I've suddenly realised that most problems occur because we expect people to as close to perfection as we think ourselves to be. 

I think I've begun to write randomly. As opposed to writing only when I'm emotionally troubled.

Evolution is strange in its ways. 

Its odd, the peace that I find myself at.

I felt it walking through the rain. It's 4°C, and pissing down. By rights, I should have been blinking furiously and dashing for the nearest cab. Instead, I walked two miles to the strains of Mark Knopfler.

And Tupac Shakur. Always Tupac Shakur. 

It's funny how I always associate Tupac with a certain friend. And our discussions of how most people miss the depth in his lyrics for the paeans to thug life. In fifty years, he will probably be recognised as a poet and a deep mirror to his time. A rose from concrete, indeed. 

It also reminded me of another friend, who once lent me his bike for a period of time. I would ride through town, extremely poor, on a borrowed bike, to pick up and drop the better half home, after a day's work. This all seems highly incongruous, given the fact that I am both horrible with as well as deathly afraid of bikes. But love will do that to you. 

It strikes me every time it rains, because I rode that bike through all sorts of wretched weather and general flooded potholery. And I envied people in their cars, smug and warm, while I generally felt poor. Of course, this was before I came into my purple patch and began buying cars and generally living the life. 

And to this day, every time it rains and I'm outside, whether I'm walking or in a car, or even on a train, I smile to myself and remember the guy who gave his bike to a kid without asking. 

There is always good in the world. 

And maybe that's why I'm at peace for now.

Let me get this straight...

In a day, the world's largest peace prize will be announced, and it will (hopefully!) go to a teenage girl, who had the courage to stand up to her backward society and demand equality and education for girls, and women of all ages, and not harbour thoughts of violence and retribution against the people who shot her.

And India is all at sea because some idiot duty-dodging dwarf is retiring from a sport that most countries don't even play?

Idiots.

Contrast

It's always good to know that someone would rather snipe and take potshots at you, assuming all the while that you're not looking, than be nice and wish you on the one day that they ought to be nice. 


"I got nine lives, cats' eyes,
 Using every one of them and running wild."

Unconditional

You could say we're neighbours. 

In truth, I live around the corner from his place. I'm not sure when he moved in, but I pretty much grew up in the neighbourhood, and it's not likely that I didn't chance upon him all these years.

I first saw him in the park. It was one of those summer evenings. I was out for some air, like everyone else. Little children playing with bubbles and balloons. Their parents hurrying and worrying around. Kids love me. They're always walking up to me. Their parents seem a little more guarded, sometimes hostile. Being agreeable in the face of hostility wears me out quickly. 

That's when I saw him. He was sitting on a bench. I don't normally walk up to single men in the park, but there was something about him. I'd like to say it was his eyes, but sharp as my vision is, I can hardly tell hazel from azure at a hundred paces. 

He did have nice eyes though. 

He got up and started walking away as I drew closer. So I just walked right along, behind him. 

We fell in step soon enough. He looked at me with a quizzical smile. And he did have nice eyes. I followed him home without exchanging a word. His neighbour saw us enter together, and she gave me the stink eye. He smiled it off and she smiled back at him. Maybe she's used to it. Maybe he's the sort of guy.

He watched some television and I had a bite to eat. I only went to bed with him a week later, when I felt comfortable enough. I'm not that kind of girl.

I saw him a few days later in the park. With a woman. My heart broke. They went home together. I followed, skulking in what I thought was an unobtrusive manner. Who was I kidding? He saw me, and smiled at me. She gave me a look of undisguised hostility. 

I went back to his place a week later. With him. The woman was away. No words were exchanged. I spent the night there, and left just after dawn. 

Maybe this is what we need. We don't have much to say to each other. It's more like companionship. I know we'll never be together. She won't let it happen. Though if she's all that, I wonder why he needs me. 

I know he loves me, though. I can see it in his eyes. Every time, before we drift off to sleep.

