss this is my favourite position, or this is how I got my first orgasm, but more like how it is an extension of love. I mean, like it or not, for those who have had sexual relations, it is a pretty important part of this whole love experience. This is not to say that you gotta have sex with everyone you love (please, in some context, it is just plain wrong) – more like when sex is missing, then you can really feel that something is missing. This sounds twisted, and if it does, I attribute this to my terrible writing.

Having sex is essentially an action – it is an act performed by two people who hopefully love each other. It is an act longed by two people who are hopefully more than attracted to each other (it is actually more like two people who are horny, but anyway). Sex gets bad rep these days, because it has been casualised; and this is not to say that it is impossible to be so; fuck buddies exist for a reason. Before all of these casualization business, sex was (and still is) an expression of intimacy – you learn how to be intimate, you learn to engage on a deeper level – and not just physically, but emotionally, and more importantly, mentally.

Or to put it differently, when you engage in sexual relations with a stranger, the aftermath of such acts often involve a feeling of emptiness that is more pronounced than before. As in, you felt the emptiness prior to the act, and perhaps the act was done in an attempt to fill this void, it did not. But sex with someone you love is more likely fucking satisfying – literally.

In fact, I think, everything you do with someone you love is somehow more satisfying. This is why you want to spend some time with people you love. This is why you get this unexplainable satisfaction out of being in the same room as they are, even when you two are doing two completely different things. This is why you happily interrupt each other because this is an opportunity for you to affirm each other – see this? See how stupid this is?

But the question remains how do you love someone in a way that makes him or her feel loved and simultaneously makes you feel you have loved. How do you compromise without losing yourself. How do you exercise compassion and understanding while still preserving your needs and desires. How do you change yourself for the better and not expect the other to change the way you want them to change, and instead accept who they are, strengths, weaknesses and everything in between.

How do you keep trying when all that you want to do is just give up.

I was lost in love. I fell in love with this one person; being in love with him was easy because he was (and still is) beautiful. I lost myself, I forgot who I was and more importantly, I forgot how to love. In all honesty, I am still largely figuring this out. I hope to continue to grow my understanding on the matter, and get better at how to love.

Or specifically, get better at staying in love, with those I love and yet to love, including myself.

the necessarily messy complexities

I yearn for a simpler life. Approximately ten years ago, I caught myself saying this out loud out of frustration, and today, I catch myself doing exactly the same thing. Sometimes I think not much has changed, especially in the desire for a simple life department. But I’ll say this, there were short periods in my life whereby it all seemed relatively simpler, and I treasure those moments. Yes, those were the moments whereby I felt that my life was simple, boring and undramatic – exactly how I wanted it, and how I still want it today.

I have resigned to the fact that life is hard, and every so now and then, I get a violent reminder of how hard it can actually be; the kind that shook you at your core. Just to give you a few examples, these are along the lines of: that sometimes, despite your best efforts, you still get hurt; that terrible things happen to people who definitely do not deserve them. Why are the most patient girlfriends often the ones who have to put up with perpetually absent, workaholic boyfriends? Because these women are probably the ones who are in the best position to love these obliviously self-absorbed men. Why are the financially astute still can’t by-passed money-related issues in their lives? Why are people who have been seemingly faithful end up being caught in one of the greatest lies of all, and still blatantly deny it?

And who can explain these mysteries in life, other than the mere fact that sometimes, bad things do not discriminate, they too can happen to good people, to people who have been diligently following the rules, people who do not deviate from doing good things. This is where we all went wrong, because, well, while karma can be such a bitch, unfortunately, doing good does not repel bad things from happening to you. Not even the power of your mind can save you. Because fate. Lame. But true.

(and this is why broken people shouldn't attempt writing)

Broken

I am broken.

I have been broken one too many times, each one of these events seem to merge together to form one long winded tunnel of memory of broken-ness. I have been broken one too many times to even mind being broken, I got used to this feeling, to this state of being broken. I suspect one too many people know, or at least recognise this when they look into my eyes, and they spot something that sparks a cause for concern. They sit through my fake smile telling them that everything was all right, that I don’t sleep well these days because it is too hot, and I am not referring to the weather.

It is never easy to lie like this, but at times, they are convenient. I choose easy over and over and over again.

She is broken.

She has been broken one too many times, and these are the ones that she shared with me, not because she wanted me to help her pick up the pieces, but more like she knew I could relate to her state of broken-ness. And in turn, she knows that I am broken. Two broken people in the world, albeit for different reasons, some of which overlap.

