In the last few days, maybe weeks also, I've been experiencing slight headaches. Not the jackhammering types that render one incapable of any action, but the dull hovering types that just tiptoe their ways in and set up shop before you realize you're squinting and pressing the bridge of your nose or that spot at your temples.
Of course, when I say you, I mean me.
The onset has seemed somewhat inexplicable, with no really specific reason. For a while I had been attributing the headaches to the way the weather keeps changing, cold and hot. I always do get a bit ill whenever this happens, nothing new.
I've always had lots of nights in the past month where I haven't been able to sleep. I'd endured that restless sleep that is probably very well known with many people who are perpetual reminiscers and ponderers. Again, I'm never really sure why exactly some nights I am able to sleep and some nights I'm just tossing and turning and no matter what, sleep never comes until that strange time when it's neither night nor is it yet dawn..
One thing I do know, however, is I cannot sleep with light. Well, actually I can, but the circumstances would have to be just a certain way. Either I'm extremely tired, or I'm in that sluggish lethargy that accompanies me in the afternoons when I've eaten and sitting in a pool of warm sunshine. Siesta mode.
But at night, in bed, in my room, I need darkness. That extra pale light that filters into the room, creeping through the blinds, glowing behind the curtains, reflecting on the walls... once the quintessence of darkness has been diluted, my mind is not able to rest.
Last night, I was actually pretty tired. My eyes had that dry tiredness that simply beckoned at sleep. But despite having drifted off to sleep, in the nocturnal silence, I sensed the footsteps of that approaching spectre before it actually arrived. Even in the dark, I was reflexively squinting my eyes and head to the little light that was magnified by its mere presence. The headache was coming.
That's it. I couldn't take it, I told myself. ENOUGH is enough. I got up and in the dark, eyes still fussily closed, I fumbled about in my basket of freshly laundered clothes, and found the black pillowcase I knew was sitting there, and tied myself a blindfold.
WHAT a difference. I cannot tell you what an amazing night of sleep I had. I have this tendency of waking up right at the crack of dawn, when the morning light starts filtering in, and my cat also usually is up and about and she always comes in sniffing and jumps up to sit at her pillow at my window and spends hours of impending morning just watching outside and meowing quietly at the birds. I'm a morning person, so I've always just reveled that much more in those quiet mornings. But, this morning I didn't awake. I was so entirely in the crutches of deep sleep and up till that hour I finally awoke and got out of bed, I was really SLEEPING. My god, it felt wonderful. And it still feels wonderful. The difference is just MINDBLOWINGG.
Don't underestimate sleep, yo.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Diary of A Besharami
Often in the public washrooms* there happens to be that one stall with the lock broken, or just plain busted off. That's my stall.
Oh, I didn't mean to say that I was responsible for such a depraved act of vandalism. No, indeed. I do have my limits. But rather, that's the stall I use for my... business. No, no, not selling weed. (Or other suchlike.)
I don't like using public toilets (*:I had once been asked, by my very Yankified relative, why I call it a 'washroom'. I logically laid out the fact that one often uses the utilities to wash one's hands and face. He insisted it's called a bathroom. I put forth the fact that no bath existed in the room. He refused to budge, stating that a bathroom without a bath was called a half-bath. Anyways, that is just one of a few reasons of why I just simply call the washrooms "toilets" here forth). I like cleanliness, and using such utilities often represents the opposite. However, there are always going to be those instances where you just can't hold it and you really gotta go (alas, diuretics!).
I've been frequenting the library almost daily the past few weeks, it's become a headquarters of sorts. In so doing, I became acquainted with the utilities on site. I must say, they are generally well-kept. Clean. Clean is good. Sometimes though, especially on those days when there are book groups meetings or kids clubs congregating, you encounter those stalls where you wish you never stepped toward, make you wonder what is so hard about the common courtesy inherent in the act of flushing.
So, when you enter, and turn directly right, there is one stall where the lock does not exist. There are two holes in the door, just where it once held screws holding that ghostly lock in place. Who knows what happened to it. Perhaps a visitor took a liking to it, and decided they would help themselves to a souvenir.
If and when I need to go (diuretics, I tell you), that stall is the one for me. The door doesn't lock, yes I agree. I, the Besharami, have no fear of having the door flung open exposing me in my moment.
Why? Well, who else would use the stall without the lock for fear of the door opening. Hardly anyone, when it comes down to it. Regardless of being barren of its lock, the door stays closed within the framework, that doesn't bother me. So it's simple logic. That is the cleanest stall in the whole loo-ville. The chances are slim anyone, if anyone ever, uses it. And if one tries to overthink and consider that perhaps other people think the same way....that doesn't leave one at much of a loss: the other stalls would just be as dirty.
So there you have it. The stall with no lock. That's mine. ;)
Oh, I didn't mean to say that I was responsible for such a depraved act of vandalism. No, indeed. I do have my limits. But rather, that's the stall I use for my... business. No, no, not selling weed. (Or other suchlike.)
I don't like using public toilets (*:I had once been asked, by my very Yankified relative, why I call it a 'washroom'. I logically laid out the fact that one often uses the utilities to wash one's hands and face. He insisted it's called a bathroom. I put forth the fact that no bath existed in the room. He refused to budge, stating that a bathroom without a bath was called a half-bath. Anyways, that is just one of a few reasons of why I just simply call the washrooms "toilets" here forth). I like cleanliness, and using such utilities often represents the opposite. However, there are always going to be those instances where you just can't hold it and you really gotta go (alas, diuretics!).
I've been frequenting the library almost daily the past few weeks, it's become a headquarters of sorts. In so doing, I became acquainted with the utilities on site. I must say, they are generally well-kept. Clean. Clean is good. Sometimes though, especially on those days when there are book groups meetings or kids clubs congregating, you encounter those stalls where you wish you never stepped toward, make you wonder what is so hard about the common courtesy inherent in the act of flushing.
