Sitting here, observing life, looking at people i don’t know anything about.
Who know nothing about me.
Such a refreshing feeling.
I don’t owe them anything, they don’t owe anything to me.
They all must be wondering why i sit here.
Or they might not be wondering at all.
But sitting here, just sitting here is so liberating.
I can sit here all day long and nobody would know where i am.
Look at all these shiny happy people walking their troubles away.
Or at least trying to.
Observing human nature can be done the best in public parks.
Today I was many things. I was apprehensive, I was exhausted, I was near a complete nervous breakdown. And I was this close to giving up on myself. All for apparently no reason at all. Which, I am told, is an alarming condition. I was having a mid life crises, but then ever since I discovered that I have hit the middle years of my life, i am almost always having a mid life crises. I do and I still am alive which is a feat in itself, trust me. However, this last fact might be the most unexpected of all the things I just stated here. But then, my life is a curious amalgamation of all things possible but quite improbable. And as far as I can remember I haven’t complained. Not about this at least, since this condition has made me come across many an unanticipated adventure in my life. Which I am very grateful for.
I was confused as well. Today that is. As i often am. But I am talking particularly about today. I even had a difficult time composing this post. Queer, isn’t it? Well if you’re anything like me, your whole life is meaningless and absurdly queer.
I missed my grandparents today too. I miss them quite a lot but today I missed them a little more. I missed having my grandmother around all the time. I have never written anything about her. And that’s sad, like many other sad things in my life. I was sad too today.
I am a creature of nostalgia but today nostalgia became me. I often wonder what it is about your past that keeps you so firmly attached to it. And my nostalgia is firmly rooted in my teenage years. Maybe everyone else’s is too? Perhaps it has got something to do with your being young and full of dreams? The fact that in the teenage and the early twenties you believe the world’s your oyster? Maybe.
The fact that I can vividly remember how I was when I was nineteen or twenty three, for that matter, disturbs me.
The dreams, the energy, the passion, the vitality.
Though the fact that I do not feel like that anymore disturbs me as well.
In many ways, much more.
I still am the same person.
Why then, why do we have to change when we grow up?
But more importantly, why do we have to grow up?
You know what? I think I need a vacation. And a long one at that.
Excerpts from: Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot.”
I get used to the muck as I go along.
( after prolonged reflection) . Is that the opposite?
Question of temperament.
Nothing you can do about it.
No use struggling.
One is what one is.
No use wriggling.
The essential doesn’t change.”
Ah! Why couldn’t you say so before? Why he doesn’t make himself comfortable? Let’s try and get this clear. Has he not the right to? Certainly he has. It follows that he doesn’t want to. There’s reasoning for you. And why doesn’t he want to? ( Pause. ) Gentlemen, the reason is this.
( to Estragon) . Make a note of this.
He wants to impress me, so that I’ll keep him.”
What is terrible is to have thought.
But did that ever happen to us?
Where are all these corpses from?
Tell me that.
We must have thought a little.”
How often it is that we don’t realise what we have in our lives that we need to be grateful for. How very often it is that in the competition to become absolutely like someone else we often forget who we are, only to realize it when it’s too late. Of course I also have some reservations about this phrase “too late” since what is exactly “too late” if anything? Pffft.
I am 35 and I still do not want to think that it is too late… so is it a relative term then? I thought 35 would be too late when I was 25… but now I believe I still have time until I reach 45. Will I still have time at 45? Maybe. Maybe I’ll never know and maybe that is all that keeps me alive. HOPE. The ability to think that there is still something out there that might have the slightest ability to make my life better than what it is now. Something that will miraculously make me realise all of my idle potential, something that will inspire me again, release all my fears and eventually make me a better version of myself.
To many people I know, I write about nothing at all, crap, if you may. My own opinion of my humble attempt at writing is not much different. But then, I write from the heart; whatever stumbles upon my ever-confused mind, somehow takes the shape of the written word. It’s uncensored, raw and rather unpolished. And that is exactly what makes it feel what it is, crap or perhaps nothing…. but decisively mine. Call it whatever you may but I know I excel at it. And there are not many things I excel at.
Even if I feel like imitating someone from time to time, deep down inside I have this irritating awareness of who I really am;
cunningly deceiving what I write every now and then, giving me away.
The absolutely wonderful fact is that I do not write for any specific audience at all. Who am I writing for? I still do not know, but someday someone will just accidently stumble upon this blog of mine and will want to read exactly what I write.
I will keep writing for that one person.