good atlas

Dear readers, if you are still hanging around, still remember that this little corner of the internet exists, hello!

Been a long minute. Not that I haven’t been writing. I have, but mostly in this app thing called Obsidian, where I write only for myself. And diligently in my running journal, also for myself.

Anyway.

Making a little mark here to say that life has been lovely for the most part. Sometimes boring, of late neck-deep busy, but today, today, by some forces beyond my own comprehension, I am here, writing some words on WordPress, staring at a blinking cursor. About to share some very disparate things and thoughts.

#1 Runs cannot replace Walks

I’ve been running a lot lately. Used to hate it, never got why people would put themselves through inordinate amounts of Suffering. Like what do you mean you want to Run after Work?

But both my partner and good friend runs. And they seem to love it? I wanted to understand this “runner’s high” and “I feel like I can run forever” feeling and I too wanted to be fit. So ran I did. Sluggishly, slowly, syncopated-ly. And now I am going to sound like an MLM sales agent, a true-believer. What the hell, one day I actually felt: Like I Could Run Forever.

No going back. Since end-June, I have been running diligently. Some terrible ones, especially the intervals when I start out running and panting like a dog on zoomies. But some incredible ones, like running 8km straight on a good steady pace, breathing so beautiful and effortless, and nothing really hurts. A good run becomes delightfully meditative. And now I know why people would want to Run after Work.

Though, a run is not a walk. And the more I run, the less time I have for long languid walks. And god, it has hit me recently that I absolutely miss long walks.

Runs are so visceral. It takes me away from thinking and sinks me deeper into my body. So a thought or memory doesn’t have traction, it flits by, sometimes so luminously, so vividly, and then it disappears. That is the beauty of a run. That it resides so deeply in the textures of the body.

A walk is, to me, cerebral. Quite different and delightful in its own way. Walking is thinking. And with that pace, you see the world in a deeper way. Or rather, you listen to it. Converse with it. A walk resides in the world that is both the beautiful mind and universe.

Anyway, a snippet from Obsidian.

I saw the most beautiful sunset today. When you walk often enough, you instinctively know which minute of the day grants the most glorious view of the horizon. It’s the same horizon, but everyday, it casts a different spell. And even with my habitual knowing, the sun and the sky and everything else it touches conspires to surprise me. By the time I arrived at my favourite spot at my favourite park, the sky was glowing orange. Words can hardly describe just how much I was moved by what I was witnessing. Time passes and the sky deepens into the most brilliant, magnificent red. So deep and so dark as it stretches toward no end. And the change from day to night brings forth the most inviting of winds. Blowing and caressing the giant trees as its trunks turn dark blue from the deepening light.

I am sure, this is more than enough reason to get on with the day.

We all have our own reserves and wells and ways of communing with the world and the body. I suppose for me. It has always been walking, and writing. And now, running. It’s quite amazing, really. I never thought I would be running. Ten years ago, younger Lilly would have been: Running, really? Ten years ago, younger Lilly was playing the guitar, singing in her bedroom, never got what’s the deal with exercising or going out into the natural world. You’d never know how the world decides to speak to you, how you’d respond to it. Respond to it.

#2 A list of things I’m grateful for

It is so easy to forget when you’re in the thick of it. Thick of what, of time, of neck-deep busy, I suppose. Of being in the current of: 日子很长，岁月很短 (rì zi hěn cháng, suì yuè hěn duǎn) (the days are long, the years are short). And they are, they really are sometimes. I find myself wanting the days to end and when they do, I find myself wanting the year to slow the hell down.

A question came to mind recently: What is a flourishing garden if I’m not present for it?

Ah, presence. This all-encompassing endeavour. Every Obsidian post of mine, written on Sundays, are me beckoning myself again and again to return to the present even as I recall the days past and every detail that made them all come alive only through memory.

Exactly like what I’m about to do now.

#2.1 All the mountains I have hiked

And there were so many. Bukit Dinding’s crag wall and quite delightful views and just the right amount of difficulty. Gunung Singai in Santubong, which still is a pilgrimage route for Christians, its checkpoints telling the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection – and an unlikely sight in Malaysia, but perhaps not in East Malaysia.

Then there is, of course, Annapurna Base Camp. My god. What an experience, of which I’ve written extensively about so here is a snippet from Obsidian.

What a journey! I wouldn’t do it again! But I am incredibly grateful and honoured that I had. Months ago, I shamelessly invited myself to this trip, because it was on my bucket list. I wanted to wear my body down in this way and hollow myself out for the mountains. There is something mystically incredible about this feeling. This feeling of being so small in the midst of unmoving behemoths. The feeling of the body being what it really is…just a bag of bones and flesh. That irrevocable sense that one can only know by doing this hike, and many other hikes like these…that when the mind is hollowed out. When your body ceases its perception and ideations and become just a body. Everything becomes nothing becomes everything. This is the wisdom that only those who chooses to pursue, will hopefully, gratefully, attain. And grateful I am. Grateful beyond words. To have walked along such a small, such a small part of this great big world, to feel so close, so close to you, dear universe. Thank you. I carry this with me wherever I go.

And a month later, I had the incredible opportunity to go to Bhutan for a media trip, with the best media group I have had the joy the hang out with (mostly because they were all introverts). Here, I hiked the infamous Tiger’s Nest. Had my bracelet blessed by a monk in one of the monasteries there while we sipped tea, legs knelt, listening to chants filling up the air.

Again, from Obsidian:

A few things that moved me. River coursing through valleys. Gentle, translucent streams cutting through rice fields and a smattering of houses, all shaped and designed in its traditional Bhutanese architecture. How serene. A group of farmers drinking tea and laughing by the rice fields. Little stupas smaller than the size of a hand. Crowding nooks and crevices in mountains. All of them carrying a prayer. I see them everywhere. Tall poles of white flags flapping to the valley wind. Clustered and perched on clearings across the mountains. All to commemorate the dead. Prayer flags everywhere. Buddhism inscribed in the landscape. In reverence and respect of nature. You don’t yet see the grazing of lands for yet another condominium or shopping mall (but perhaps a hotel). When you drive along the singular roads that connect one town to the next, all you see are trees and trees and rivers and rivers, and the occasional shop that exists to support a family, not a corporation.

[…] I recognise. That what we experience of a place is essentially a projection of our desires and our beliefs. And this is perhaps why I love Bhutan. Because what I see, and what I encounter feels like what I already embody and appreciate, and in my life in the city, it represents also what I desire: Softness, gentleness, and a reverence for nature. The river. The trees. The mountains.

And then…

You know what’s a wonderful feeling? The calming gratitude to be home. The excitement to get back into my routines. To see the people I love. To be home. To be home. To be home.

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Great to be alive, my friends. Let WordPress be my Witness.

In a few hours’ time I will be heading to the airport, this time for a solo trip to Taiwan (once again, a solo after six years!). I’m mostly looking forward to seeing / communing with giant Cypress Trees in Alishan.

And maybe I’ll be back again, through forces beyond my comprehension, to write to you again.