So, when you enter, and turn directly right, there is one stall where the lock does not exist. There are two holes in the door, just where it once held screws holding that ghostly lock in place. Who knows what happened to it. Perhaps a visitor took a liking to it, and decided they would help themselves to a souvenir.
If and when I need to go (diuretics, I tell you), that stall is the one for me. The door doesn't lock, yes I agree. I, the Besharami, have no fear of having the door flung open exposing me in my moment.
Why? Well, who else would use the stall without the lock for fear of the door opening. Hardly anyone, when it comes down to it. Regardless of being barren of its lock, the door stays closed within the framework, that doesn't bother me. So it's simple logic. That is the cleanest stall in the whole loo-ville. The chances are slim anyone, if anyone ever, uses it. And if one tries to overthink and consider that perhaps other people think the same way....that doesn't leave one at much of a loss: the other stalls would just be as dirty.
So there you have it. The stall with no lock. That's mine. ;)
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Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Nod
Those Virgos born between the 24th August and 3rd September don't really like to be the centre of attention and can become embarrassed if singled out from the crowd. You are what can be termed the quiet achiever and prefer anonymity to being a show stopper.
(astrology.com)
You have an unusual blend of extrovert and introvert qualities, which
puts you in the perfect position of being able to associate with all
sorts of people. There are times when others don’t understand you
because you swing between these two extremes of your personality.
(astrology.com)
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Saturday, September 21, 2013
Candles Lit
I pretty much spent all yesterday with two of my best friends from a few years ago. Before yesterday, we'd all been encumbered with the 'busy schedules of life', so we hardly really had time to hang out properly.
We hadn't made specific plans for what we were going to do, and consequently, quite a lot of the day went by aimlessly driving around. But there was something in just being together that made the whole day so eventful.
I was reminded of the person I used to be, and the people they used to be; and the contrast to how much has changed and yet, how much we were all the same despite the couple of years that went by so quickly was profound.
The theme of the day was pretty much "Remember when?" -- and laughter permeated our little world. At one time one of them asked me why I was so quiet, "you're always talking and laughing and full of life". I just slapped him lazily, because I was so stuffed with food and therefore lethargic. But it got me thinking, that these were people who were the type who liked looking good in public, and this included not embarrassing themselves, or acting hyper -- and when we three made a trio back in the day I was the one who had injected the laughter and jokes into our moments together, and yet looking at them today, that inclination to be hyper and unrestricted was in each of us. Seeing them like that made me feel happy.
We hadn't made specific plans for what we were going to do, and consequently, quite a lot of the day went by aimlessly driving around. But there was something in just being together that made the whole day so eventful.
I was reminded of the person I used to be, and the people they used to be; and the contrast to how much has changed and yet, how much we were all the same despite the couple of years that went by so quickly was profound.
The theme of the day was pretty much "Remember when?" -- and laughter permeated our little world. At one time one of them asked me why I was so quiet, "you're always talking and laughing and full of life". I just slapped him lazily, because I was so stuffed with food and therefore lethargic. But it got me thinking, that these were people who were the type who liked looking good in public, and this included not embarrassing themselves, or acting hyper -- and when we three made a trio back in the day I was the one who had injected the laughter and jokes into our moments together, and yet looking at them today, that inclination to be hyper and unrestricted was in each of us. Seeing them like that made me feel happy.
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Thursday, September 19, 2013
Flashback
When I was a kid, I used to be excited going to the library. Not just for the books and all the outing entailed, mind you. I've only just realized this other reason just now, while looking up at the skylights at the library I am sitting in now.
The library we went to when we were younger had these huge cylindrical air ducts along the ceiling. They had holes all along them. And more interestingly, they were painted bright green. I don't know the actual terminology for what those air cylinders are called.
Of course, as a kid, I didn't really know what they were for. I had my intelligent suspicions that they had something to do with air, but that may have just been that. Another part of me always felt perhaps they were part of a secret fun playland (or maybe not secret, just that I hadn't ever seen them been used). You know, like the tunnels you crawl through at Chuck E Cheese, or at the playland area at MacDonalds or Burger King. The ones who usually saw kids going to play at, because of course we weren't allowed.
But yes, maybe it was a sneaking fantasy of mine: I always was inclined to make up stories or my own explanations for certain things. Maybe I just felt that on quiet Saturday mornings, there was this library club of kids who were in on the secret and were allowed to run up to a second place we did not know of, and enter the land of bright green tunnels on the ceiling. And everyone else didn't know this because we all just got there too late.
Now, I'm grown up. I still love coming to the library. That special quiet hush that you almost cannot find anywhere else, the place where people are all dedicatedly focused; reading, studying, researching, browsing, typing. Everyone in their own world, collectively. All all those books: each a world unto its own.
The library we went to when we were younger had these huge cylindrical air ducts along the ceiling. They had holes all along them. And more interestingly, they were painted bright green. I don't know the actual terminology for what those air cylinders are called.
Of course, as a kid, I didn't really know what they were for. I had my intelligent suspicions that they had something to do with air, but that may have just been that. Another part of me always felt perhaps they were part of a secret fun playland (or maybe not secret, just that I hadn't ever seen them been used). You know, like the tunnels you crawl through at Chuck E Cheese, or at the playland area at MacDonalds or Burger King. The ones who usually saw kids going to play at, because of course we weren't allowed.
But yes, maybe it was a sneaking fantasy of mine: I always was inclined to make up stories or my own explanations for certain things. Maybe I just felt that on quiet Saturday mornings, there was this library club of kids who were in on the secret and were allowed to run up to a second place we did not know of, and enter the land of bright green tunnels on the ceiling. And everyone else didn't know this because we all just got there too late.
Now, I'm grown up. I still love coming to the library. That special quiet hush that you almost cannot find anywhere else, the place where people are all dedicatedly focused; reading, studying, researching, browsing, typing. Everyone in their own world, collectively. All all those books: each a world unto its own.
