a daylight dream

I dream of gardens all the time. The greenery, the stretched silence that is not exactly silent, harmonious melodies buzzing amidst life’s gentlest reciprocities. I dream of being close to one every time I ponder upon being close to myself, which I assume, is an abundance of ‘ time ’s. How it befuddles me what it feels like when I lose myself by the trees. When it is mid-spring and the silk floss trees are groomed in emeralds sparkling against cinematic clouds. I imagine what it would be like if my life was closely intertwined with one garden— my hands in its dirt, fingers closely wrapped around a handful of seeds, digging into the ground, spraying it with water and pruning the wilted parts. I imagine what it would be like to stand bare feet almost every day on its ground, or cross-legged under a friendly shadow. It would be the perfect kind of aloneness, for I always have conversations in such a kind of solace. Conversations with dreams and reveries to come to life too soon, or maybe ...

It’s time again to see the essence ‘neath the facade of what begins before us. The coal-black skies and lifeless frames that were once budding trees and ripening fruits are but temporary situations, brought about since the very beginning of summer. The eyes tremble before the very thought that what I see this moment is not true as it is deep within. Waking up early is a blessing for I can witness the unfolding of dawn, and I can see for real that this darkness has no identity by itself. There is always a mirror image of wondrous, spectacular light that reflects the darkest hours. Perhaps this is what winter is here to show me so compassionately, it is never as it seems. The uncertainty, doubt and harshness are only the other sides of the coin— it is followed by the truest dawn, the most spellbinding kind of light that makes you forget how it was like to be so insecure. Winter is but a spring in action, and so the harshness before me is but the fleeting absence of life, and it will soon...

Perhaps the nefarious southern winds are blowing much more than the wilted lemon and mulberry trees today, for they are blowing my spark out just the same. I woke up with a neglected kind of heart this morning, my spirit trying to become the mothership, but the waves that have awakened are far too agitated to let it lead smoothly. It is also the conversations I had earlier with people around me that leave me wondering about certain things in our world. Last night, I had this vast emptiness within me; I knew it was only the unstable weather and lack of enthusiasm as the term is coming to an end. I felt this need for warmth and connection, but I was in my room, and it is not that kind of connection that is quenched by grabbing the phone and starting a conversation. It was the inscrutable need for a gentle embrace or a soft gaze that melts all the bitter, tough parts away. But since I didn’t have that, I turned to watch something on the internet that would soften those edges of aloneness....

I do wonder, astoundingly intently, if it is possible to show children all things before teaching them. More ideally said, instead of teaching them. There is a certain magic that comes with enticing the senses in a classroom— where knowledge is grasped through the body first and foremost before it is conceptually assimilated. I can clearly see that when the body is utilised wholly, it can function optimally, integrating the emotions needed to perceive and therefore abstractly uncover patterns. I have seen for myself what happens when children experience concepts through memorable encounters that captivate their inner world. There is a byproduct of fascination so tangible, that it causes a wonderful and effortless performance and demonstration of knowledge. Perhaps it is quite easy in English, for there is much to experience in a language, which is basically a lens through which we understand the world. My question is: is it possible for primary education to maximise the integration of ...