Something of Myself
Friday, December 15, 2006
It began purely as a journal. It turns out to be a 'real' space (yeah, intended) where I can shout, cry, weep and be myself (almost). This is the 'real' me. This is what I feel. But this also means making room for others to interpret, misunderstand and misrepresent. But hell, who cares?!
There were times when I felt a caustic need to shut it down. To hit shift and delete. But then, it wouldn't erase memories, desires, dreams, longing, lust, love, hatred, and all other vices that make me as I constantly seek to become myself.
Life is a process of becoming, isn't it? We are always heading towards something that is not. And I think our deepest sadness is born out of this unflinching desire to become something that we are not, to achieve something that we do not have, to conquer that we lust for, to rise from the ashes and seek a state of permanence.
I seek continuity. I want to make sense of all the patterns around me. I want to connect each dot with another and establish a story. Establish a sense of order that is only born out of grave disorder. The mismatch, the incompleteness, the puzzle, the dilemma, the Janus face of life - all seem to cross each other at some intersecting point.
I feel so little, almost as if I need to unlearn everything I learnt so far and begin all over again. It is a wonderfully tempting offer. Imagine getting up one day without knowing anything. And then someone comes up and teaches you how to make sense of words, gives meanings to objects around you without naming anything. So you are left in this big world, aged 30 something with the mind of an infant, with no one around to help you. You, all alone.
Like I said, it's a tempting offer. I would give up all my money to be where I can re-invent myself, and my life. May be I would end up with the same set of parents, same wife, same children, same friends, same enemies but then the joy of discovery and the sweet taste of hunger would enable me to become some one else. The process of becoming leaves you fatigued when you are 60 years old. There is nothing to become anymore. You just live to satisfy others. And wish you were not what you are.
Wish life never happened. Wish death was a little closer.
There were times when I felt a caustic need to shut it down. To hit shift and delete. But then, it wouldn't erase memories, desires, dreams, longing, lust, love, hatred, and all other vices that make me as I constantly seek to become myself.
Life is a process of becoming, isn't it? We are always heading towards something that is not. And I think our deepest sadness is born out of this unflinching desire to become something that we are not, to achieve something that we do not have, to conquer that we lust for, to rise from the ashes and seek a state of permanence.
I seek continuity. I want to make sense of all the patterns around me. I want to connect each dot with another and establish a story. Establish a sense of order that is only born out of grave disorder. The mismatch, the incompleteness, the puzzle, the dilemma, the Janus face of life - all seem to cross each other at some intersecting point.
I feel so little, almost as if I need to unlearn everything I learnt so far and begin all over again. It is a wonderfully tempting offer. Imagine getting up one day without knowing anything. And then someone comes up and teaches you how to make sense of words, gives meanings to objects around you without naming anything. So you are left in this big world, aged 30 something with the mind of an infant, with no one around to help you. You, all alone.
Like I said, it's a tempting offer. I would give up all my money to be where I can re-invent myself, and my life. May be I would end up with the same set of parents, same wife, same children, same friends, same enemies but then the joy of discovery and the sweet taste of hunger would enable me to become some one else. The process of becoming leaves you fatigued when you are 60 years old. There is nothing to become anymore. You just live to satisfy others. And wish you were not what you are.
Wish life never happened. Wish death was a little closer.
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