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Monday, September 16, 2013
The Fault in Our Stars
I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.”
―
John Green,
The Fault in Our Stars
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Sunday, September 15, 2013
Natural Remedies: Flaxseed Oil
I got to thinking that I have a huge plethora of natural remedies that I have yet to share. I've moved my first few posts that I had shared on GLAM to this blog to keep all these "Beauty"-labelled posts together in one place.
That said, why do I want to share, never mind write these kind of posts? There are a fair number of reasons. The first being that I'm totally a believer of "natural beauty" and I have always had a thing for reading about the ways natural ingredients can be used at home. By 'always' I mean me as a very young schoolgirl pouring over thick books of natural uses for fruits and the likes. And though I'd been mostly a tomboy for most of that time, I liked to be able to 'look good' without piling on the cosmetics so to speak. To look maximally good with minimum effort.
Anyways, with that little dip in history, I move on to the point of today's post. Flaxseed oil.
Also known as linseed oil, this natural ingredient is best known for its high percentage of omega-3. I've been taking the capsules daily when it occurred to me that the oil may have benefits being applied topically. With some research I learnt that yes, flaxseed oil is used in cosmetic products that boast the ability to produce softer and smoother skin.
The thing with each of my beauty posts is that these are remedies I test and try myself. And I fully believe they ought to be followed by anyone and everyone who seeks the specific benefit.
So what I did was poke open a flaxseed oil capsule, and massaged the oil into my face and scalp. One capsule is more than enough for this purpose. In one use, I already felt the effects: really soft and silky skin.
The thing about flaxseed oil is that it's anti-inflammatory omega-3 fatty acids, good for red skin and irritation.
I implore those of you who would be looking into using flaxseed oil to not buy cosmetic products that state they have flaxseed oil in them. Often such products are just filled with a large percentage of filler creams and a very small percent of actual active ingredient (i.e. flaxseed oil). Buying a bottle of the capsules is much more cost-efficient; you're getting the pure oil at a fraction of the cost of brand cosmetics.
I do want to remark also that there are some people who may be allergic and therefore will experience bad side effects of using flaxseed oil. If you're pregnant or use low blood sugar medication, for example, you are cautioned not to partake of flaxseed.
That said, why do I want to share, never mind write these kind of posts? There are a fair number of reasons. The first being that I'm totally a believer of "natural beauty" and I have always had a thing for reading about the ways natural ingredients can be used at home. By 'always' I mean me as a very young schoolgirl pouring over thick books of natural uses for fruits and the likes. And though I'd been mostly a tomboy for most of that time, I liked to be able to 'look good' without piling on the cosmetics so to speak. To look maximally good with minimum effort.
Anyways, with that little dip in history, I move on to the point of today's post. Flaxseed oil.
The thing with each of my beauty posts is that these are remedies I test and try myself. And I fully believe they ought to be followed by anyone and everyone who seeks the specific benefit.
So what I did was poke open a flaxseed oil capsule, and massaged the oil into my face and scalp. One capsule is more than enough for this purpose. In one use, I already felt the effects: really soft and silky skin.
The thing about flaxseed oil is that it's anti-inflammatory omega-3 fatty acids, good for red skin and irritation.
WebMD.com:
"Flaxseed oil is a source of polyunsaturated fatty acids such as alpha-linolenic acid. The alpha-linolenic acid and related chemicals in flaxseed oil seem to decrease inflammation. That is why flaxseed oil is thought to be useful for rheumatoid arthritis and other inflammatory (swelling) diseases."
I implore those of you who would be looking into using flaxseed oil to not buy cosmetic products that state they have flaxseed oil in them. Often such products are just filled with a large percentage of filler creams and a very small percent of actual active ingredient (i.e. flaxseed oil). Buying a bottle of the capsules is much more cost-efficient; you're getting the pure oil at a fraction of the cost of brand cosmetics.
I do want to remark also that there are some people who may be allergic and therefore will experience bad side effects of using flaxseed oil. If you're pregnant or use low blood sugar medication, for example, you are cautioned not to partake of flaxseed.
POSTED BY
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Simphobia
Perhaps I'm being inspired to just write freely because of a co-blogger who has also just done so. To be honest, it's something I've very much missed in my own writing. The capacity to simply write freely, without being reticent. Reticence has somehow continually crept in and made itself a home in my writing, and I guess those who are my writers would perhaps perceive this in their own ways, noting how I tend to write quite ambiguously.
Now after all the months and years, I'm not entirely certain I can dissect the way I write: ambiguity and reticence seem so entwined together they are almost one, and both are entirely part of who I am, at least the who I am that is me, the writer.
See what I mean? I'm not able to just write "simply", I suppose, as someone once complained. And this may come as a surprise to a few of you: my writing self and my conversational self are two different people. I'm very outgoing and plain-spoken when I speak in person. I'm not spouting profound soundbites or big words. I, in fact, find it difficult to convert complex thoughts into spoken word; perhaps it is that additional inconvenience of having to send extra neurosensory commands to the areas of my brain that are responsible for the physical movement of my mouth. That capacity isn't as agile as my that of simply converting thoughts to written words, through my fingers. Maybe I should practice.
And this reminds me of another thing I lack in practice: speaking hindi. I've often told most people that I sound so horribly 'gora' when I try, that I don't try. It's embarrassingly faux pas, in a way. But I am not really able to speak it aloud, because I don't really have much practice, and I don't practice simply because I sound so gauche. Another Catch-22 of sorts.
The odd thing is I am again more confident with reading and writing the language - even the script - as long as it stays in my head. And then again, I'm able to sing hindi songs and apparently sound like I'm well spoken in the language, but then again that may be because I do have practice singing Hindi (from a very young age) versus simply speaking it.
