Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter

The last week has been one heck of a packed one, the upcoming weekend, even more so!
I went for my medical on Monday, so that I can start work this coming week. Raffles Medical is crazy packed even early in the morning. I've made a mental note to myself that if I ever need to see a doctor there next time, I have to be there even before the clinic opens, just to queue. Like the 8 people who were waiting outside at 8.15am on Monday.

Met up with Chels for dinner on Tuesday too, my last social call before I start work proper. Wednesday was spent sitting in the salon doing my curls. Which I pray will loosen by next week. Other than the tightness of the curls, my hair's in pretty good shape. Aunty Debra did do a good job, and I like her a lot too! Paid a visit to Kongkong in the evening too before grabbing dinner at Raffles City then heading home. Yesterday was a relaxed  day - meant to spent the day bumming but ended up clearing out my wardrobe to make space for clothes for a new phase of life. Donated all my unwanted by still wearable clothes to the little sister, and chucked the totally unwearable pieces out. Had to be ruthless about it and steel my heart to just THROW! It's not in my nature to throw things out though; I'm an incorrigible hoarder, as my room will testify to. Went over to Clem's place to continue bumming, then popped by Tri's place for our night of hilarity and good, comforting fun. :) Thank goodness there weren't any cameras lurking around; I would have been absolutely mortified if anyone had snapped a picture of me stomping around as an excuse for dancing. Haha!

I'll definitely miss these late-night impromptu bouts of cavorting with the bestie when I move out this year end. I know that life has to go on, and change is the only constant in life, but still, it pains me to leave my sunshine-soaked adolescence behind as I leave my childhood home, where all I love remains: my family, my best friend, all my worldly possessions crammed higgly-piggly into any empty spot, my warm bed, my too-small cupboard, my favourite spot on the dining table that faces the garden... So many memories have been made here, so much growing up has taken place here, so much love and warmth soaks the atmosphere of this place.  It seems a tad premature to eulogize my home now, since there's still a good nine months to go before I cannot call this place home anymore. But the thought of leaving is making me a little teary-eyed this afternoon, even as I'm brimming with excitement at the thought of what lies in store for me in the future spent alongside the man I love and want to grow old with. We're all conflicted beings, all at once caught in the past, present, and the future and pulled apart in all directions as we struggle not to forget who we once were even as we try to live in the now, all the while looking forward to tomorrow.

For now, I will just try to live in the now. Every minute seems increasingly precious in its fleetingness and ephemerality. That's precisely what makes life so precious anyway - the fact that things change as seconds come and go. For, if things were to remain static, all that we hold dear - such as beauty, loveliness, love - would lose its meaning. John Keats says it nicely in his Ode to a Grecian Urn; I couldn't say it better myself.

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'