// what time is it? //

I just came back from my religion's coming-of-age ceremony for 21 year-olds.
One piece of guidance struck me the most.

" If your life is represented by one day, meaning that 12 midnight
represents the time you are born and 12 noon is equal to forty
years of age, then, 21 year old means that the time is 6:15am.
It is the time, early in the morning when people just woke up.
A day just started."

Somehow, this makes me feel happy going on to 21 (even though there's still like 10 mths to my real 21st)

At same time, I am afraid that I will lose the ability to appreciate the little things in life
as I grow older.
Losing the sight of the beauty of life.
It's a terrible thing.

You'll think the whole world is against you and why your life is so hard.
You'll think you have given enough but not receiving the same.
You'll grumble about every single bad thing that happens to you,
no matter how minor.

While others saw a glass of half-filled water, you saw a half-emptied one.
When others saw clear blue skies, you said the sky is so bare.
Where others saw beauty, you saw nothing but ugliness.

You forgot how to give way to people, to tolerate others.
Just because you have more life experiences,
you are always right.
Sometimes, I feel older people like my mum falls prey to this kind of thinking.

I also went to IMH today.

At first, I was rather afraid of the patients there.
Before we stepped into the women's ward, when the nurse was explaining certain things to us,
I could see some of their faces through the transparent door.
A few were poking noses at the door, their hands in a "let me out!" position.
Hence they look quite intimidating.
However, after we entered the ward, I felt much better as many of them
were rather friendly and extended their hands to wish us Happy New Year.
One women was shouting "Party" because they were supposed to have a party tml.
Perhaps she thought the party came earlier.
Anyway, some were watching TV while the others sat around.
I did not really know how to communicate with them
But I was glad that there was totally no sense of dread, unhappiness or despair
in the room.
All of them were engaged in some activity or another hence the room was buzzing with noise.

But, how different are they from prison immates?
Of course they have nurses and psychiatrist to take care of their health.
Volunteers to shower them with care and concern.
But, they are part of the forgotten.
Forgotten by society.
Forgotten by their family and relatives.
Their perception of the world is only as big as IMH.
Even sadder, some might just commit suicide after hearing voices in their heads.
I wish I can do something for them, no matter how small.

We are really fortunate.