We need that certain dose of fearlessness to push the limit, and to move the goal post just a little higher, and higher.

We take comfort in not doing our best.
We take comfort in being lazy, not giving it all, and not getting the most out of a given situation. We give ourselves that little excuse of consolation, to entertain the disappointment. That wasn't my best. I could've done better, had I given it my biggest effort.
A little part of us is scared of knowing what would've been the result, had we given it all. A little part of us is, always, scared of seeing what would've been the most of us.

What if we've given our best, and there's nothing more we can do, and still the result lets us down?
We take comfort of never, never knowing it.

Apology is one of the trickiest thing to read.

Sometimes we just have to take it at the face value - apology means sorry, and it really means: sorry, I know I was wrong, I truly regret it, I wouldn't have done that if I could turn back time.

Sometimes an apology is said just to save face instead of a sincere regret. Sometimes, it means: sorry, I didn't expect I would get caught. I didn't realize that this makes people mad at me, and now unless I say sorry they would think poorly of me.

The way you take an apology says it all: Do you trust the person enough to take his apology at the face value, no matter how badly he had wronged you?

Reblogged from Futility Closet:


In 1969, as NASA was preparing to send the first men to the moon, it invited world leaders to compose goodwill messages to be recorded on a silicon disc and left on the Sea of Tranquility.
Most of them sent rather banal greetings, but Félix Houphouët-Boigny, president of Ivory Coast, sent this:
At the moment when man’s oldest dream is becoming a reality, I am very thankful for NASA’s kind attention in offering me the services of the first human messenger to set foot on the Moon and carry the words of the Ivory Coast. I would hope that when this passenger from the sky leaves man’s imprint on lunar soil, he will feel how proud we are to belong to the generation which has accomplished this feat.
I hope also that he would tell the Moon how beautiful it is when it illuminates the nights of the Ivory Coast. I especially wish that he would turn towards our planet Earth and cry out how insignificant the problems which torture men are, when viewed from up there.

The architect of Musée du Louvre's glass pyramid is so genius.
Many other architect, when asked to build an entrance to the new underground lobby, would design the entrance with the classic architectural style - imitating the existing palace which has this old, very european grandeur style. Instead he designed a very modern one - pyramid-shaped, entirely made of glass with metal structure.
He didn't try to fit in. He dared to be different, to design something that actually represent his era - and that is exactly what art, and design should be: a resemblance of our era.
And the glass pyramid stands proud. It contrasts the palace, but it doesn't take away the beauty - instead it doubles it.


Had I not seen this I would've thought his idea was pretty crazy, too. There stands something very classic, perhaps also iconic, to adopt the same style to the new building seemed like a no-brainer. Going all modern and futuristic on the other hand, sounds plain nuts.
But then look at that, it's beautiful.

Being different means taking big risk. But once you pull it off, it's worth it.
Now, just where is that courage to take all that risk?

There's a quote from Einstein that says: Everybody is born a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend the rest of its life thinking it's a failure.

What people seem to forget everytime they quote this, is that you can't spend your life living on a tree but expect people to judge you from your ability to swim in the sea.

Been less a writer, and more a lurker lately.

It's possible for us to forget the ones we treat well, but we can never forget the ones that we've hurt.

Sometimes, karma is just that simple.

For a long time, I thought distance is a great way to make something fade away and disappear completely.
It did give that very impression.
But turns out, it wouldn't disappear just that easily. It came back, and hard.
Or maybe it wasn't that hard, it was that I was caught off-guard. Unprepared, and now completely taken aback.
I'll never, ever get close to this again.

In 365 days, I only have two proper chances to have something closest to 'a conversation' with you.
The first one is today.