It is a luxury to pay attention. In between one chapter to another, as the page is turning in slow motion, it’s been a bliss to indulge in deep breaths. At this point of early August, what I’m most keen to pay attention is the heat in the air. The sun hangs up on the sky. Mirage of heat arises on the streets. Patches of sweat are stitched still on the side of her forehead and on the boy’s petite nose. At night, you wish for the cool wind to blow through the window along with a cicada’s singing. Once in a while, the rain showers and crashes against the dry and charcoal concrete. The cicadas stop singing. It’s just the sound of the rain drumming against the ground.
To look back, receiving was the hardest to grasp on. Like pedaling on a two-wheeled bike for the first time, receiving felt uneasy and difficult to balance on in the beginning. It made me defenseless. Mere words of thanks never felt so shallow when slipped through my lips. What was left were abounding gratitude that I kept inside me. I cherished what was inside me. I slowly learned to cherish me. Then I realized that receiving left me as a simple I, weak. It hurt more to fall. I blamed to be exposed. I stumbled. I cried. I cried again.
To look forward, I will encounter receiving again. Like rain crashes to make the sound of the heat breaking, I will let my tears roll down to break another disappointment and betrayal that are awaiting next. Because receiving left me with what is simply I from scratch, I cherish.