third side of the coin

does anyone trust trust? i know i don’t know. trust me. dump it

cut the music, strip the hair and  burn the clothes, the skin, break the devil’s mirror.. and just dump it. all of it.

i hurt you.
you hurt me.
now honestly..why bother keeping score?

a voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings.
                    alone must it seek the ether.
                   - Kahlil Gibran ( The Prophet )

as we sat by the harbour,(the time was about near 6pm, but the sky was already as dark as kl’s 8-ish twilight, the evening breeze made it extra chilly). we watched this old chinese busker, in old worned out clothes and over stitched and repaired sweater, with his neck length white rough silvery hair frowning down frm the side of his old hat , playing his er-hu to a familiar 1920’s classical chinese tune. he sat on a short foldable chair and had a little plastic tupperware placed on the concrete in front of him for passer-bys to empty their loose change into. and as people passed and slipped coins from their pockets into his little plastic bin, the old man would stop playing, stand up and start bowing and thanking in gratitude repeatedly. as i sat and watched, i noticed the old man kept playing the same song, and he was good at it, with his eyes closed, seemingly lost in his past when perhaps, life seemed much more comprehendable and sweet, and the song served a significant flashback. later, a group of what seemed like upper-class australian high school fresh grads passed; they were dressed to the nines, suits, groomed hair and loud like they were the kings if the world, all boys. they stopped in front of the old chinese man, all 6 of them, cracked a joke and laughed drowning the old man’s er-hu. they then tapped his hat twice hard, as if to check if the chinese man was alive… he stopped, still with eyes closed and not wanting to look up. the boys laughed and walked on with their rosy cheeks and care-free rudeness. the old man then looked up, lifted his old plastered glasses frm his nose, wiped tears frm his tearing eyes and like he was choiceless, continued playing that same familiar chinese tune…

the episode made me reflect alot on my life and my time here..
our life and our time here. as individuals, as a society and as a race that’s said to have a very special place in God’s heart.

for some reason that night in sydney. i was ashamed of being human.