The morning began with a vague but insistent sense of unease that lingered as I rose. When such foul moods descend upon me, I often have the need take it upon myself to find solace in small, methodical actions, lest I succumb to the cold, grasping hands of anxiety. A slight massaging of the eyes, deep and controlled breaths, a careful note of the world outside waking up as it permeates through the white noise. The curtains were drawn as they should be; the bed straight, though a slight adjustment of the blanket was deemed necessary. The pillows, too, received their customary attention. These small rituals, trivial as they may seem, serve as quiet distractions when one finds thoughts tremored as they were.
Fridays in our home are always lively, for the children rise early to prepare for school. It is often my wife’s opening of the bedroom door that rouses me—a sound so ordinary yet startling in the quiet hours of the morning. There is something in its sharpness that unsettles me, though I am never sure why. Yet, as is often the case, a cup of coffee soothed my nerves. Though decaffeinated, the ritual of it—the warmth, the aroma—was enough to bring a measure of calm.
As I sit to write this, I find my thoughts turning toward this space—a domain I have maintained for a decade yet seldom used. At $32 a year, it has remained little more than a blank slate, a quiet reminder of opportunities left unexplored. A conversation with a friend the other day brought this revelation to sharper focus. He remarked, with a touch of regret, that he had little to show for the last fifteen years of his life. The sentiment stayed with me, prompting me to consider how I might make better use of this corner of the internet.
Perhaps a journal. Not a novel idea, that is for certain, but it is a familiar one. It does not have to be ambitious, but a simple chronicling of thoughts and actions. An exercise in English, if anything, in which I must confess has become somewhat neglected. Since my immersion into the rhythms of Malay working culture, the need for English has waned, its once-central role diminished to mere utility. To write here, then, is not merely to record thoughts but to sharpen a skill that ought not be forgotten. I could also use it to explore my love for photography or experiment with video, capturing the fragments of life that might otherwise slip away unnoticed. A modest abstraction, away from the complexities of the day to day, but a distraction that seems worthwhile.
And so I begin here, unsure of where this path might lead. Whether it will amount to anything substantial, I cannot say, but there is comfort in the act of beginning. Perhaps that is reason enough.