Category: Life

  • Restless

    “I would rather have responsibilities between the gaps, rather than gaps between the responsibilities. The proverbial glass is half empty for me not because I don’t see it as half full, but simply because I know I’ve drunk more than most from it. I don’t want my glass to be half full. In fact, I don’t want a glass. I don’t want convention. Nor do I want routine or safe choices. I want to know that I am living and not just going through the motions pretending that doing something better today than I did it yesterday, which was better than I did it the day before, is sufficient fulfilment for my life. I need more than that. I need to look in someone’s eyes and see it confused and restless because I challenged them to think. Because I challenged them to work those gaps and move beyond the routine.

    Those gaps. They’re so damn elusive because when I get them, I’m usually taking a breather to recover from the demands of the routine. I must break the cycle. This cycle of seeming sanity has robbed me of the essence of what it pretends to be. Sanity is not the prevalence of order, nor is it the prevalence of function. It’s simply, by society’s standards, the presence of conformance. Conformance has killed many a creative soul, and destroyed many a great idea. More than this, conformance has destroyed the me I used to smile at. It’s time to break the cycle of sanity. For verily, as has been said already, a sane man, when compared to an insane society, must appear insane. But I think JG Ballard said it best when he said, “In a totally sane society, madness is the only freedom.”

    Zaid Ismail

  • The Silent Statement

    My thoughts are often as complicated to grasp as my writing is to read. I sometimes read through some of my older posts and wonder how anyone could have gotten the point when I struggle to follow the thought process myself. I used to relate it all much more simplistically in the past. It was relatable, not just to me, but to others that it resonated with. It’s not so easy to relate anymore. I find myself slowly receding into silence again. It’s like I’ve come full circle without having completed the journey. The contradiction glares at me while I try to make sense of it all.

    Silence often says more than any vocal statement we make. It’s the language of both lies and compassion. For me, it’s the language of understanding. When I’m inclined to believe that my perspective will most likely be misunderstood or unappreciated, I tend towards silence. It’s my restraint and my statement. It restrains me from verbalising much that will be found offensive, often because of the harsh truth it contains given my poor bedside manner, and it’s my statement because I choose not to engage about something that I believe will not have a meaningful outcome. That’s how I use silence to make my statement.

    Unfortunately there are too many that use it for very different reasons, the most common of which is to avoid being perceived unfavourably. In those moments when the truth is needed for closure, to understand the reasons for betrayal, or to know why the good we put forward was reciprocated with dishonesty or insincerity, silence cuts sharper and deeper than any harsh truths that could have been offered. In those moments the silent one tries desperately to hide their shame while maintaining a facade of arrogance or feigned hurt. Silence, in moments like those, is employed for no reason but to save the betrayer from having to share the truth of their betrayal.

    I think it gets worse when we hold the key to justice but deny the rights of the victims when we choose not to get involved because of the potential repercussions for us. At times when world powers abstain from voting or acting against rogue nations or human scum in order to retain political alliances, their silence does to the victims of those oppressors what the silence of a lover does to their no-longer-beloved. The impact is the same, it’s only the scale that differs.

    Every betrayal destroys a soul, and every soul holds within it an entire world. Each betrayal forces a reinvention of that soul, and each reinvention creates a more brittle soul. Brittle is not necessarily weak. It simply becomes more unpredictable as it gets closer to its limit. Fortunately for most, that limit is significantly more than most because of the reinventions. But when it is reached, the brittle snap that ensues leaves a wake of destruction that can rarely be understood.

    But there’s a more important point I wanted to make about how we use silence for selfish purposes. Perhaps my use of silence is not as noble as I’d like to believe it is. Perhaps just writing this post will provide insights that will disarm me at important moments when others will correctly interpret my silence and take the offence I was hoping to spare them instead. Perhaps there will be none of that because as we’ve seen so often, a shared sin is often overlooked because the collective guilt pacifies our conscience anyway.

    I think we all use silence in this way. I think the silence we maintain at times when we should be outspoken or brutally honest reflects our priorities in that moment. If speaking out will result in an increase of clutter or responsibility beyond what we currently wish to bear, then silence becomes the obvious choice.

    Another incomplete thought process. I know there is a truth in there somewhere…but like life, the essence of it eludes me.

  • Cyclic Sanity (Take II)

    Once we obtain a level of realisation regarding the finite nature of life, or rather, knowing without doubt that death is approaching, we will realise the time that is passing without us exploiting its opportunities sufficiently. When we consider that against the knowledge and skills we may have acquired up to that point, we realise how fickle our focus on life may be.

