On A Cleanse For Transcendence


I love the word for a couple of reasons. One, it sounds like a type of mineral. Probably one that’s in a dark teal shade with hints of rose pompadour. Two, it reminds me of the word “cerulean” – also another favourite word of mine. Three, as the word is tipped from the edge of your tongue and out of your lips, it’s almost rhythmic. Lastly, it serves as a reminder of the way of life; all things cease to exist until it has reached its purpose.

We go through life assuming that things, feelings and people become our property. We hold them tightly in the palm of our hand, not even exhaling a single breath for fear of losing them in the split-second. According to my experiences – which mainly consist of losses – the process of attachment is a sickness that has no cure. Until the numbing pain lets you wade yourself out of it.

“The art of letting go”. I often see book titles, articles and self-help captions with this phrase. Art is beautiful as it immitates life and vice versa. But letting go is just as surreal as art; it is almost inconcievable. You cannot replicate “the art of letting go” but instead struggle to achieve it the best way you can, the best way you know how. As smart as the human mind it is, it is also flawed in many ways. The brain is capable of learning tasks and languages in a short span of time, but it’s baffling how emotions overrides rationality, how spur-of-the-moment actions can lead to life-long scars.

Ephemeral. “This too shall pass” is another quote that floats around the Internet a lot. Whether it rests as captions on people’s photos or framed quotes in living rooms, I’d like to believe that this saying is somehow true to a certain extent. It may not the depict the road ahead – jagged with flints and broken glass – but this moment will soon be fleeting. Just like all things in life.

Everything ceases to exist once it has reached its purpose. Even pain.

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Death Is Hello

Last night, I died in my dream.

The familiar city lights remained but there was a thick mist that almost blinded me. I felt an emptiness. Like something was abruptly taken away from me. Right then and there, I saw my soul leave my body. In a fraction of a second, the vessel that I’ve used for twenty six years laid limp on the floor. Like a tattered rug. There I was, floating aimlessly, yet striding behind an unknown silhouette that paced the same street over and over again.

I woke up, expecting to feel all sorts of sadness and fright. But I was calm. I dunked my face in cold water and drank my black coffee. It’s day 1. I’m ready for my new skin.

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