And seeing as I'm on the theme of ironies in life, this one also just occurred to me. After years of urging a certain friend to stop eating take-out food all the time, and try to make something at home, I realized how things have changed when I'm now urging them to take a break from cooking everyday and order something from outside.
There is definitely something truly profound I could unearth from all these observations -- it's tingling back in the recess of my mind and waiting for me to come open that door and explore, but for some reason, I'm not going to. Put it down to mental lethargy perhaps, ..but it's not even just that. I don't know, but there you have it.
Now after all the months and years, I'm not entirely certain I can dissect the way I write: ambiguity and reticence seem so entwined together they are almost one, and both are entirely part of who I am, at least the who I am that is me, the writer.
See what I mean? I'm not able to just write "simply", I suppose, as someone once complained. And this may come as a surprise to a few of you: my writing self and my conversational self are two different people. I'm very outgoing and plain-spoken when I speak in person. I'm not spouting profound soundbites or big words. I, in fact, find it difficult to convert complex thoughts into spoken word; perhaps it is that additional inconvenience of having to send extra neurosensory commands to the areas of my brain that are responsible for the physical movement of my mouth. That capacity isn't as agile as my that of simply converting thoughts to written words, through my fingers. Maybe I should practice.
And this reminds me of another thing I lack in practice: speaking hindi. I've often told most people that I sound so horribly 'gora' when I try, that I don't try. It's embarrassingly faux pas, in a way. But I am not really able to speak it aloud, because I don't really have much practice, and I don't practice simply because I sound so gauche. Another Catch-22 of sorts.
The odd thing is I am again more confident with reading and writing the language - even the script - as long as it stays in my head. And then again, I'm able to sing hindi songs and apparently sound like I'm well spoken in the language, but then again that may be because I do have practice singing Hindi (from a very young age) versus simply speaking it.
And seeing as I'm on the theme of ironies in life, this one also just occurred to me. After years of urging a certain friend to stop eating take-out food all the time, and try to make something at home, I realized how things have changed when I'm now urging them to take a break from cooking everyday and order something from outside.
There is definitely something truly profound I could unearth from all these observations -- it's tingling back in the recess of my mind and waiting for me to come open that door and explore, but for some reason, I'm not going to. Put it down to mental lethargy perhaps, ..but it's not even just that. I don't know, but there you have it.
POSTED BY
Qotd
This is how it works. I love the people in my life, and I do for my friends whatever they need me to do for them, again and again, as many times as is necessary. For example, in your case you always forgot who you are and how much you're loved. So what I do for you as your friend is remind you who you are and tell you how much I love you. And this isn't any kind of burden for me, because I love who you are very much. Every time I remind you, I get to remember with you, which is my pleasure.
James Lecesne
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Monday, September 09, 2013
Blatherskite
Earlier today, I was waiting for the light to change, and across the intersection, I saw this woman get off the bus, then wait at the corner. The light was still ticking down the seconds (we have those countdown walk-signs) for her to cross one way - about 15 seconds - but she chose to stand there and wait to cross the other way eastward, then wait again to cross again southward to the opposite corner. In watching her, I was thinking: she could have easily have crossed the first light, 15 seconds was a generous amount of time for her to do so. She would have saved time.
But then, was she in a hurry? Did it matter? Did 88 extra seconds waiting make so much of a difference? That's when I started thinking further. How time, despite it being a measure on the clock, overall an accepted, sanctioned and designated allotment that rarely differs (as in every second is the same measure as the next), time itself is a measurement of perception.
I mean, once upon a time, having a computer process a command in 45 seconds was considered to be relatively fast. Now, if we need to wait even two seconds, we feel quite emphatically, a lag, or we feel that we're being slowed down.
What I thought to myself was that time is a measurement of how many things we can achieve, accomplish or simply execute.
Another example would be how back in the day we (as a species) had to walk far distances without the aid of mechanical transportation.Our parents or grandparents might have regaled us stories of waking up early and walking miles to get to school, and back. That was normal for them. Whereas, now, we have less time to do more. We take the car, we take public transport; and more often than not we become frustrated when we have to wait that extra bit longer because of traffic or delays. If we even considered making those hour-long walks back and forth everyday today...well, I'll leave that to your imagination.
But that's how time has somehow sped up, despite it being technically the same. Yeah we have place to be and things to do, but then again...the perspective makes you think about it, maybe just for a few seconds. I've tended to be an overall patient person. I don't fret waiting in lines, or push my way onto buses or subways. I enjoy taking long hour long walks to places people often take the car for. But yeah, I do have to admit, I get a little irritated when my net lags.
But then, was she in a hurry? Did it matter? Did 88 extra seconds waiting make so much of a difference? That's when I started thinking further. How time, despite it being a measure on the clock, overall an accepted, sanctioned and designated allotment that rarely differs (as in every second is the same measure as the next), time itself is a measurement of perception.
I mean, once upon a time, having a computer process a command in 45 seconds was considered to be relatively fast. Now, if we need to wait even two seconds, we feel quite emphatically, a lag, or we feel that we're being slowed down.
What I thought to myself was that time is a measurement of how many things we can achieve, accomplish or simply execute.
Another example would be how back in the day we (as a species) had to walk far distances without the aid of mechanical transportation.Our parents or grandparents might have regaled us stories of waking up early and walking miles to get to school, and back. That was normal for them. Whereas, now, we have less time to do more. We take the car, we take public transport; and more often than not we become frustrated when we have to wait that extra bit longer because of traffic or delays. If we even considered making those hour-long walks back and forth everyday today...well, I'll leave that to your imagination.
But that's how time has somehow sped up, despite it being technically the same. Yeah we have place to be and things to do, but then again...the perspective makes you think about it, maybe just for a few seconds. I've tended to be an overall patient person. I don't fret waiting in lines, or push my way onto buses or subways. I enjoy taking long hour long walks to places people often take the car for. But yeah, I do have to admit, I get a little irritated when my net lags.