    If we truly believe in the ephemeral nature of life, and we claim to serve a higher purpose, then it dictates that we should endeavour to ensure that every skill or resource that we have that can benefit others must be brought to bear in their benefit. If we don’t, we’re insincere in our conviction of purpose, selfish in our endeavors, and undeserving of investment from others.

    Why then are we so easily distracted from this purpose? I believe it lies in the continued cycles of sanity that we subscribe to. We have developed an unhealthy fixation on time. Everything we do is measured in hours, minutes, or seconds. We see our lives through the cycles of birthdays that pass, and relationships in the context of anniversaries to determine its success. More recently we’ve been distracted by the annual commemorations of days earmarked to recognise the value of significant others in our lives. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and the insanity continues. But none of this would be an issue if it wasn’t for the distraction it instills in us.

    I’ve always believed that if it was not for entropy, time would be irrelevant. Yet we’re still more focused on time spent, than the progression of entropy in everything inside and around us. Coupled with this distraction is the conditioning that leads us to believe that there is age appropriate behaviour that is expected of us. Those that wish to be accepted by society willingly subscribe to these stereotypes, while those that don’t are often shunned or inadvertently isolated, or at the least, become entertainers.

    The combination of such conditioning and the distraction of time robs us of the very essence of life. Imagine a world where time was in fact irrelevant? Entropy would still exist, but then our measure of the quality of our lives will not be in how much quality time is spent with our family, but rather how much of our health and wellbeing did we expend in their benefit or enjoyment. Yet, we are caught in a cycle that insists that the best years of our health must be expended in amassing enough wealth so that our twilight years which are most often accompanied by ill health and fatigue is available for our indulgences in life. The logic is simply illogical.

    The reality is, we do live in a world where time is irrelevant, except when we give it significance. It’s yet another distraction that we use to ensure that we’re apparently not distracted from the task at hand. And that’s part of the problem. We’re so task focused, and time aware, that most of what we do eventually becomes a chore, the cycles bed down deeper, and freedom of expression and indulgence is considered within the norms that we subscribe to in order to be accepted, validated, affirmed, or all of the above all the while bemoaning the constraints that society places on us.

    When will we realise that we are society. We defined the rules that burdens our souls. The same rules weaken our resolve and discourage individual accountability so that we constantly shift the blame to the collective, while denying that we form part of it.

    I do not subscribe to age appropriate behaviour, nor do I believe in a work life balance the way it is traditionally perceived. But that is a topic for another day. Right now, it feels like I’m wasting too much time bleeding my thoughts into a post that will largely go unnoticed leaving me lacking in affirmation or validation, resulting in the stress of unfulfilment building in the bile that slowly erodes the lining of my stomach leaving me aching for acceptance so that I won’t have a need to feed on myself while denouncing my significance in a world that doesn’t care. Because I don’t care. And that is exactly the point we miss. Each day, every day, as we continue on that treadmill now fitted with an interactive LED display to feign the experience of movement while running like a hamster in our efforts to be at the top of the pile (pun intended).

    Life awaits.

  • Out of Touch

    I sat up in bed this morning, looked at myself in the mirror, and asked myself a simple question. What are you losing sight of? I’ve been significantly distracted for some time now.

    The truth is, by most standards, I’ve been sad most of my life. It’s a natural disposition. Always aware of what is not. Any humour spawned by such a life must be dark by nature. So I hate that people can relate to my ramblings. I hate when anyone else can relate to my life experiences, because for the most part, it was not pleasant, and so I’m painfully aware of how unpleasant it must have been for them as well. As comforting as it may be for us to find those that share our afflictions, it’s sad that there is so much affliction to share.

    Contemplating this leaves me distracted yet again. The challenge of my life has mostly been to determine when that threshold is breached when giving others the benefit of the doubt translates into ignorance as opposed to kindness or understanding. Not that it matters. Considering whether I appear as kind or ignorant erodes the sincerity of the act of giving and in turn distracts me from the purpose of that interaction.
    A distraction a day seems to keep the devil by my side. Between the devil and my demons, much of the present moment is lost. Quiet contemplation is not quiet anymore. It’s rowdy and cluttered. The more we connect, the greater the noise and the clutter. The less we connect, the greater the void and the emptiness. Striking a balance is impossible unless you indulge sufficiently in the distractions to ignore the tipping of the scale in either direction.

    I need to renew my subscription to life. Confliction and ambivalence are cold companions, but in the absence of more, we should not spurn the companionship we have. Damn, that sounds so complacent. And the stirring of the spirit starts again, in search of the answers that every moment seems to cloud. If the questions are endless, so too must be the search for answers. Contentment and peace therefore must lie somewhere between seeking the truth, and knowing which truths are not worth seeking.

