The Juxtaposition of the Skies

   In reaching for the sky…I forgot to look up at it.

   Which child hasn’t spent at least one quiet afternoon scanning the bright and clear skies for serene puffs of white cotton? Looking for shapes in clouds and developing entire narratives out of the characters in the sky, our imagination would draw out nature’s applause in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Such simple moments, so easy to take for granted. And yet, the effects these moments leave us with are profound.

   I myself held great joy in spending ample amounts of time looking up; befriending the clouds in the day and the stars at night. The experience would leave me feeling one with the world, at peace and somehow connected to the truest tones of nature’s symphony. Perhaps every child experiences this, even if not as consciously. But then growing up taught me to channel my focus towards the things that truly mattered. I eventually spent all my waking moments striving towards my goals, and my sleeping moments dreaming of achieving them. By delivering my entire self towards these lofty goals, through aiming for the skies and approaching them…I forgot to appreciate them for what they are. In the process of gaining priceless skills and developing myself as a person, I paid the price of loosing another part of myself – a part deemed of low value in society, and somehow still of immeasurable value to each member within it.

   How could I complain though? In striving for the skies, I began my journey of evolution. Would I be the person I am today without the experience? Would I be capable of caring for those dear to me without my endless effort? Would I have been happy with myself if I hadn’t given it my all? Today, I’m in the enviable position of having one foot with my heart at home, and the other foot with my mind in the hub of academic excellence. This was, undeniably, something priceless to gain.

   And yet, the feeling of being incomplete lingers. Why would it matter though? Daydreaming doesn’t put food on the table. But it does nurture the ability to find joys in every bit of life. And that ability arguably draws the line between a content and broken man.

   Must the endeavour of reaching towards a goal wholly make the goal seem less meaningful to us? Must we find the world mundane after taking to the skies, even after having appreciated their beauty through our youth from afar?

   As we soar higher, the turbulent winds of life buffet us and toss us around in the skies. In that disorientation, where do your eyes go? Down, towards the known mundane, or up, towards the boundless sky, infinite in its wonder and tempting us towards further growth, exploration and freedom?