Category: Thoughts uncut

Human Nature. A Conundrum

I’m hung up on The Blacklist.

red

I’m hung up on brilliant writing, cold-blooded murders, deception, manipulation, justice, and purjury. But most of all, I’m hung up on human nature.

Ego. It’s a weird word. It sounds weird. It looks weird. And it means more than its disyllabic utterance. At the end of every episode of every season of every show, I had to question my instincts about human nature and all I thought I knew about love and ego.

Humans are egotistic bastards. Nothing changes that.

But love changes anything.

The revelation surprised me. After all, I had lost all hope in humanity. I felt rather negative about humans. How could anyone demand control over another? I hated it that parents could dominate their child’s life. I couldn’t bear the thought of one person dictating entire nations. It felt like hypnosis — in a world that prides itself democratic.

But then I saw The Blacklist. It strengthened my feelings, of course, but it shook my beliefs as well.

I hadn’t thought anyone could ever care for another so much as to go to any lengths to fight for the ones they cared. No matter the price — even if it were the ego they held most dear — they’d give it up nonetheless. Because, love.

And at that moment, I regained hope in humanity. I know, The Blacklist is nothing more than awesome fiction. But we are a race that thrives on fiction. We seek inspiration in non existence. Fiction taught me survival in a world of dangerous, manipulative people. But fiction also showed me the world has people who’d give up everything they treasured to protect those they loved.

Perhaps humility will endure. Wait till I finish the series.

Being Messy

being messy

Whether you’re sulking about life, complaining about the neighbour’s loud kids, or panting from running away from a street dog, sometimes, one good piece of writing is all you need to calm yourself and see beyond your range of vision.

This poem was one of those. There’s so much to life than being fresh and clean all the time. There’s more than a well-made bed, laundered linen, warm meals, chilled wine, and a comfort zone.

This poem reminded me: There’s life in being messy.

Dirty Face

Where did you get such a dirty face,
My darling dirty-faced child?

I got it from crawling along in the dirt
And biting two buttons off Jeremy’s shirt.
I got it from chewing the roots of a rose
And digging for clams in the yard with my nose.
I got it from peeking into a dark cave
And painting myself like a Navajo brave.
I got it from playing with coal in the bin
And signing my name in cement with my chin.
I got it from rolling around on the rug
And giving the horrible dog a big hug.
I got it from finding a lost silver mine
And eating sweet blackberries right off the vine.
I got it from ice cream and wrestling and tears
And from having more fun than you’ve had in years.

– Shel Silverstein

Alone on Holidays

holidays

I might be late to talk about being alone for the holidays, but I just felt it.

I’m not one who needs someone by her side to feel wanted, or important, or significant.

I’m fine with watching The Abominable Bride alone on a Friday night. I’m happy with watching Friends with my Sunday brunch. And it never mattered to me that the Friday was Christmas, or the Sunday was Valentines Day. Because for me, they are just holidays.

But as I saw my friends, colleagues, and almost everyone else I know go home for the holidays, or ride to the city of alcohol to celebrate New Year’s Eve, I felt strange.

Strange — not lonely. I will never accept I’m lonely when I’m alone. I know the difference between the two and revere personal space. I wasn’t lonely, but I felt so “ungrown-up.”

Everyone I knew wanted to spend time with their spouses, children, and parents. When did everyone around me grow up so fast?

Now that I think of it, almost all of my acquaintances and friends are couples. They are either already married with kids on the way, or are just about to get married.

As for the single ones I know, they are too generous to barmaids to grow up.

Wondering about the strangeness of it all, I realized the people who went home to their spouses and kids at 6pm are the same ones who once accompanied me when I pulled an all-nighter. They were the first to volunteer to stay back and clean up after a party, they were the ones who’d take up customer calls from a different time zone and conduct midnight webinars. And now, by 6 pm, they’re gone from the office.

But I’m still here. And I still feel strange. But that doesn’t stop me from munching on some fried snack, drinking a cup of coffee, and laughing at Friends while nodding my approval at “Joey doesn’t share food.”

What Is The Point Of Breathing

breathing

“Breathing’s boring”

The more I think about it, the more I realize the truth in that statement. Breathing is boring. Day in, day out — inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Do it again, and again, and all over again.

Until — you reach a point where you don’t do it anymore. And — that’s all.

It’s like commuting. Like taking the bus to work; you keep going until you reach your destination, and once you’re there, that’s all. At least until the next day.

Breathing is a lot like commuting to work. For a few days, it’s interesting; you’d become aware of everything around, you’d identify some of the strain, you’d enjoy the view, go quick in some areas, and take it slower in some others.

But once you’re used to it, once you know what to expect, and the schedule by heart, it gets boring. You’d crave something more. Something more than the unnerving steadiness — of the commute, and the breathing.

Something to excite, something to raise the heart beat, a good dose of adrenaline. Without that, breathing is boring.

We need a change, a rush, a thrill. We need a life. A life that’s more than the 9–5 clock in and clock out. A life that’s more than going home to an empty life just because you have to. Because there’s no point breathing like that.