  • Purposefully Distracted

    The earlier days of my life don’t prompt recollections of clarity and purpose. I can’t recall moments where I had a definite view of what I wanted to become and where I wanted to be at any specific point in my life. Of course, the one prevailing thought at the time was the premonition that death awaited me at the age of 23. Needless to say that premonition was wrong, and each time I experience a decidedly unpleasant moment in my life, I find myself wistfully recalling the comfort I drew from that premonition.

    Beyond that point I found myself unprepared for what lay ahead. Apart from the typical considerations of wanting to be an architect, or something, I pursued whatever opportunities came my way with relative ease and minimal conviction. My naturally competitive spirit drove me to push the boundaries in everything I did, but at no point did I find myself driven towards a higher calling. I merely made the most of what I had access to, and that pretty much sums up my approach to life as well, for a while at least. Eventually, after several severe betrayals, and the sudden realisation of the additional responsibilities that surfaced when I wasn’t paying attention, I found myself compelled to define a path for myself.

    I chose not to. Instead, quite sub-consciously I defined what it was that I did not want. What I wanted was too stifling to commit to. It limited me and defined me in ways that I did not feel comfortable imposing on myself. So instead, I focused on what I didn’t want. That felt liberating. Still does. I found that it allowed me to consider options that would otherwise have conflicted with a carefully crafted path in life. Little wonder then that I find myself restless when among those that have their lives planned to the last detail. They have this idea as to what they want to achieve, by when, and where to after that. It sounds too clinical to be life. Some view that as purpose, I view it as safety. Safety is something I’ve never truly craved. Comfort perhaps, but not safety from the fluidity of life.

    Against that backdrop I found myself observing those around me. Those that fit the mould and ticked the boxes of success. I could never relate, and in weaker moments, those empty boxes that I could never tick were used quite successfully to pummel my spirit further into the dirt. Fortunately those moments never lasted. But each time I emerged from that space it provided me with insight into the constraints of leading a life well planned.

    The plans that I saw unfolding in most people’s lives usually took a path that started off with youthful passion in wanting to change the world. That defined a mission for them that set them on a path to achieve the prerequisites needed in order to influence the segment of the world that they wanted to change. Those prerequisites ticked the right boxes and in turn unlocked opportunities that promised success, recognition, and importantly, wealth. Along with those familiar trappings of success came the distraction. Oh that painful distraction. The one that prompts us to indulge in the trappings as a token of celebration for our efforts to succeed in a world that we despised enough to want to change. Silently, and almost imperceptibly, they grew to define the very same world they set out to change.

    All the while the responsibilities accumulated to the point where the trappings were no longer tokens of success, but instead they had become necessities that were essential for the fulfilment of those responsibilities. Purpose didn’t matter any longer, or if it did, it morphed into a shadow of its former self. And slowly they assimilated without realising it. What once defined their desire to contribute their unique talents to the world now only defined their taste in the trappings that aimed to set them apart from the rest. Discernment replaced purpose. And so the distractions overtook and death became a reality that only happened to everyone else. That is when they lost themselves.

    I see many people almost totally bewildered when their carefully constructed path through life meets a forced detour. What started out as a great idea quickly unravels into empty stares when faced with the coldness that reality offers. At some point we all succumb. We set out with passion, get distracted by our ego, lose sight of what is important, and then shift focus to that which is needed to sustain the distraction while dismissing the passion for purpose as a whimsical desire of youth. We grow old because we undermine that passion for life. We grow weak and meek, and almost despicable when we believe that there is ignorance in youth rather than clarity of purpose. When we hold on to such beliefs of youth, we condition ourselves to accept that its abandonment is in fact maturity, while its embrace is foolhardy.

    I choose to live a foolhardy life. The best part is that it is not a crowded space at all. Unfortunately.

  • Poetic Relevance

    Poetry often belies the age of the poet,

    but always reveals the struggles of the soul.

    What we write of youth,

    applies to old.

    But most would rather resist it,

    Than bear the truth be told.

    I’m in love with life.

    But I hate the world.

  • Remnant of a Raging Fire

    The world was my oyster. I set out oblivious to the confines of its shell. All I saw was the beautiful lustre and the wild ocean that surrounded it. I set out to tame it. To leave my mark. I remember once witnessing a repeated bickering session between my uncle and his wife when I turned to my cousin and said, “We should show them how it should be done.” I was referring to marriage. We were cocky. He is in his second marriage, and me in my fourth.