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Saturday, September 07, 2013
Carpe Diem
Life for this moment – this moment is your life. [1]
If the momentum in life is in anticipation, then what about now? Are we really all het up about what’s next to come, are we truly living?
To put a meter on life itself and try to measure out how much of each moment is about the next one or how much we’re actually living today isn’t what we’re meant to be capable of. If all we’re constantly thinking about the next moment how can we say this moment right now is being lived.
Life’s just this huge turmoil – not only to be taken with a negative connotation – it’s this big deluge that’s constantly churning, at any given moment we can be as much in yesterday as we would be in tomorrow. The sheer levels of parallelism upon which we as human entities rest are profound. While physically in the now, we could also be emotionally in the past, and cognitively already in the future.
I sometimes get irritated with people who cannot stop to smell the roses [2]. Those who are always constantly anxious about the upcoming events yet to happen, simply because they aren’t sure how those events will turn out. If you can’t control it, then let go.
And then you’ve got those who don’t prepare for the future. Because there again is that transitory phenomenon wherein anticipation and expectation reside – the people who don’t take today to do what they can control and then fritter away the time in anxiety consequential.
Then when you truly think about it, what really is the ‘now’? I mean, by the time you think of this now, it’s already passed. And so has the one that came after it, and then this one….yup, that’s also gone.
Every moment sliding out of our hands like sand, it’s almost no wonder that our society is so obsessed with the future. Since time immemorial, there have been so many methods for foretelling, predicting, or reading our ‘futures’. That’s to assume somehow that it’s already programmed. (Who is to tell whether that’s the case or not.)
But when we’re always looking ahead what about all this time that’s been passing under our noses? Stop.
If we’re not up to our gills with preparing for something or the other, we’re filling in the rest of the time with a storm of emotions, clouding up our mental space, our emotional well-being. And that can be a serious block.
Take me, for example. For whatever reasons, I’ve found I couldn’t just sit still and write. For some time now, if you hadn’t noticed. If it’s not just already being so darned busy doing other things, then it’s time squandered by that heavy emotional storm – although intangible and invisible, it’s still got a huge powerful effect on me. It is afterall, my mental ability that is being subverted.
But why? Why, I ask myself, must I be subverted? Why have I stopped being able to sit down peacefully and take time for myself and write?
It’s kind of odd, if I had to explain this, because in one instance, I sort of felt I had nothing to write about. That with everything happening routinely, and being emotionally exhausted by other things, there was so temporal space for me to fit in this menial task of putting thoughts to paper.
Like I said, it’s odd. Because often I’ve felt I needed some sort of angst, or some sort of extra joyousness to write something, anything. And yet, if something did happen, it more often than not felt extremely personal and I couldn’t write and therefore share with others.
So how come I have been writing these days? You know what? I don’t have a clue, myself. But the point is, does it matter? Why must I ferret away or chisel everything down to an explanation – it’s the moment that is now that is important, no?
Sometimes I don’t need to think about what’s going to happen when I wake up. Because, regardless, whatever will happen will happen.
[1]Found in IQ's List of Favourite Quotes
If the momentum in life is in anticipation, then what about now? Are we really all het up about what’s next to come, are we truly living?
To put a meter on life itself and try to measure out how much of each moment is about the next one or how much we’re actually living today isn’t what we’re meant to be capable of. If all we’re constantly thinking about the next moment how can we say this moment right now is being lived.
Life’s just this huge turmoil – not only to be taken with a negative connotation – it’s this big deluge that’s constantly churning, at any given moment we can be as much in yesterday as we would be in tomorrow. The sheer levels of parallelism upon which we as human entities rest are profound. While physically in the now, we could also be emotionally in the past, and cognitively already in the future.
I sometimes get irritated with people who cannot stop to smell the roses [2]. Those who are always constantly anxious about the upcoming events yet to happen, simply because they aren’t sure how those events will turn out. If you can’t control it, then let go.
And then you’ve got those who don’t prepare for the future. Because there again is that transitory phenomenon wherein anticipation and expectation reside – the people who don’t take today to do what they can control and then fritter away the time in anxiety consequential.
Then when you truly think about it, what really is the ‘now’? I mean, by the time you think of this now, it’s already passed. And so has the one that came after it, and then this one….yup, that’s also gone.
Every moment sliding out of our hands like sand, it’s almost no wonder that our society is so obsessed with the future. Since time immemorial, there have been so many methods for foretelling, predicting, or reading our ‘futures’. That’s to assume somehow that it’s already programmed. (Who is to tell whether that’s the case or not.)
But when we’re always looking ahead what about all this time that’s been passing under our noses? Stop.
If we’re not up to our gills with preparing for something or the other, we’re filling in the rest of the time with a storm of emotions, clouding up our mental space, our emotional well-being. And that can be a serious block.
Take me, for example. For whatever reasons, I’ve found I couldn’t just sit still and write. For some time now, if you hadn’t noticed. If it’s not just already being so darned busy doing other things, then it’s time squandered by that heavy emotional storm – although intangible and invisible, it’s still got a huge powerful effect on me. It is afterall, my mental ability that is being subverted.
But why? Why, I ask myself, must I be subverted? Why have I stopped being able to sit down peacefully and take time for myself and write?
It’s kind of odd, if I had to explain this, because in one instance, I sort of felt I had nothing to write about. That with everything happening routinely, and being emotionally exhausted by other things, there was so temporal space for me to fit in this menial task of putting thoughts to paper.
Like I said, it’s odd. Because often I’ve felt I needed some sort of angst, or some sort of extra joyousness to write something, anything. And yet, if something did happen, it more often than not felt extremely personal and I couldn’t write and therefore share with others.
So how come I have been writing these days? You know what? I don’t have a clue, myself. But the point is, does it matter? Why must I ferret away or chisel everything down to an explanation – it’s the moment that is now that is important, no?
Sometimes I don’t need to think about what’s going to happen when I wake up. Because, regardless, whatever will happen will happen.