He rubs my belly, and nuzzles me, and calls me his girl. And then he looks at me with those eyes. 

And then I purr and wag my tail. 

Bliss.

Two Track Mind

My brain is currently occupied with two things. One should hopefully get me a bit of money, or at least some intellectual bragging rights. The other is pure fictional fantasy (for now anyway), but it involves intricate planning. Like playing a long drawn out game. 

Few feelings come close to that of my brain working. It's the mental equivalent of a high-intensity workout. Unlike a maths exam, which is the equivalent of running a marathon in high heels. 

Not that I've ever run a marathon.


"...mack and slap back the whack..."

Golden

It's funny what silence says to you. About others. And about yourself.


"...living in a powder keg and giving off sparks..."

Where I now start using titles

To recap my summer...

I never heard back from a 'sure thing' internship. 

I went mad.

I flew across half the world to surprise a bunch of people. All were surprised. Some were happy.

I dropped the ball somewhere. Unfortunately, my heart was in there too, and it shattered. I'm still sweeping up the pieces, but I can't seem to find them all.

I got fat. 

I rediscovered the joy of eating Indian food. And there is a lot of joy in that.

I got to drive. 

I applied to another internship. They responded, but too late. 

I came home expecting to find somethings, understand, and maybe consolidate the goings on in my life. Instead, I've come undone and I haven't the faintest clue of what's going on. I don't think it's a particularly healthy way to be at my ripe age, but then I'm always wrong, so maybe I'm wrong about this too. Silver lining much?

Somewhere I think there's a disconnect in the way I think - between what I feel I deserve, and what I actually deserve. I suspect I view myself with rose-tinted glasses, complete with a halo around my large head. 

I'm horrible at understanding people, and it is always my undoing. It is particularly, and heart-rendingly ironic that I can claim to care for someone and be so caught up in 'doing the right thing' that I don't actually do what is needed. And evidently over the last 10 years, I haven't learnt much.

I'm broke. This will be a year of no alcohol - not that I drink that much - and very little luxury. By luxury, of course, I mean chocolates.

At least I won't be fat anymore. 


"Can't ever keep from falling apart
At the seams..."

Some things are random. Impulses triggered by non-logical, unrelated events or chains of events. 

Like that feeling of guilt you get when you're trying to sleep at 6 am. When you remember that you've hurt someone you truly cared for and you can't really fix it.

Then you begin to wonder if you can ever fix it. Or whether it's just going to be some karmic debt. And whether you'll have to always watch over your shoulder and wonder, when something bad happens, whether it is retribution. 

Then you start to justify your actions. I didn't mean it. It was deserved. We both made mistakes. It's not my burden alone. I was hurt first. 

Then you remember how you cried for a week. At night. In the day. When you thought no one could hear, so you could sob. Great, racking sobs that make that space between your lungs and your stomach feel like it's empty, and being sucked out. 

Maybe that's where your soul is.

Then you remember maybe you cried because you felt dirty. Like you'd hurt something pure. The pure love that you had for someone, and now you've muddied it with dirty footprints. Stomped all over it. That feeling of guilt. Of having destroyed something sacred. Because it doesn't matter whose fault it is, when you both cry and neither of you can fix it.

Then you go back to your life, and your thoughts, and your attempts to sleep. 



"Because I know no other way"

I think it's all going south. I don't know what I've done wrong, in my own convoluted way. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I am kidding myself.

I don't seek absolution. I don't want sympathy.

I ask for clarity. And peace.

I crave peace

"Happiness isn't happiness without a violin-playing goat."

The more I hear, the less I listen. The more I see, the less I know. The more I learn, the less I understand. The more I meet, the less I like. The more I party, the less I relax. The more I go out, the more constricted I feel. 

The more I try, the less I want.

For someone who is fluent in sarcasm, the irony of the situation took some time to hit home. Which, in itself, is a delicious irony. 

I wish I had someone to just talk to.

