Lately, I’ve had an insatiable appetite for beautifully simple moments.
Hot cocoa on a chilled night,
A clouded, white sky with multiple unusual sights,
Music to dance to while cooking ramen noodles,
Dreams of strange other-worlds.
These moments remind me of my story-like dreams and pieces of myself that are now erased. I’ve missed what I used to be and, at times, even feel ashamed for who I’ve become.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve dug into poetry like a traveler lost in the desert feasting on their world of mirages. I have many emotions as well as perviously dormant memories taking a air-sucking hold on me. Worst of all, I’m not sure how to sort the mess I’ve become out.
I haven’t become the person I wanted to be.
I don’t cook up batches of noodles precisely seasoned a few days in advance. Instead, I still eat cheap noodles packets (such as the infamous Ramen) after convincing myself that boiling noodles is a smart idea rather than eating peanut butter straight from the jar. Yes, some nights I am that tired and that unmotivated.
I want to do many things, but I often feel I’m not able to. It’s so hard to believe I can after living over 20 years drowning in I can’t.
But it’s the simple moments—the foggy days, the changing leaves, the small glimpses of my dreams before they fade—that seem to let me breathe. They may remind me of what I’ve lost, but they also remind me of what I can still become.
Perhaps that’s why God gave us nature. He knew we’d become stuck in our own heads if we stayed in our own minds too long. I’d also like to think He gave us (instant) noodles for the days He knew it would be hard to escape our mind.