(Warning: The following text discusses sensitive topics, including natural disasters, the pandemic, and eating disorders.)
I couldn’t find my AirPods when I checked out of the hotel several days ago. My first instinct was to go back and look for them, but then I thought maybe going back to a wired connection wouldn’t be so bad. No more dreaded “low battery” alerts out of nowhere. When I finally returned to the hotel, they were at the front desk, labeled with my name. It felt strange but amazing to get them back—losing and then finding something really depends on how much it matters to you. The night before, I’d told a friend on a video call that it was hot because I hadn’t turned on the AC. She asked if I was worried about the electric bill. I laughed and said I was just too carbon-neutral to use the AC. Little did I know, I’d soon have a much bigger “losing and finding” experience. This time, it was food, power, and water. What we’d only seen on the news—the floodwaters rising in far-off places—was now outside, creeping up the streets. At first, it was only ankle-deep; then it rose to knee-deep, and soon enough, the hotel’s entire first floor was underwater. Next came the blackout, clean water loss, and days of confinement indoors.
It took me back to early 2020 when news of an outbreak first trickled in. Fear spread, lockdowns started, and the entire world wore masks. So many lives were lost, and normal life vanished. Globalization can be powerful not only in its reach but also in its impact. A few years have passed, and while the news fades, our memories and bodies hold onto pieces, leaving permanent marks. Disasters seem to take something from us, but in a way, they also leave something behind, like energy—never created or destroyed, only transformed.
After a day without food, I started getting lightheaded and breaking into cold sweats. It was so ironic that I used to be so into intermittent fasting, researching techniques to control my appetite as a way to manage stress that I couldn’t otherwise deal with. I remember once fasting for 48 hours, only drinking water. By the second day, I had to add salt to make it bearable. For some, food is a cultural connection and a way to tell stories, such as in the movie Eat Drink Man Woman by Ang Lee where meals reflect family and the absurdities of life. For me, though, eating was just a coping mechanism. When work stalled, I wanted to eat; when work was done and I felt empty, I wanted to eat; when I was bored, I wanted to eat. I remember sitting on my bed in the past, swallowing two tubs of ice cream and a bottle of liquor in a daze, only to wake up hours later, drowning in guilt and with the same unresolved issues waiting for me.
This flood reminded me of two things. First, ideas like passion, faith, love, and peace aren’t just out there somewhere, waiting for us. They have to be created. Our minds are full of others’ voices, our genes carry the imprint of human evolution, and the tools we use are the products of other people’s labor. So, what’s truly mine? Even if I selfishly create for my own peace or joy, isn’t that worth it? I think back to when I practiced meditation. For those ten minutes, the voice in my headphones gave me a sense of calm. But as soon as I opened my eyes, waves of desire and distractions drowned out that fragile peace.
The second thing I learned is how little I actually know about dealing with failure. I’ve never tried to learn to face it. Success stories always have an audience, always have a market. But failure feels like this heavy, awkward package filled with denial, shame, and uncertainty. At the first hint of it, I distance myself or wrap it up in a pretty facade. But I know the truth—it’s just junk in there. If only success and failure were a simple crossroads, where each path felt equally okay. To face failure head-on and tell myself, “It’s okay to fail”—that’s the lesson I need to learn.
Maybe I’m becoming a bit less cynical, able to live a “normal” life, to receive real care, connection, and emotional support from friends miles away. What I used to take for granted now feels like something to be grateful for. Maybe I’m also less reluctant to share—energy, silly thoughts, whatever I have. While I still have the strength, I’ll keep sharing. Maybe this flood washed away some of my heart’s darker corners. I hope humanity’s kindness doesn’t only shine in moments of crisis. It’d be amazing if we could add just a little more kindness and thoughtfulness to everyday life. And I’m grateful to myself who, months ago, chose to keep going. To her, I’d say you’ll find so much kindness, empathy, and understanding.
Today, I stepped outside, and the flood was gone. There were muddy stains on garbage bags, roads rinsed clean, yellow marks on white walls, and newly patched streets and power lines. People walked by with peaceful smiles, like normal. I ended up back at the same restaurant I’d visited, ordering the same meal, pouring a glass of ice water, and eating.
That is happening. You remember this—“Plato has said this.” And you remember that—“Lao Tzu has said that.” And you remember what Jesus has said, and what Mohammed has said … and you remember many things, and they have all got mixed up, and you have not said a single thing on your own. Unless you say something on your own, you will miss the meaning.
Meaning comes through participation. Participate in life! Participate as deeply, as totally, as possible. Risk all for participation. If you want to know what dance is, don’t go and see a dancer—learn dancing, be a dancer. If you want to know anything, participate.
Creativity: Unleashing the Forces Within by Osho
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