Sometimes, words are just not enough. Because sometimes, it is words that break us, especially when they come out of the mouths of the people who supposedly love us. While the people that truly love us sit there in silence, listening to every word that we say, because the real message often lies in the things left unsaid. The things we do to the people who love us.

We are broken

We have been broken one too many times for all the wrong reasons, and each and every time, we manage to sticky-tape everything back together into something better. It can almost be forgiven that we think we are untouchable, except that we often forget that we are subjected to the usual human fallacies. We are ill-equipped to deal with what is regarded as one of the most common issues in a relationship. We laugh at them because we think, hey, we are better than that, right. Right? We are obliviously blind to the very same issues that creep up until they eventually cause a crack; a crack that break us.

We are broken and we are in pain. And the more we are in pain, the more we cause each other pain; the lame excuse we use to justify our shortcomings. We refuse to take responsibility for our actions and prefer to instead place blame on the person we said is the love of our lives. I guess it is true that we only hurt the ones we love.

We are all broken. But we are still here.

***

Lately, I have been thinking quite a lot about 'stories of struggle' - the stories that we often share to those nearest and dearest to us. When I first started this blog, I made a point to stick to the happy stories, because, well, those are easier to write. 

This year, I am going to write both happy and less happy stories. Stories that make us... human. Stories that would hopefully strengthen our bonds. Stories along similar veins to the ones that I wrote about in the past and promptly got me into trouble. I would strip all names and everything else that may potentially identify the people in these stories, strip all the details and stick to the themes. 

And if, by chance, you happen to figure out who these people are, please be kind and offer an ear. Don't talk about them behind their backs, don't say terrible things about them, don't break their hearts. They are just like us, struggling to find meaning. And to live.  

The (non) instruction manual for living

We are going to track back for a bit to year 2008, the year of the Global Financial Crisis, otherwise known as the GFC. It was also the year that I hit one of the lowest points in my life – if not the lowest point to date. Of course when it was happening, it didn’t feel like it was a low point, it just felt like life, and I was living, and struggling and trying to do the best that I could. But now, in retrospect, yes, it was a low point and fuck, how did I survive that? I did not know, and I still don’t know.

That was the year that I asked so many questions – so many fucking questions that I could not, and still can not, fucking answer. I attributed this to this phenomenon called the quarter life crisis. I mean, when you were young, and you were supposed to live life that was fulfilling and worthwhile, without actually knowing what it looked like, let alone felt like, it was pretty impossible not to get a little depressed. What is this thing called a full, enriching life? And how the fuck do you know when you’ve got one? Navigating your twenties is one ugly beast, because you feel like life, where you are right now, is extremely fucking hard. But you are not allowed to say it as such. You are supposed to make it appear effortless, darling.

In the year 2008, against all odds, and without managing to figure things out, I survived relatively intact. One thing that is for sure though, even when you manage to figure things out, hold down a job and get a house and a life, all of these could be taken away from you in the blink of an eye, because of things that are beyond your control. Even when you have done everything within your power to weather the bad times, it is rare for anyone to escape unscathed. There would be some effects; some of these are deep and lasting, and invisible to the naked eye. So I hated adulthood; growing old is one motherfucking bitch.

But I have never told anyone this, until now.

In fact, I have joined the popular wisdom of getting older: that life gets better. I like to think that this is because I have a terrible memory, but truth is that, I suppress the terrible times, to the point that if I could, I would erase them from my memory. Selective recalling masked as positive thinking. I am all in for being positive and all that jazz, and I remain a big fan until today. And I also believe that it doesn’t hurt to remember the terrible times, even if they only serve as a reminder of how far we’ve become.

The truth about living is that life doesn’t always get better, and it continuously and perpetually takes a lot of hard work. You don’t always have everything figured out, but it doesn’t give you the excuse to not show up, because living is in showing up. You show up every single day even when you feel so tired and you look at the mirror and notice shit, I not only feel old, I also look old. And I feel fat. Shit, am I fat? When did all of these happen?

There is a deep satisfaction in showing up because it often carries with it an element of connection, an element of struggle, and more often than not, it involves other people. There is a deep satisfaction when you demonstrate (through your actions) a willingness to take on someone’s cause as your own, especially when you haven’t found out what your cause is. There is a deep satisfaction in knowing that in showing up, you are actually doing something, no matter how small, that contributes something to lives of the people around us.

There is no instruction manual for living, quite unfortunately. My one and only rule is this thing called flow – there has got to be a flow, you have to stay in motion. Because the alternative, i.e being stagnant, inaction, is never a valid option. Showing up may appear trivial, but the impact on the people that we are interacting with everyday as a result of us showing up is truly profound. Look out for the smile that results from something that you’ve done. You may not find this often, but there is at least one smile amongst all the hustle and bustle of live.

