have a sip of tea - life at first the cross of level up

have a pot of tea.

imagine sipping from a warm pot of tea.

when you take that first sip,

what type of tea did you imagine drinking?

is it light?

bitter?

sweet?

was the flavor,

a delicate blend of chamomile and honey?

soothing your senses with its gentle sweetness?

'cause in a world transformed by a pandemic,

a pot of tea became a sanctuary.

its warmth embraced us,

a refuge from realities.

throughout the pandemic,

our lives transformed in unpredictable ways.

in that tranquil moment,

dreams are woven into reality.

dreams intertwined with reality,

a tapestry woven with hope and hardship.

so did you dream a dream?

'cause we did.

ever wonder how one pandemic has changed all of us.

for the better or not,

it depend.

across digital landscapes,

crossing oceans.

we found solace in newfound friendships from corners of the world we'd never have explored otherwise.

new friendships blossomed,

transcending borders,

defying oceans.

oceans were crossed,

not just in miles but in experiences shared.

we navigated this uncharted territory,

how was yours like?

ours was wild.

our shared journey wild and untamed.

some said sometimes it takes ten years to get that one year that changes your life,

ours did.

let me tell you our story for CreateTogether.

and you can decide on what you think.

life at first cross of level up.

it wants to return

to that moment before the weight of the world

pressed so heavy on its shoulder,

when we stood at the edge of possibility,

light as the breeze that stirred the trees,

every leaf bursting with the promise of green.

but now, the sprint's on—

yo, level up or get left in the dust, it's cuttin' the slack,

some climb higher, others rewind.

like after high school, when some soar—

to good uni or solid careers—

while others chase dreams that feel so far.

life's a sprint; you blink, and you'll lost in the back,

gotta grind, gotta trust.

it's stackin' racks, some study, some scheme,

some hit the books, while others stackin' that bread,

you stayin' stuck in a permanent dream—

if you stand still, dude, that purpose is dead.

dream? nah, it's calculatin’, patient, it rise,

not every wave breaks at the same time, wise.

you quick to claim wins, while it digs in the dirt—

foundation solid; watch who crumbles first.

nah, it ain’t stuck, just takin' its time,

we rise in waves, not all at one climb.

some stay low, breakin’ the ground,

you chase the fast track, it's steady and sound.

steady? nah, you’re fallin’ behind,

push to the top or get lost in rewind.

it's climbin' levels, in that fast lane,

while you slow down, feelin' nothing but strain.

crumbles? nah, it's shatterproof, check the designs,

blitzin' through levels, ain’t readin’ the signs.

you too slow, playin’ it safe, why wait?

drag your feet, it accelerates fate.

while others linger, lost in the maze.

we all serve a purpose, yet some exhaust their flame,

fading from the race.

strive forward or remain in shadow,

reaching for higher ground or be left behind—

not by malice, but time's slow march.

yet as we drift, held together by this fragile thread—

this thin stitch of being—

people grow apart, and lines once crossed hold weight.

it’s not for you to tell them how to feel—

their agony, their choice, their own.

those lines become borders, heavy with meaning.

strain? that’s sprouting, it don’t deny,

but your fast rise ain't the only way to fly.

people change paths; it’s just how it flows—

sometimes the line’s crossed, and that’s how it shows.

fate ain’t rushed; you crash when you force it,

it's pourin' the mortar, brickin' the fortress.

you burn fast, like a firework show,

but it's a volcano—steady, ready to blow.

we rise in waves, not all at once,

some stay low, breaking the ground slow,

steady in their stance while others fade,

lost in the maze of their own making.

what pulls us apart? what keeps us bound?

the silence swells, the night stretches,

vast and unending, like the sea.

while you run your race, it move at its own pace,

keeping its head steady, rooted deep, still true to its grind.

ain’t no excuse, you drifted away,

it's sky-high, you just float in the fray.

it’s their call, can’t argue how they feel,

their scars run deep like roots, unseen, but that grind gotta

seal the deal, sprouting.

volcano? psh, you ain't erupting,

you just a bump in the road, self-destructin'.

it's thrivin'; you drift like a leaf in the breeze,

this life’s a race, ain't no room to freeze.

agony’s real; agony theirs to decree—

we can’t rewrite the scars they carry,

can’t argue how they feel or say how deep they run,

whether they’ll rebirth or forever be undone.

hurt’s real, but that grind’s gotta seal the deal,

even as time marches on, we wonder if we'll ever return

to that place where the earth once sang beneath our feet,

where every path was green with possibility.

agony’s theirs; it won’t disagree,

but you don’t own their hurt, it’s theirs to decree.

you might soar fast, but it won’t be confined—

life’s not your race; it’ll carve its own grind.

freeze? you confuse stillness with stuck,

while you run reckless, burnin’ your luck.

you might rise fast, but crash just the same,

it'll be standin’ tall when they forget your name.

yet here we stand beneath this widening sky,

some rising fast, some building slow,

wondering how it shows,

how some drift away, while others climb high—

we can't say why.

so rise or get left; the choice is on you,

catch up or fade out; gotta do what you do.

life’s a battle, not just rhythm and rhyme—

step up or get caught in wastin' time!

forget? nah, it's carved in the stone,

it'll take the crown, sittin’ high on the throne.

you play it slow, hopin' time’s on your side,

but you blink once, and your chance just died.

you cannot declare the hurt undone,

nor decide how deep the scars should run.

it’s their right—

not your privilege—to feel the weight

of what’s been done.

time don’t die; it just keeps tickin’,

you race for a throne; it's buildin' the kingdom.

go ahead, run; it'll take what you leave,

while you hit the peak, it's rooted beneath.

yet, as the earth once sang beneath our feet,

we learn not every race is won with feed nor with speed,

some rise in waves, while others take their time;

either way, each step is part of the climb.

ain’t wastin' time, it move at its pace,

keeps its head steady while you run your race.

whether you rise or leave its behind,

it'll stay true to its rhythm, its steps,

its own grind.

you're like a bad joke—hard to believe;

*all italicize are rapping part

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#createtogether #haveasipoftea #lifeatfirst #lifeatfirstlevelandcross