Missing Piece

Saff

Young And Innocent

I begin to love and appreciate the rain again; as watching the rain is one of my favorite past times way back when I was a little boy. Somehow, it brought back the memories of who I was – that moment when I was real and true and happy. That very tiny moment of just being yourself and care less of what the world is saying about you, when contentment, innocence, and cheerfulness are all tied up in a knot. I was that boy who used to dance in the rain and sing to it as it splatters to the raw browns of the earth. I was that boy who imagined that the world was his big stage where he can be what he wanted to be. I was once that boy who imagined, and dreamed, and fantasized of all the good things coming his way. Yes, as early as now, many of those goals he had already grasped. All he wished for came to life, granted. But there’s this small bit still missing – a big incomplete jigsaw puzzle. You can’t picture the whole without that final piece. I can’t put my finger on it, but I just know, there is a missing piece. There must be. Waiting to be found.. or relived.

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The Childhood in Kites

I wish to share something surprisingly appalling for me today, guess what? KITES! I saw kites again today.. after years and years. There I was, thinking that kites will never soar the blue skies of Marawi and MSU again. But no, there they were, softly gliding with the breeze, shining with the sunset; I remembered how it felt like..
 The strong string against the force of the wind, the amusement you are sharing with your friends.. oh, how I yearn for that time. Just a short minute where there were no stack of books to wait for you every day of your demanding college life, or a love pop that blew right in front of your face on Valentine’s day, or a black cat getting in your way when you are feeling lucky on a Monday. Everything feels so random, and troubling.

But in the middle of that mental shrieking and identifying your true social contracts, there they were again, beautifully emanating with jealousy auras and throwing you off with different memories of how fun it was to run in the meadows or the cornfields or at someone else’s backyard and steal a beautifully ripe fruit.

And then you think of that tiny little speck of memory on how to make a kite with your bossy big brother and talkative sister who fights all the time, a moment when you were all little kids. A time to laugh when you are joyously happy and cry only when you see your flesh spout a round bubble of blood. That’s the only time you cry, but there were a thousand more ways to laugh.. But when you grow older, everything plays on reverse; you laugh once or twice, and then get hurt all the time. Ironic.

Then in a blink of an eye, the cord that held the kite high above gave way, weak against the strong coils of the wind. It glides and spirals down, the long tail of the kite dwindles and twists and gone.. The happiness sucked out again.

Life is like a kite, you are living because you are motivated to live on for someone or for a goal. Without that thin piece of cord, and someone that holds it on the other side, then you are no match for that airstream. No match for a life that is full of sadness, and misery, and gloomy holes that is much more willing to suck the happiness out of you.  

Fly high, soar and glide and feel the wind. But as you do so, remember to keep track of that cord, and never let go.