[1]Found in IQ's List of Favourite Quotes
[2] I know I KNOW I'm being repetitive; I know I've often written about this - I apologize.
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Thursday, September 05, 2013
Nikhedonia
I’ve found that in the last several weeks, that a recurring thought has been roaming about, and showing up in unlikely places, contexts, joining each of them – however different – together.
Life exists in anticipation. In the zest of life we find at root, the yearning, the yen, the wanting…for that something more.
What that more might be will vary from individual to individual, from circumstance to perspectives. But it will be there at the source of life itself.
Think about it: almost all we do is because of some form of anticipation. The thrill of life itself, what gives us that flamboyant sense of spontaneity, or randomness…that splash of colour that makes life so mindboggling and inexplicable, what makes us despair at times and what makes us joyous at others.
We’ve heard how expectation is the source of disappointment, no? At least, I know for the most part that saying has been firmly embedded in the microprocessor that comprises me. Post-puberty, I found my niche in being non-conformist, a docile rebel and somewhat embittered, thusly.
But is expectation interchangeable with anticipation? Logic may derive from the fact that in being two different words, they must be somehow different. Despite being listed in many thesauruses as synonyms, in answer to the question itself, I say no.
I don’t want to lecture you about why. I’ll let you think it out yourself.
Anticipation buoys us for the forthcoming attractions. We don’t really know what’s to come (and in that, we may find some reasoning for where expectation may differ…keep at it)…and yet we may relish what we think may be coming. Relish—that somehow popped out without me really thinking about it, but in that I find myself querying; relish has positive connotations, no? Therefore anticipation is looking forward, and thus also positive, no? (…Again, perhaps another difference between the A and E, aha!)
Hope. Of course, that’s another subset all tangled up with this element called anticipation. I mean yeah, we go about almost everything with some hope for some sort of result or consequence.
But hold on a minute, girl. You’re once again losing train from why you’ve started this whole discussion. What made you start thinking about all this?
To be honest, I can’t really remember. For one, it isn’t any big secret perhaps that I celebrated a birthday recently. In so doing, I found myself thinking aha, the build-up is what made the day so……...profound. Ironically, telling you this is quite the opposite, isn’t it? Because this is a truth we must all have experienced.
It’s always about that foreknowledge that it’s around the corner, and in so doing we’re secretly wondering what all the other people who know about it coming around are thinking and planning. And in knowing this yet not fully knowing, we anticipate.
Same goes for the weekend, I’ve found. A work-week isn’t the same without that anticipation that, ‘Phew, it’s almost the weekend.’ Of course, that is only if your weekend provides you with the requisite typical relief or sojourn from work. Hence, we’ve got those celebratory codes of anticipation: TGIF, POETS, etc.
And yet –and this is the crux of the matter –when you’re really on the day itself that was so looked forward to, it’s really not as special. Not really, despite all the good things that might happen, because inside that build up of anticipation has already evaporated, because after the day, it’s all done and dusted. Then what?
You’ve got to wait another 364 days again. Or if it’s already Saturday, then tomorrow is just a day that anticipates the start of another workweek. Despite Sunday being another awesomely lazy day, we’re already mentally prepping ourselves for Monday. Because, that’s just my point, we live in anticipation.
One of my favourite quotes in the entire world talks about it in regards to love itself. Something I’ve expounded upon a few times already. I’ve always thought that our big sense of romance is all built up with the preliminary; it’s the anticipation that makes the actual thing such a large entity. All that wanting, dreaming, wishing, yearning, lusting – that’s what makes the stuff of love stories and movies, isn’t it?
That’s certainly not to say that love itself isn’t all that. I assure you otherwise. (Unless you’re a………..well let me not go there).
And somehow one night while brushing my teeth and in so doing, found this word again flitting through my mind, and the vague imagery of these thoughts floating around lazily and obscurely, I found another image and slowed down my mental slideshow to examine the thought a little closer. What I found was that this bout of anticipation reminded me of a conversation I had with another friend once.
So this friend and I share a great fondness for beautiful places in the world, and he was showing some pictures of landmarks that just make you gasp with wonder at it all, and in so doing of course the topic of having to make a world tour to visit all these landmarks came up. After a bit, he observed that while the pictures looked so amazing; had he gone to visit these landmarks, most likely they would not look so breathtakingly splendid up close. ‘They look only so good from far’.
And that’s how anticipation sort of works, isn’t it? It’s when you’re approaching or at a distance, that you can observe the glory of the entirety at one go. When you’re already there you can only see a fraction of the whole thing, you’re losing out because it is right there in your face and most of it has gone by or out of sight. To assimilate the possibility that we are capable of attaining something not yet attained is an incredibly powerful emotion. Perhaps it’s what we boil down to that ‘thrill of the chase’. For, when we have it, often it’s not such a grand feeling as prior to possession. The ecstasy comes from anticipation.
And it’s widespread, this phenomenon. I mean, it’s behind pretty much everything that makes us act toward the near future; the end of the work day, getting home to crash, the next meal, talking with a friend. It’s what I think fuels our zest for life itself; the wanting, the yearning, the wishing and wanting. The anticipation.
Life exists in anticipation. In the zest of life we find at root, the yearning, the yen, the wanting…for that something more.
What that more might be will vary from individual to individual, from circumstance to perspectives. But it will be there at the source of life itself.
Think about it: almost all we do is because of some form of anticipation. The thrill of life itself, what gives us that flamboyant sense of spontaneity, or randomness…that splash of colour that makes life so mindboggling and inexplicable, what makes us despair at times and what makes us joyous at others.
We’ve heard how expectation is the source of disappointment, no? At least, I know for the most part that saying has been firmly embedded in the microprocessor that comprises me. Post-puberty, I found my niche in being non-conformist, a docile rebel and somewhat embittered, thusly.
