At least I can still write and scribble.
Feeling comes, feeling goes.
It's like the wind; you can't see it, you can't hear it, you can't restore it.
Feelings are tricky. It's constantly changing; just like the fast speeding water, swirling down to the stream. Sometimes it sprays into the air. Sometimes it flows unbelievably fast but we can't see its power from the surface. The feeling is just like that. What we feel is much more like strong current of water flowing, yet it's hard to see from outside until we express it. Expressing feeling is also quite challenging. I haven't learned properly how to express our feelings.
Anger, despair, lonesome, boredom, joy, excitement, determination, resignation, anxiety, feeling of uncertainty, desire, jealousy, failure, isolation, and companionship, betrayal, hurt, hope, belief and love.
How can we express them in a right way? I wish there are encyclopedia of expressing our feelings. I wish there are more discussions about how to express what we feel. Because these feelings have bothered me such a long time, and I need way-out.
* * *
I had wonderful creative mind, motivation, and burst of pulling out.
I wanted to write about my daughter's smell, and her sleep posture, before my eyes caught up with tons of house work. I wanted to remember her cherry scent from her breath, after brushing her teeth with Dora the explore tooth paste. The sweet sweat on her forehead was still on my palm. I wanted to capture it. I suck up all her smell so I could bring them out on my writing.
How much do I love my baby smell? That must be the best smell of the world.
My mom's voice echoes in my ear now, "Oh, this is the best smell, this after-milk breath from baby's mouth."
I agree with her. I haven't smelled anything better than my baby's plump skin smell. Especially when I smell her neck line and it must tickle her. She squeals with joy and wiggles her whole body, but I love to smell her breath, her sweat. Even it's stinky morning breath, even it's unbearable fart smell, I love them all.
When I open her room before I go to bed to check if she's covered with blanket. The first to notice is her innocent, living breath which has been filled up entirely her room. It permeates every angle in the room; her blanket, pillow, even her love-y.
I dream of her having adventurous dream. I wish I could see what she's dreaming now. I love to record everything; what is like to be in the middle of night on April, 4th, 2011 in Sun Hee's mind.
All I can do is write.