When something is beautiful
I used to write a lot growing up. I’d write poems about the things I loved. Like pigeons. And tamarind candy. I’d make up stories about the bus driver, about this boy I saw in school always eating alone. I’d created a personality through writing. I would view the world around me like Sir David Attenborough. Commenting on the comings and goings of the ones around me. It was so fun.
But then life came at me so fast, I didn’t have any time to review, just react. I barely managed to graduate from high school. Then came college and I was an idiot and I had to get through a whole 4 years of it! Then I landed a job, had to move countries, find another job, and now its halfway through 2026 and I have no idea where the last 12 years went.
I recently started writing again but I’ve been struggling with what to write about. I thought back to how I’d view life as a kid. No way I can do that now. I’m a part of the life around. I’m not an innocent bystander. I am a victim.
Today on my way back from my run, I stopped at a coffee shop. There was a barista weaing a hat. He had a nose piercing. He wore black earrings, I think he’s what you’d call a goth? He was bobbing his head to the French song that was playing. He was in the groove of the melody. Shaking his head sideways while he waited for the milk to steam up. He would pour the coffee gliding his hands across the cup. Syncing the waves in the latte art with the rhythm of the song. It looked like he was having the time of his life.
It was beautiful.
I’ve been trying so hard to figure out what to write. I thought I’d lost my ability to really see things. But there’s beauty in the most unexpected of places. I just needed to open my eyes.