I’m a person who is very into small little things.
Those who know me, and those who have remotely read one or two of my posts can probably attest to that, as I often go on and on, raving about how it’s the small little things that matter, and how it’s these little fragments that make us what we are.
But it is true that this appreciation for the minimal, isn’t something as common as I’d like for it to be. Because, we humans have this penchant for anything that is grand, and often times I see people raving and raging about one extravagance or the other. Me, on the other hand, well….
There are many, many things that I am appreciative towards. If I had to pick one now at this very moment, it would undoubtedly be the fog that has blurred up my windows. I’m a person who feels the most alive when it’s winter, and with spring knocking at the door, the fog that lines my windows at every break of dawn tells a story of a bittersweet goodbye. It’s like a crease, a soft touch on the cheeks from a dear one before they leave, and I feel it every morning when I walk out to my balcony and watch her go. She is more of a friend to me at this point, and every morning I see her fade just a little bit more, knowing that it won’t be long until she is gone for good, only to come back at the end of the year.
I also love my coffee, which stays iced no matter the weather, and I love how she leaves a chill down my throat while I take a puff of smoke to accompany her every morning. The quiet mornings in my apartment work as the perfect companion at that moment, and oftentimes, I find myself with a smile as I get ready to head out.
The trees lining the sidewalks are also something I appreciate. The small hello from the uncle at the grocery store reminds me how humans are still capable of compassion, and when he enquires about my days when he doesn’t see me around, it reminds me how it doesn’t take much to let someone know you care, even if it isn’t someone you are close to.
It’s a fascinating realisation, of how we subconsciously make a habit out of the person that is connected to our lives. How easily we fall into rhythm with the people around us, and how easily the gap rings out when they are absent. The girl who I have my classes with might not even know my name properly, but the questioning eyes she gives me when I miss a few of my lectures speak volumes.
So yeah, I appreciate the strangers around me, and sometimes I even appreciate their silence, their quiet understandings. Like the young man who once offered me a cigarette beside a lake without speaking a single word when everything around me was falling apart.
And surprisingly, these aren’t the things that I consciously practice. The thoughts come and go like trails of rivers in my head, and I let them flow without complaint. What I do practice is reading, where every beginning of a book feels like an adventure, and every ending feels like a journey I completed just to add a couple of new friends inside my head. I take in the characters and nurture them like seedlings in my mind, and the solace I find within them is like a blessing.
I also practice painting every now and then, and let myself make a mess on a canvas just to feel like a child. Colours make me happy, and so do charcoal and inks, so I let them stain my hands, and make myself be one with the chaos that rages inside me, just to remember that it is okay to be unorganised, uncoordinated and untidy. It’s who I am, after all, all ripped edges and ruined canvases. And it’s okay to be just that too.
So in the end, I try to practice appreciating myself too. It doesn’t work out oftentimes. There are still too many clatters inside my head that stop me from moving forward with it. But I sort of like the process of it too.
It’s all rinse and repeat from there on.
And even that is worth something to appreciate in the end.
