Why is it that just when it becomes easy to take for granted a certain fact about oneself or those who matter, anything from a skill so well honed that it becomes second nature or an aspect of one's nature that has always stood out, like their inherent sense of responsibility or space or laziness or flippancy, all of it has to be turned a 180 degrees on it's head (or, read ass)?
Those sharing living quarters with me may realise now that my increasingly frequent bouts of ranting and screeching followed by tempestuous tempers are not to be faced and dealt with, but shouldered and braved roughly like caught outdoors in bad weather. They who were supposed to control me, make me mind myself and ensure that the line was toed are now hurrying to get out of the way when they sense the temperature rise and of course it irks me more!
This is a plane of my being that is uncomfortable, itchy and comes with a case of glutton's guilt, the discovery of which pales in comparision to how easily the voice of conscience can be muted to get this it's more than fair share of attention.
How it is possible now, at my highest level of depravity as an individual when during the obstacle race towards a supposedly promised potential, the incomplete and illusion of a journey was undertaken with a grin plastered and a back bent, beats my limited (whether it has become limited now spirit wise or world wise or always was in every which way is a tangent that should be dealt with later) scope of understanding..
Looking back and looking ahead at this junction, while always compulsively looking inwards, I wonder what pushes each of us to move on instead of roll over and lie indefinitely in that foetal curl, and how that friction or push factor changes and takes away or adds on to the facets of a character. Or is it that all of us can be each of us, inhabit each role and it is just a matter of when the cue is called?
Everyday and through every interaction we are trained to moderate, modify and methodically maintain a persona, but not make it from scratch everytime we are at a cross roads. It is definitely a practice that saves time and effort but amongst all those layers that get inevitably and inseparably entangled how do we find the basic true form that outlines the shape of our being? That mythical essence?
The more I try to figure it out, the more I contradict myself, if one has an essence that is true and firm then those aspects that stand out, are they definitive landmarks or perceptions of the viewer? If they are definite then they are useful tags that encourage categorising and boxing, but then it is an prejudicial injustice to their abilities of growth and being. If they are only the perceptions of the viewer, then they serve to tag the viewer through the same faulty system.
So if they are just a few of the facets, and can be overcome and rounded off, balanced by others, making us all whole much to the dismay of romance (we are to be made in pairs) writers, then how does one identify one from the other? Will the whole spread of humanity be united because they have the same underlying natures but for the ebb and flow of the tide of time to point and mark these differences?
Though I begin to lose my grasp on the path and wander, a nagging voice directs me back to my original premise of why it becomes so difficult to fathom oneself, why there are surprises that knock us off our feet in our own behaviour.
Considering, the concept of life as turning a full circle makes a pretty picture, and that we traverse the roads that bring out all the shades of the spectrum makes sense. But what about lives that are cut short before a turn is completed, lives that are like one way long distance train travel, each station inimitable (the ones that the train does bother to stop for more than a few minutes) and new, adding further dimensions, enriching or diminishing, an account that does not get balanced with the prettiness, like a gift, wrapped with multiple pieces of paper in the same colour, such that the joints are seen only on close inspection?
Either of these choices can help in taking the hitherto unknown qualities in others into our stride but for the helplessness it creates when stumbled upon on the personal front, the feeling of being pushed into a corner or standing on the edge of precipice of a not so tall building (or even the compound wall of said building) remains.
Having said all this, in what I believe as a quintessentially me fact, one that seems to underlines all my endeavours (or wait is only a character trait, a temporary one at that), I hope that irrespective of the direction and nature of my journey, this plane in plain terms crashes and burns before causing any irreparable damage.
Namaste!
Those sharing living quarters with me may realise now that my increasingly frequent bouts of ranting and screeching followed by tempestuous tempers are not to be faced and dealt with, but shouldered and braved roughly like caught outdoors in bad weather. They who were supposed to control me, make me mind myself and ensure that the line was toed are now hurrying to get out of the way when they sense the temperature rise and of course it irks me more!
This is a plane of my being that is uncomfortable, itchy and comes with a case of glutton's guilt, the discovery of which pales in comparision to how easily the voice of conscience can be muted to get this it's more than fair share of attention.
How it is possible now, at my highest level of depravity as an individual when during the obstacle race towards a supposedly promised potential, the incomplete and illusion of a journey was undertaken with a grin plastered and a back bent, beats my limited (whether it has become limited now spirit wise or world wise or always was in every which way is a tangent that should be dealt with later) scope of understanding..
Looking back and looking ahead at this junction, while always compulsively looking inwards, I wonder what pushes each of us to move on instead of roll over and lie indefinitely in that foetal curl, and how that friction or push factor changes and takes away or adds on to the facets of a character. Or is it that all of us can be each of us, inhabit each role and it is just a matter of when the cue is called?
Everyday and through every interaction we are trained to moderate, modify and methodically maintain a persona, but not make it from scratch everytime we are at a cross roads. It is definitely a practice that saves time and effort but amongst all those layers that get inevitably and inseparably entangled how do we find the basic true form that outlines the shape of our being? That mythical essence?
The more I try to figure it out, the more I contradict myself, if one has an essence that is true and firm then those aspects that stand out, are they definitive landmarks or perceptions of the viewer? If they are definite then they are useful tags that encourage categorising and boxing, but then it is an prejudicial injustice to their abilities of growth and being. If they are only the perceptions of the viewer, then they serve to tag the viewer through the same faulty system.
So if they are just a few of the facets, and can be overcome and rounded off, balanced by others, making us all whole much to the dismay of romance (we are to be made in pairs) writers, then how does one identify one from the other? Will the whole spread of humanity be united because they have the same underlying natures but for the ebb and flow of the tide of time to point and mark these differences?
Though I begin to lose my grasp on the path and wander, a nagging voice directs me back to my original premise of why it becomes so difficult to fathom oneself, why there are surprises that knock us off our feet in our own behaviour.
Considering, the concept of life as turning a full circle makes a pretty picture, and that we traverse the roads that bring out all the shades of the spectrum makes sense. But what about lives that are cut short before a turn is completed, lives that are like one way long distance train travel, each station inimitable (the ones that the train does bother to stop for more than a few minutes) and new, adding further dimensions, enriching or diminishing, an account that does not get balanced with the prettiness, like a gift, wrapped with multiple pieces of paper in the same colour, such that the joints are seen only on close inspection?
Either of these choices can help in taking the hitherto unknown qualities in others into our stride but for the helplessness it creates when stumbled upon on the personal front, the feeling of being pushed into a corner or standing on the edge of precipice of a not so tall building (or even the compound wall of said building) remains.
Having said all this, in what I believe as a quintessentially me fact, one that seems to underlines all my endeavours (or wait is only a character trait, a temporary one at that), I hope that irrespective of the direction and nature of my journey, this plane in plain terms crashes and burns before causing any irreparable damage.
Namaste!
2 comments:
See. This is why you should write.
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