I love talking to people who are passionate about something. Like a light bulb in their eyes, I see a light click on and suddenly - their mouths run faster than I can keep up with, but I'm filled with this adrenaline and endorphins all over, just from hearing the excitement in their shaky voices. And now I find myself running beside them, leaving the world for a bit as we delve right into the very crevices of their happy place.

Some are passionate about baking. I wonder though, what it is about the science of whipping a mixture to the right consistency, or cracking egg shells into two perfect halves, or fervently watching their creation rise and fill the room with a quiet, cozy aroma that delights them and warms them at all the right places.

There are those who are passionate about cycling. When I think about the fresh mist spraying on my bare ankles as I recall summers of riding by the seawall; or basking in the heat while I cruised around the neighbourhood with my father and our sun-kissed skins; or being acutely aware of the sweat dribbling down my nose as I ardently ride up the steep hills of downtown. The times when I've neglected my brakes and breezed down burnt-grassed hills that sent me plummeting down the rest of the way, with bruises reminding me of just why my father was right to use the brakes. And after a long day, I'll take off my sweat-soaked helmet and feel the wind blow through my hair, sending thrilling shivers to every follicle I feel, and it's no wonder that there are those who are passionate about cycling.

Then I think about a mad passion for writing. I am mad passionate about writing. How it feels to type out the words I've always wanted to say to people, or out loud to say the least, but sometimes cut off when I see the look in their eyes as they look at mine, lit with fiery enthusiasm - nothing, bored to death. How I have all the time in the world to figure out my thoughts about something and pen it down, with an audience who patiently waits as I piece them together. How excited I feel when I find exactly the right word to describe exactly how I feel. And just how proud I am when I look back at my writing, reading my growth as I reminisce memories and experiences behind the curtains of each post.

And then there are others who are crazy about music (and you can count me in on that). The mellow sounds of softly strung guitars echoing in the acoustics of my ears; the enchanting beat of the drums that match to every pulse I feel; the spine-tingling melodies of the piano that I hear; and the sincere violins pulling the strings of my heart, all playing a piece in unison that defines my very being, the epiphany of who I am.

And there are sunrises, and sunsets, and new days and waking up early that I love. How beautiful the colours of bold pinks, fiery reds, and mellow yellows look on a new, soft blue canvas; how mountains of indigo stand out against the blameless sky; how problems and memories fade into the horizon with the setting sun as the day gets old, and the beauty of a new today. A today where you can start anew; where you can hop on a train or a plane and become anyone you want to be or go anywhere you want to go. And I hope that one day I will have the courage to leave what I know and go into the unknown; to leave at the second and be the kind of person I always say I'm going to be. And waking up early - that quiet realization that today hasn't been lived yet; that yesterday has seeped into the bones of the past and the spines of your own history book. Or maybe it's when everyone is still asleep, and it's that feeling you feel, knowing you have the whole world and its wonders to keep, even if it is just for a while.

Talking to people who are passionate about something means they have something to live for, and if it's something that keeps their fire going, it's all I want to know. I want to know one's passion because I want to know how alive it makes them feel and how perfect the world seems to be, though it is only for a moment.