The realist in me

No more the idealist, I've now become a realist.
Since when did I wake up from my carefree skippy ways?
Eccentricity has been wiped off me like chalk marks dusted off a blackboard.

I'm all grown up, smiling peacefully for the world.
I wear my tough experiences like a silky velvet coat, my survival for those shiny buttons and my new dreams for a caress of satin.

After a long lull where my spirit trooped off here and there and everywhere but forgot its momentary self,
my love for literature and the classics returned.
my love for reading returned,
my love for creative writing and the pure bliss of shaping a novel, returned.
my old love for plays returned like a candy-lugging shadow.

Then I became suddenly drawn to philosophy. I signed up for an online course.
The first subjects commanded logic and critical thinking.
Step back from everything, said the lessons. Step back, watch and observe. And catch the truths.

My life has slowly turned purposeful which makes me feel serene. Because a new thinking mind seems to give me a better control of my destiny and of my footsteps.
What do I want to do? And how do I go about it?
I've learnt that there are psychological factors attached to any problem.
Nothing is to be taken at face value. Nothing is in black and white.

But I've also learnt that whenever there's a problem, there are options to solutions.
That's the beautiful thing about life. It's generous with its chances.
A prematurely dying man is afforded the opportunity of selecting his breaths carefully and grabbing determination.

I stll believe in spontaneity.
I still believe in the supernatural power of Christ.
I still believe in a handsome man being a feast for the eyes.
I swear to allegiance on the betwitching power of a kiss.
I'm still striving for stand-up comedy acts on stage.
Ok, maybe I'm not such a bore. :-)