That one smile is never an isolated effect; believe me when I say this, because of two things. First, the multiplier effect, according to which, this one smile will result in a lot more one-smile-s, which will then result in a lot more more one-smile-s. Or in other words, a smile (or happiness) is contagious. Ever had a stranger smile at you and said somewhat randomly, have a good day? And then you end up having a good day? Yeah, something like that. So, smile, and wish someone a good day, even when that person is not a stranger.

Two, even when the outcome that we look for is a smile, there is almost always something else, and these things are often invisible to the naked eye, or often referred to as ‘I am happy when I’ve contributed to your happiness’. Your happiness in this case is another effect of you showing up.

So then, is this the secret to a good life?

Yes and no. This is because it is rare for two variables to perfectly influence each other. In this case, while it is (somewhat) undisputed that the rate of us showing up is positively correlated with our general well being, there is almost always something else that contributes to this relationship. Or that, even when you’ve successfully identified (albeit only statistically) the relationship between two variables, it is very rarely that this correlation is 100%; there is always something else that contributes to the outcome. Sometimes, this ‘something else’ is a combination of insignificant, therefore seemingly irrelevant causes, so we just tend to ignore them. Because we are much better off concentrating on changing the one thing that we believe is going to result in the outcome that we want.  Because limited resources. Because prioritizing. Because laziness.

I know I am guilty of the last one, which is why I still struggle to make sense of things. I have even more questions today about life than I did one year ago. I still get frustrated on a regular basis because I can’t think my way through these things. Because it makes me feel like I am not smart enough. Like I am dumb, or so blind that I can’t even see these answers that I’ve been told can be found inside me.

Maybe, just maybe, this is one of those things that I can’t think my way through. Maybe, what this really means is that I need to just stop trying to make sense of things right now. Maybe, one day, it will all be made clear to me. Maybe I would be able to see things that have been there all along. Or maybe not. Or maybe, it doesn’t matter. Because life still goes on as long as I show up, open my heart and appreciate the things that make me grateful to be alive. Or in other words, give my mind a break, live life right now with all of my heart, and celebrate the little moments that contribute to a much bigger sum.

Happy birthday to me.

A note on crashing an MBA class

One Wednesday evening, I found myself crashing a dear friend's MBA class.

I don't have a master's degree, so I don't know what to expect, other than I am going to be entertained for the next few hours of my life. I get that this is not the kind of entertainment most people would go for, but it is for me.

What I got was way more than entertainment; I found out a few interesting things about being human, in the form of really informative graphs that really could've been drawn better (another story another time). There were lessons about how to manage resources (which is what a good MBA program is focused on). There was a lesson about how to manage yourself. More specifically, how to manage your feelings.

(To most people that were in that room at the same time, the take away is very likely not to be the above; it certainly was not worded nor presented as such. And that's okay, because understandably different things would resonate differently to different people, or differently to the same people in different times of their lives.)

As a society, we are obsessed with happiness. Like really, really obsessed. Obsessed like all that we ever want in this life is to be happy kind of obsessed. I know because I have said this once upon a time. And the irony is not lost on me that it was during the time that I was most miserable that I said that every single fucking day. I was chasing happiness, without knowing how, and most importantly why.

After years of futile search and extreme exhaustion that manifested in the form of what I labelled a quarter life crisis, I delved into the topic a bit further. There was a very good chance that I was wrong, and perhaps, I should stop whatever it was I was doing because, well, it was clearly not working.

I said that my take away from that 3.5 hours entertainment was how to manage my feelings because of this one sentence: you cannot be happy; you can be happy about something. And that something better be something you can bloody identify. When I wake up in the morning feeling happy, what I really want to say is I am happy that I had a good night sleep, I wake up feeling rested and ready to start my day. When I say that I want to be happy, what I really want to say is I want to be happy with my choices in life.

Being able to identify specifically what you are happy with is part of being in touch with your feelings. I think this is a very important step towards being able to manage your feelings. I also think that a lot of times, when we discuss how to manage our feelings, most of the time the discussion is skewed towards suppressing the bad and accentuating the good. There is nothing wrong with accentuating the good, I am a subscriber. But constantly suppressing the bad is dangerous and can be detrimental to one's health. Because I do not believe that the good is meant to cancel the bad, the two are meant to exist side by side as part of this thing we call our feelings. It is very possible that you feel good about something and at the same time feel bad about something else. And this is not a bad thing either, it is just what it is.

