Something of Myself
Friday, August 12, 2005
Doped
A bad habit. A wound inside my mouth that I cannot stop tonguing. Ever since I can remember.
An incredibly inexorable desire to meet people and know more about them. It's like unravelling an enigma all over again. Different people. Different styles. But all bounded in the web of relations. A slight quiver, a gentle touch, a nasty poke can so easily disrupt the flow of Being.
I guess that's what makes life worth living (or is it un-living?) Even if 99/100 people let me down, I seem to enjoy the process of knowing them. The initial reluctance. The did-you-know-i-do-this syndrome, the fear of not knowing what to say and then one night, one hour, one moment - a trembling hand, a resting shoulder, a mindless conversation and you know the process has begun.
And then, unknowing them. A slightly different journey which almost inevitably manages to leave a little scar. Getting close. And then being pushed away. Really far. Unreachable. But it's worth it. Forget everything else, consider the gamut of emotions. It's not as if they are a case study or an experiment by itself, but a living example of how wonderful or how tragic life can be. It's like reading a book. Watching a play.
And then, at times - very rarely - I try and know myself. Seems almost like an act, a performance that I have to indulge in for the sake of sanity. An identity I have to derive. An identity I have to seek. An identity I have to establish, nurture, govern, rule, possess, lust after and then, let go!
Am I an actor? A deceiver? A liar? A con-man? This whole business of writing - the genesis of it all - the search for words - the search for right expressions - the search for right punctuations - all of it...It seems so passionate at times. And then at other times, it seems so futile. Considering the business of life. :)
A bad habit. A wound inside my mouth that I cannot stop tonguing. Ever since I can remember.
An incredibly inexorable desire to meet people and know more about them. It's like unravelling an enigma all over again. Different people. Different styles. But all bounded in the web of relations. A slight quiver, a gentle touch, a nasty poke can so easily disrupt the flow of Being.
I guess that's what makes life worth living (or is it un-living?) Even if 99/100 people let me down, I seem to enjoy the process of knowing them. The initial reluctance. The did-you-know-i-do-this syndrome, the fear of not knowing what to say and then one night, one hour, one moment - a trembling hand, a resting shoulder, a mindless conversation and you know the process has begun.
And then, unknowing them. A slightly different journey which almost inevitably manages to leave a little scar. Getting close. And then being pushed away. Really far. Unreachable. But it's worth it. Forget everything else, consider the gamut of emotions. It's not as if they are a case study or an experiment by itself, but a living example of how wonderful or how tragic life can be. It's like reading a book. Watching a play.
And then, at times - very rarely - I try and know myself. Seems almost like an act, a performance that I have to indulge in for the sake of sanity. An identity I have to derive. An identity I have to seek. An identity I have to establish, nurture, govern, rule, possess, lust after and then, let go!
Am I an actor? A deceiver? A liar? A con-man? This whole business of writing - the genesis of it all - the search for words - the search for right expressions - the search for right punctuations - all of it...It seems so passionate at times. And then at other times, it seems so futile. Considering the business of life. :)
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