"When the bottle is full, you empty it so that it may fill up again."
It was a typical Tuesday evening and the work day was ending, and mild-mannered Kalamari was writing in his usual Kalamari-ish sort of way. Suddenly, as suddenly as Kalamari changes his writing styles, and third-person views into first-person narrative, I deduced that I would like to watch a movie.
So I nochalantly browsed the movie listings to find a suitable movie to watch. I narrowed it down to Eragon. Knowing that my cousin would like to watch it as well, I somehow managed to arrive at the conclusion that I should invite her along. And so I did.
The movie part of this blog shall henceforth be ignored and dutifuly skipped, to prevent lengthy reviews on the specifics of this movie which is not the point of this blog.
And now our story suddenly reverts back to the issue of the bottle, which was suddenly forgotten amidst the pivotal event of suddeness that keeps throwing the reader and the writer off guard.
After the movie, we went to a nearby mamak where we sit and catch up on old times. That was when everything came pouring out. Every single thing that I've been bottling up for the past few months came spilling out like the torrential flood waters of Johor (and I'm not saying this to spite Johorians. I know the crap you peeps are going through). All my frustrations, my agonies, things I've always wanted to say but couldn't because I didn't want toes to be stepped on.
Somehow, she was the right person to talk to. Someone who shared the same opinions and thoughts and a neutral stand. Someone old enough to understand these issues. With her, I could talk about family.
I opened the bottle and released it's contents.
And when I was done, I put the cap back on. That will do for now.
It was drizzling lightly when I got back to my house. Or had it stopped? I hadn't noticed. I took a nice warm shower, then sat on my bed, strumming my guitar. Nothing had changed around the house. It was still the same. The problems are still there. They have not been solved.
But someone very wise once said, "You can worry all you want, but worrying won't change anything. So why worry?". And it was true.
As I lay down on my bed, with the salt lamp (which requires a bulb change ever so often) in the corner, casting a soft glow upon my room, I refused to think about the things that I cannot change with thoughts. And instead, chose to think about the things that I can do to change.