Upon reflection, I think, the same principle applies for all of the feelings that we have: the good and the bad. We are happy about something, we are annoyed about something, we are excited about something and we are bored about something. Yet somehow, the reason behind our feelings are often left out in our sentences. One of the things that we constantly feel is this thing called inconvenience - like, for example, the rain and how we need to walk out of the house with umbrellas that would then get destroyed by the wind. Or that because of the rain, we could not go running our usual track. Or that the broken treadmill in the gym plus the rain mean we have to resort to the bike or the rowing machine, or whatever monstrous machines that we have to endure for the next 20 minutes or so. And most of the time, we summarise all of these with "ugh, so annoying."

It really doesn't hurt to identify the source of the feeling; in fact, I think it can help us sort out our feelings better. And perhaps, if we get to understand why we feel a certain way, then we would be more open to pause for one moment and feel the feeling, no matter how uncomfortable it is. Because I think, being able to feel a range of your feelings is a part of managing it, and being able to manage this well is a part of growing up.

We are not skilled in articulating our feelings, or even, identifying our feelings accurately, i.e why we feel a certain way, let alone managing them. When we feel an emotion that's of an uncomfortable nature, we tend to shut it off, or ignore it, because (1) we think it is wrong to feel that way and (2) in some twisted way, we believe that ignoring it will make it go away. We forget that to see the rainbow, we have to live through the rain.

We are not bad people, even when we do not feel perfectly content about life 24/7. We think we should be excited, giddy, positive all the time. And this is because, well, a lot of people are uncomfortable when we share some form of painful emotion/experience. I don't blame them, really, so most of the time I don't share these things. When I do share them, I get some judgment - which adds to my pain. Very rarely I would get an ear that would listen without judgment. The worst judgment of all: "wow, you are really negative." Yes, I was. I am sorry that I made you feel uncomfortable; but I sure learn my lesson of not sharing private moments with you. [This is a terrible response on my part, I know. I pick this because this is easier for me than trying to connect on a deeper level with this person. This sounds like a cop out, because, well, it is.]

Why we need to share the good and the bad - especially the bad? Connection on a deeper level. Deep connection that most people shy away from. Including me. Because it takes a lot of time and energy and I only have so much of those.

But it is through deep connections that we find meaning. Finding meaning does not automatically make us happy; we are happy about having deep connections, hopefully with those we love: when we get to share their deepest, most intimate thoughts and feelings, and for that moment in time, we let them know that we love them, and we act on that love.

We may not be able to change what we feel, but we have options on how to respond to those feelings. So, choose wisely.


Every day I make decisions about how I choose to live my life, consciously or not.  These decisions become the building blocks of my life. And when I put off making a decision about something, usually because of paralysis by analysis, I still essentially make a decision: that of indecision, and that's when I feel stuck. Stop thinking, start feeling and go with the flow.  

Otherwise known as the things that forced me to grow up

In life we keep coming back to those people whose presence in our lives left a footprint or two. We may not realise it at the time, but in becoming a part of our lives, they were teaching us something. These are some of those lessons.

**
On identifying true colours

But there was something about him. He was the guy that everybody wants to be near. I was somewhat sure I could not keep up. He was intoxicatingly attractive in his own way. We dived into this thing together. I saw similarities between us and this created an artificial sense of security on my part. I ignored the rest.

I am sure there were good moments, but these quickly faded. I don’t visit them very often and they dissolve into the background. In the foreground was the after math of the break up. I was no stranger to break-ups. A person’s character is most obvious in how they deal with a break up, almost similar to how they manage to find a parking spot when there was none to be found. Or if they decide to tag along on one of your shopping trips. He was used to shortcuts; it was if he was entitled to such convenience. This preference for shortcuts was one of the many red flags that I ignored and came back to punch me straight on my face, nearly broke my nose and left me bleeding.

**
On knowing oneself

He was destined to save the world – literally. He was no superhero, but he might as well have been one. I don’t think he goes around with cape, but if he does, it would be a green one. This was a man who singlehandedly goes for what he wanted, and it stung that I wasn’t one of those things.

Overtime, it became clear that it was the best thing that ever happened to us. What he wanted was and still is everything I didn’t want. I didn’t know myself then, and it scares me that he knew me so well. We made this crazy pact to get together if we were still single at a certain time. I wasn’t single and neither was he. It’s all good, my friend. Everything is like they are supposed to be. He is still saving the world, and is bloody good at that.

**
On physical attraction

He had a certain aura about him, primarily because he was so bloody handsome. Those eyes, those eyebrows and gawd, he was easily the tallest person that I had ever dated. It was pure, primal attraction on my part; and as I subsequently found out, physical attraction was an untamable beast. Therefore it was rather ironic that physically, our compatibility never tested, let alone eventuated. It was, however, the source of many terrible decisions that could have and should have been avoided.