"In another life, I would make you stay"

I love being surprised by exquisite photographs. I really need to take up photography with some sort of seriousness. I think I'd have some sort of success. Unlike climbing. Or singing. 

On another, and totally random hand, it amazes me how long I can hold a grudge. I don't spend my days worrying about stuff, but I can so easily recall emotions, and how and why I hate someone. If only I could focus on other stuff with the same intensity. Sigh.

"La canta esta muy loca"

I found this on Vie Hebdomadaires, and since I love questionnaires, I thought I'd give it a shot. It's by Marcel Proust, before anyone gets any ideas on how smart and insightful I, or any other blogger, have suddenly become. I'm not saying I'm not smart...

What is your idea of happiness?

 To accomplish my present goals and seek new challenges, in the hope that I am equipped to deal with them and have someone to love and support me. This seems like a fluid idea, though. So maybe it'll change. And a lot of chocolate.

Your greatest fear?

  Not being happy.

Your current state of mind?

 Lonely. Hopeful. Disillusioned. 

What historical figure do you identify with?

 None, really. I'm not much of a history buff.

Your favorite fictional hero?

 Erm, Arthur Dent, because he seems human. Otherwise, Charles Xavier seems pretty awesome, minus the paralysis.

Your favorite real life hero?

 There are heroes in real life? Well, I don't know of any.

Most treasured possession?

 I don't have one.

Where were you the hppiest?

 On track. With someone I love. This is fluid, too.

What is your most marked characteristic?

 My ability to annoy people, I'm going to guess.

Your favorite journey?

 The drive to Goa is pretty awesome. 

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

 My skin is awful.

Where would you like to live?

 Bangalore, circa 2002.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

 Absolute loneliness and despair, coupled with the lack of hope.

What is your motto?

 Don't panic. It gets better. Those are separate mottos, by the way.

Who is your greatest influence?

 Inadvertently or otherwise, I think it would have to be my parents.

I feel taken for granted. At home. At heart. 

Everywhere.

I need someone. Just to talk to.

"If I share with you my story

Will you share you dollar with me?"

Why won't people leave me be, when I want to be?

I want to live in New York City.

In New York City, I want to live.

I want to live.

With?

With.




"I need a dollar, dollar,
A dollar's what I need..."

I don't feel this way any more. I wrote this a while ago, but I don't think anything's really changed, except that it doesn't affect me now. What affected me most was the lie, or the promise that was never kept.

I hate liars.

One day, I'll hate myself.

You lied.

You said we could be friends. We aren't friends. I don't even know you anymore. But then, I guess I never did.

I kept telling you how you found it so easy to drop people, and one day you'd do the same to me. And you kept protesting that it wouldn't happen. Surprise surprise, it did.

It hurt me because I believed you, and believed in you. I believed we could be friends. I answered your calls when you needed me. I was there when you had no one else to turn to. I didn't do it because I expected something in return, but it's a bit odd that you've just upped and left.

In the end, I only wished you the best. I still do, in fact. But for some reason, your whole attitude has changed. This air of incredible superciliousness that you bandy about -- I really don't get that. I'm happy that you're happy, but there's no need to run other people's lives down. If there's one word I'd like to point out to you, it's under E in the dictionary. Empathy.

What's doubly strange is that you're the one who taught me how to be more sensitive. I can't seem to reconcile this behaviour with the person I once knew. I don't know if it's just with me -- which it well could be -- but from the way you talk about other people whom we knew, and knew closely at that, it seems like you just don't care about anything outside your little world.

It's a bit sad, in the end. You have all these 'friends' who are now super-close to you, whom you couldn't stop bitching about at one time. I guess you do the same to me/us when you're with them. I see paeans everywhere to this one or that, and I half-smile, remembering how much you hated that person at one point.

I would have liked to tell you to get with it, and prick your bubble of self-contentment. But in my present state, any sermonising on my part smacks of incongruity.

Karma, on the other hand, is not encumbered by such mores.

:)