    Life is easier as an observer. We have all the technology to be professional voyeurs pretending to be philosophers and activists, denying the fact that all we’ve become are armchair critics. But all is not lost. If anything, many surrender to their armchairs because of the heightened sense of self. If nothing else, the social web that we surround ourselves with has provided affirmations of our condition that was impossible just a generation or two ago. My observation of my weaknesses being expressed with passion by faceless bloggers gives me the comfort of knowing that it’s not only me. And if it’s not only me, then it can’t be my fault. There must be something bigger than us that is doing this to us, right?

    My perspective is sometimes tainted by this reality of virtual life. It’s that much easier to get drawn into the cycle of complacency and distractions, because losing sight of my drive to overcome my obstacles is easy when faced with the validation of my weaknesses. I see too many that are fearless and fierce in their defence of the under dog but struggle to hide the hints of their own sense of worthlessness in real life. The connectedness makes it so much easier to fill the gaps of life with the artificial reality of the other life. We now have three domains of life it seems. The real life, the other life, and the afterlife. Depending on your spiritual persuasion of course. It’s the other life that seems to dominate our attention span which leave the real life and afterlife quite neglected.

    Purpose and grounding cannot be found in a distraction. The shameful truth is that the more connected we are, the less humane we’ve grown. Real tragedies that we witness are easily transformed into notes or likes in the other life. Our desire to be the one to start the trend that others will follow for a few brief moments is that moment in the limelight that we have little hope of achieving in real life. The contamination got worse when those notes and likes started being celebrated in real life. Suddenly my other life gained the validation it needed to be perceived as real rather than as a distraction. So it must be true that my vents, my rants, my passion, and my fearlessness online makes a real difference. It can’t just be a distraction. I am making a difference in real lives. But why then am I still conflicted?

    I think the conflict arises when I leave my other world to dash out for a moment of necessity. There, despite my distraction, is a world over which I yield little influence. There before me is my insignificance staring right back at me. That’s when it occurs to me. In real life I am but a remnant of the fire that rages within. I am misunderstood, and often dismissed as a dreamer, despite those dreams gaining so much subscription in my other life. There is a danger in surrounding ourselves with kindred spirits, and that danger is escalated when the ability to connect with them improves in probability due to the technology that we have to facilitate such polarisation. It polarises us further. Not just socially, but we find ever widening gaps between our sense of self-worth and significance in our other life compared to real life. This shapes our behaviour in ways that will cause much destruction in our lives if we fail to notice the chasm that is forming.

    Living holistically has just become more difficult, despite the additional comfort that we obtain from those that see us without the social stigmas that we can so easily hide in our other life. Living online while existing in real life is a statement of hypocrisy that will leave us uneasy in both. The moment the distractions subside, the realities of each life appear larger than life, and in that, also more daunting. We’ve added a dimension to life that has enriched it, while creating an even greater challenge to be human. Suddenly we’re mostly able to help only those that are reachable online, while those that threaten our personal physical space are denied our indulgence or compassion from fear of them seeing us too clearly.

    Living mindfully is demanded more than ever. Finding congruence between each of my lives has become my new greatest challenge in my efforts to be grounded. My grounding will only ever be manifested in the realisation of being able to apply myself consistently, not just in principle, but in deed, in both my domains of my life, so that my afterlife will not be left wanting. The acid test for me is found in that moment of silence, when I have no technology to distract me, or people to cajole me, and the feeling of consistency or inconsistency descends. When I feel a yearning for one space more than the other, I know that I am a raging fire in one, and merely a remnant in the other. I need to rage in both, or divorce myself from the one that counts less towards my afterlife. But the investment in both is such that I am unwilling to forsake either, and therefore the only option is to ensure that I rage fearlessly in both.

    I often wonder how much more wholesome society would be if we were able to express ourselves in person with the same strength and security that we enjoy through anonymity online. I think it’s possible to achieve this. The equivalent of such anonymity would be the rejection of the opinion of others towards shaping your person. Leave behind the need to feel accepted, but instead nurture the desire to express, and it will result in you attracting those that are similarly impassioned in real life as well. The principles are the same, it’s only the courage that differs.

    (This is an incomplete thought process)

  • Life Awaits

    Pleasantries aside,
    Life awaits.
    A release
    waiting to be honoured,
    A being of self
    resisting restraint,
    An expression of the soul
    refusing all rules,
    A delight of indulgence
    to tickle a child.
    Laughter
    Love
    Abandon
    Life awaits.