Looking back, I am fascinated to no end – what is it about physical attraction that made you willing to overlook everything else? Like that one time when he told you that he was (ironically) physically intimate with another girl, which ‘didn’t mean anything’. Physical attraction cannot and should not be the single determining factor in this thing called compatibility in a relationship. Its importance is often overrated, although it doesn't mean that its subscribers are shallow. What it does mean is that their language of love involves physical touch.

**
On bragging

He was (and still is) the son of a rich man who flaunted his wealth on a regular basis, starting with his choice of car, which was his thanks to his parents' generosity. I used to think that this is a function of the rather shallow environment that he grew up in, or rather, operated in, but some years later, I discovered that old habits die hard. We were in a club, amongst all places, with some friends, some of whom he had just met, and there he was, bragging about his latest conquests - cars, houses and other equally materialistic pursuits.

What he didn't know (and may never find out in this life time) was the number of people who were repulsed by his actions. Instead of talking to people and getting to know them better, he was busy establishing status - that somehow, because of his acquisition of the things that displays success (which combined together screams success), he was better than the rest of us. On the other hand, I couldn't care less. So what you're rich? That doesn't (and didn't) impress me much.

On that note, so what you're educated? That doesn't impress me much.

What impresses me? Your character, your attitude, how you treat other people (with kindness), how you treat yourself (with compassion), and that you act with integrity, uphold honesty and genuinely embrace vulnerability.

All I want for my birthday...

I am going to be one year older soon.

And in line with keeping with tradition, I am writing a birthday wish list. I am a firm believer in telling people what you want because this increases the chance of you actually getting what you want as it takes the guess work out of the equation, and subsequently allows the other person to concentrate their efforts on getting you what you want. This, of course, does not gel well with some people. In fact, in a recent discussion I found myself in when it comes to birthday gifts, to some people, giving a wish list took away the meaning of gifting – you know the whole, I see this thing, think about you and then actually give it to you. I guess viewed this way, I am just a terrible person when it comes to gifting. Or perhaps, I just don’t know people that well to be able to give them with an object that I deem to be something they may derive a lot of enjoyment of.

But I am all in for open and transparent communication that’s often borderline inappropriate, so here we go. Before we launch into this year’s birthday list, let’s see what happened to last year’s wish list.

Running without pain. While I ran for most of this year without much pain, there were definitely moments whereby running was painful. This stays on this year’s list while I work out what is the most optimum way for me to run. My personal best for this year is 5km in 26:30. It happened just once and I haven’t had a repeat performance ever since. If I get to beat this time next year, that would be fucking awesome.

A dog. Oh gawd, I want a dog. Since forever. This is also not possible given our living situation. So this is put on hold indefinitely. It hurts my chest writing this (then again, I am currently battling a throat/chest infection).

A huge kick-ass mirror. Don’t know happened with this one because actually, found a good candidate for the apartment and then don’t know what happened, didn’t end up purchasing. Hm. Perhaps this is a good sign that this should not have been on the list.
(but I still kind of want the mirror…)

This year’s birthday wish list goes like this: all of the above plus the following (in no particular order of importance)

Fried chicken. Holy fuck, I abstained from fried chicken for a whole month and have not been missing it since then like I thought I would. I have not had fried chicken in what seems like forever and I find myself not thinking about it as often as I had been in the past. While this break up is definitely unintended, it is much welcome by my arteries and my heart, but somehow my throat responded by getting an infection (see above). That said, I want some fried chicken. It’s my birthday and I will eat fried chicken if I want to. If I die, I will die on a high, which is infinitely better in my books rather than living a mediocre, fried-chicken-less life.

Clothes that fit. I tagged along a dear friend to his tailor yesterday, and got to witness a lesson on fit. Clothes that fit is like so fucking important that I can even begin to tell you why that’s the case. Yes, I know that these days my fit standard is somewhat on the poor end of the scale, with all those oversized shirts – what can I say, it’s hot outside. Yet the real reason is that my body shape is changing, quite possibly due to my exercise routine. On this note, while I am all in for being healthy (it is after all the most important element of an enjoyable life), this whole business of changing shapes is getting annoying. Because as much as I like going shopping and dressing myself, this is also a very expensive process and my bank account needs to be kept happy.

But those things, really, are not that important. Because if I were to be completely honest, I already have all that I want. I am happy with the decisions that I make in my life, I am blessed with good health and I enjoy the company of the finest people in this life – people, whom I feel, love me without having to mouth those words.

I am very very lucky.

And I actually look forward to getting older, and hopefully, wiser.