But is expectation interchangeable with anticipation? Logic may derive from the fact that in being two different words, they must be somehow different. Despite being listed in many thesauruses as synonyms, in answer to the question itself, I say no.
I don’t want to lecture you about why. I’ll let you think it out yourself.
Anticipation buoys us for the forthcoming attractions. We don’t really know what’s to come (and in that, we may find some reasoning for where expectation may differ…keep at it)…and yet we may relish what we think may be coming. Relish—that somehow popped out without me really thinking about it, but in that I find myself querying; relish has positive connotations, no? Therefore anticipation is looking forward, and thus also positive, no? (…Again, perhaps another difference between the A and E, aha!)
Hope. Of course, that’s another subset all tangled up with this element called anticipation. I mean yeah, we go about almost everything with some hope for some sort of result or consequence.
But hold on a minute, girl. You’re once again losing train from why you’ve started this whole discussion. What made you start thinking about all this?
To be honest, I can’t really remember. For one, it isn’t any big secret perhaps that I celebrated a birthday recently. In so doing, I found myself thinking aha, the build-up is what made the day so……...profound. Ironically, telling you this is quite the opposite, isn’t it? Because this is a truth we must all have experienced.
It’s always about that foreknowledge that it’s around the corner, and in so doing we’re secretly wondering what all the other people who know about it coming around are thinking and planning. And in knowing this yet not fully knowing, we anticipate.
Same goes for the weekend, I’ve found. A work-week isn’t the same without that anticipation that, ‘Phew, it’s almost the weekend.’ Of course, that is only if your weekend provides you with the requisite typical relief or sojourn from work. Hence, we’ve got those celebratory codes of anticipation: TGIF, POETS, etc.
And yet –and this is the crux of the matter –when you’re really on the day itself that was so looked forward to, it’s really not as special. Not really, despite all the good things that might happen, because inside that build up of anticipation has already evaporated, because after the day, it’s all done and dusted. Then what?
You’ve got to wait another 364 days again. Or if it’s already Saturday, then tomorrow is just a day that anticipates the start of another workweek. Despite Sunday being another awesomely lazy day, we’re already mentally prepping ourselves for Monday. Because, that’s just my point, we live in anticipation.
One of my favourite quotes in the entire world talks about it in regards to love itself. Something I’ve expounded upon a few times already. I’ve always thought that our big sense of romance is all built up with the preliminary; it’s the anticipation that makes the actual thing such a large entity. All that wanting, dreaming, wishing, yearning, lusting – that’s what makes the stuff of love stories and movies, isn’t it?
That’s certainly not to say that love itself isn’t all that. I assure you otherwise. (Unless you’re a………..well let me not go there).
And somehow one night while brushing my teeth and in so doing, found this word again flitting through my mind, and the vague imagery of these thoughts floating around lazily and obscurely, I found another image and slowed down my mental slideshow to examine the thought a little closer. What I found was that this bout of anticipation reminded me of a conversation I had with another friend once.
So this friend and I share a great fondness for beautiful places in the world, and he was showing some pictures of landmarks that just make you gasp with wonder at it all, and in so doing of course the topic of having to make a world tour to visit all these landmarks came up. After a bit, he observed that while the pictures looked so amazing; had he gone to visit these landmarks, most likely they would not look so breathtakingly splendid up close. ‘They look only so good from far’.
And that’s how anticipation sort of works, isn’t it? It’s when you’re approaching or at a distance, that you can observe the glory of the entirety at one go. When you’re already there you can only see a fraction of the whole thing, you’re losing out because it is right there in your face and most of it has gone by or out of sight. To assimilate the possibility that we are capable of attaining something not yet attained is an incredibly powerful emotion. Perhaps it’s what we boil down to that ‘thrill of the chase’. For, when we have it, often it’s not such a grand feeling as prior to possession. The ecstasy comes from anticipation.
And it’s widespread, this phenomenon. I mean, it’s behind pretty much everything that makes us act toward the near future; the end of the work day, getting home to crash, the next meal, talking with a friend. It’s what I think fuels our zest for life itself; the wanting, the yearning, the wishing and wanting. The anticipation.
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Tuesday, September 03, 2013
Necromimesis
After watching, first Aashiqui 2 again and then a few days later, Raanjhana, I found myself contemplating. Contemplating what? I'm not exactly certain yet. I mean, yes it was me who was contemplating so of course, if anyone would know, it ought to be me. But these are thoughts as varied and abstract as...well, as thoughts usually are. Or, as mine are, at the very least.
But I want to explore these thoughts, to put some meaning to them, to clarify what it is that I have been thinking...hence here I am.
First of all, with Aashiqui 2, we all know what an unexpected explosion this release has caused. Songs gone viral, and the movie... Well, there's that. The movie is certainly one that belongs in a special favourite corner of mine. I agree, there was nothing truly new about the plot, aside from a new chemistry and casting. But there is something absolutely new about how it has been perceived.
Love stories are overdosing the world, running rampant. It seems, everywhere I look every other person is writing love stories, love poems. It's enough to make me - me! a confirmed hopeless romantic! - gag. I'm so tired and sick of the way every other person seems to think they are the experts at love, or well at the very least, at writing love stories that are supposed to make people swoon and melt and go mushy all over.
I admit, I like things understated. I hate when something goes super-popular, especially if that something is that which I myself like. I don't know, it isn't just a possessiveness,...it just takes away from the novelty of the entity. When it's all over the place, you just kind of get over it, too quickly and too easily.
That may explain why for the large part, I was yawning to myself while watching Raanjhana. The first three-quarters is just slow. It is your usual love story, and yes I understand all that is crucial to laying the groundwork of why what happens eventually happens. I appreciate that. But again, it was your usual boy-girl romance.
*Spoiler Alert*
Now, if you've seen these movies, you'll know what they have in common. And interestingly, this commonality is a persistent factor in many of what I consider, my favourite movies. Yes, people die.
Am I really so morbid that I enjoy people dying? I wouldn't say so, but yes, death seems to be a harbinger of deeper emotions and the concrete essence of loss. I couldn't say why but if I list these movies for you, you can see the pattern...Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Devdas, Kal Ho Na Ho, Tere Naam, Ankahee, Gangster, Rockstar, Aashiqui 2 and Raanjhana.
The irrefutable. Death. That's something that can never be changed (unless, of course this being "Bollywood", seat of RGV, they come back to life... ). They are gone. Now what?
I always asked myself: what would change had this character not died? What would Anjali have done had Rahul not found her after his wife Tina died? What would Paro have done had she ran to the gates to find, not a dead Devdas, but one just unconscious? Would Nadaan Parinde have been so powerful in Rockstar without death?
Death seems to climb deep inside us and spread its poison of melancholy and grief. That's pretty much why these movies are made by their deaths.
The first time I watched Aashiqui 2, I was already hating on the 'so-called' hero...and the movie wasn't ruined for me yet, so when he did what he did, and died....I vented fury. I was so furious at him. I abused his weakness and cowardness.
Then I recently watched it again. And for some reason, I didn't feel that anger at him. I observed the story in a different way, focused on him. I tried to understand where he's coming from, why he's doing what he is...and although I still can't understand completely, I don't know... maybe I understand somewhat.
At first, I couldn't understand how a man who would profess to love so much wouldn't be able to love enough to conquer his own weaknesses for the sake of his love. That's what we're always fed in the bottom line of love stories, isn't it. That love conquers all. And yet....it didn't happen. Maybe that's why I hated it, hated him for that.
And then, you've got Raanjhana. Which in such a different way, he gives his life for his love. And yet,.... well maybe I could keep going on at the futility of so much loss -- but then again, this is why the story was made.
And yes, I know. They are only movies. They are only stories. But who is to say which story isn't a true one somewhere out there? Who knows how little or how much might be happening in some parallel for someone else? Certainly I may be pushing the boundary of logic, but I always find that it's the emotions which transcend.... they don't have to belong to one person the way a set of DNA does. Grief, gratitude, pleasure, need, loneliness, love...they go on without a label and without a body attached...
But I want to explore these thoughts, to put some meaning to them, to clarify what it is that I have been thinking...hence here I am.
First of all, with Aashiqui 2, we all know what an unexpected explosion this release has caused. Songs gone viral, and the movie... Well, there's that. The movie is certainly one that belongs in a special favourite corner of mine. I agree, there was nothing truly new about the plot, aside from a new chemistry and casting. But there is something absolutely new about how it has been perceived.
Love stories are overdosing the world, running rampant. It seems, everywhere I look every other person is writing love stories, love poems. It's enough to make me - me! a confirmed hopeless romantic! - gag. I'm so tired and sick of the way every other person seems to think they are the experts at love, or well at the very least, at writing love stories that are supposed to make people swoon and melt and go mushy all over.
I admit, I like things understated. I hate when something goes super-popular, especially if that something is that which I myself like. I don't know, it isn't just a possessiveness,...it just takes away from the novelty of the entity. When it's all over the place, you just kind of get over it, too quickly and too easily.
That may explain why for the large part, I was yawning to myself while watching Raanjhana. The first three-quarters is just slow. It is your usual love story, and yes I understand all that is crucial to laying the groundwork of why what happens eventually happens. I appreciate that. But again, it was your usual boy-girl romance.
*Spoiler Alert*
Now, if you've seen these movies, you'll know what they have in common. And interestingly, this commonality is a persistent factor in many of what I consider, my favourite movies. Yes, people die.
Am I really so morbid that I enjoy people dying? I wouldn't say so, but yes, death seems to be a harbinger of deeper emotions and the concrete essence of loss. I couldn't say why but if I list these movies for you, you can see the pattern...Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Devdas, Kal Ho Na Ho, Tere Naam, Ankahee, Gangster, Rockstar, Aashiqui 2 and Raanjhana.
The irrefutable. Death. That's something that can never be changed (unless, of course this being "Bollywood", seat of RGV, they come back to life... ). They are gone. Now what?
I always asked myself: what would change had this character not died? What would Anjali have done had Rahul not found her after his wife Tina died? What would Paro have done had she ran to the gates to find, not a dead Devdas, but one just unconscious? Would Nadaan Parinde have been so powerful in Rockstar without death?
Death seems to climb deep inside us and spread its poison of melancholy and grief. That's pretty much why these movies are made by their deaths.
The first time I watched Aashiqui 2, I was already hating on the 'so-called' hero...and the movie wasn't ruined for me yet, so when he did what he did, and died....I vented fury. I was so furious at him. I abused his weakness and cowardness.
Then I recently watched it again. And for some reason, I didn't feel that anger at him. I observed the story in a different way, focused on him. I tried to understand where he's coming from, why he's doing what he is...and although I still can't understand completely, I don't know... maybe I understand somewhat.
At first, I couldn't understand how a man who would profess to love so much wouldn't be able to love enough to conquer his own weaknesses for the sake of his love. That's what we're always fed in the bottom line of love stories, isn't it. That love conquers all. And yet....it didn't happen. Maybe that's why I hated it, hated him for that.
And then, you've got Raanjhana. Which in such a different way, he gives his life for his love. And yet,.... well maybe I could keep going on at the futility of so much loss -- but then again, this is why the story was made.
And yes, I know. They are only movies. They are only stories. But who is to say which story isn't a true one somewhere out there? Who knows how little or how much might be happening in some parallel for someone else? Certainly I may be pushing the boundary of logic, but I always find that it's the emotions which transcend.... they don't have to belong to one person the way a set of DNA does. Grief, gratitude, pleasure, need, loneliness, love...they go on without a label and without a body attached...
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Sunday, September 01, 2013
Qotd
"The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It's the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years."
— Audrey Hepburn
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