Category: Life

  • Ramblings

    I have so many thoughts racing through my mind tonight. I regret the tone that my blog has taken recently because it has made me far too aware of the presence of others that read my posts. I regret indulging myself so much in the opinions and praises of others. I feel shallow and insincere in any efforts to write anything meaningful in order to feel some release from the cacophony of restlessness that keeps echoing in my head.

    I visited my aunt in hospital tonight. I’m usually a very composed person even in the face of extreme trauma, but tonight I found myself actively subduing the tears and the lump in my throat when my uncle explained to me how he had to lie to his ailing wife to convince her to remain in hospital a little longer so that they may be able to find out what is causing her excessively high fevers.

    Her condition has been worsening by the day for the last few weeks without any indication of the underlying cause, and her appearance is a far cry from how I remember her to be. It reminded me of my late grandfather that also pleaded with his family to take him home when he was rushed to hospital for a lung infection. He was 93. All he wanted to do was die peacefully at his home, in his bed, but out of sincere care his family failed to see what was really happening and instead insisted on keeping him in hospital. He died in a cold ward without any of the simple comforts he had grown to appreciate in his humble surroundings at home. Truly humble surroundings because he was a simple man. A man that literally gave his fortunes of wealth to his siblings in order to establish them in life before he made a comfortable home for himself and his own family. He died a poor man, while his siblings owned half the town. Literally.

    At some point I wish we would stop and listen to what people want rather than what we want for them. At some point I wish others would stop to listen to what I want instead of what they want for me. This post makes no sense, nor does it offer any comfort from the thoughts that plague me tonight. At times like this I find myself easily annoyed by the games people play in their pathetic efforts to appease others. Sad games of lies and deception, mostly to themselves just so that they don’t have to face the disappointment of their parents or significant others. We find it so easy to lie, and even easier to justify it. But we spurn anyone that lies to us even though their motivations are not very different from our own.

    It all reminds me of two quotes. The first is that we cannot awaken someone that is pretending to be asleep. The second is from Shakespeare’s Macbeth:

    To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
    Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
    To the last syllable of recorded time,
    And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
    The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
    Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
    That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
    And then is heard no more: it is a tale
    Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
    Signifying nothing.

    I pray I never become that pathetic shadow that is oblivious to the purpose of my existence, strutting like I own the world and fretting as if I am being persecuted whenever I don’t get my way. I will not be that idiot that takes it all for granted in the name of optimism that tomorrow is another day, and I need to give myself a break. Tomorrow is not another day. Tomorrow is simply today again, only with less time than I had yesterday, never being able to achieve what I needed to achieve today, because I’m still trying to achieve what I should have achieved yesterday.

  • Life

    I feel somewhat weepy today. Strange though, because I have no real reason to feel this way. No, this is not my feminine side showing, it’s my human side. At times the accumulation of life’s struggles creeps up on me without warning, and it’s when things are going well that I realise how bad it was before. It’s a strange sort of weightiness that I feel. I don’t feel weighed down, but I don’t feel lightened of my burdens either. 

    My endeavours to simplify my life have been somewhat fruitful, but the emptiness of space alongside me in bed still leaves me reaching out for something that isn’t there more often than I should. That’s probably the cause of my self-imposed insomnia, especially on Sunday evenings. Despite knowing that I will fall asleep the moment I lay my head down, I resist it with everything in me until I’m literally ready to pass out at my laptop before I begrudgingly drag myself over to the bed.

    At times the exhaustion at that point is so bad that I find myself slithering into place trying to shrug the blanket over me, because I barely have the energy to move my arms. But it’s all not lost, I guess. Outside of these moments I still feel resolute in my naivety, and my optimism still persists. One thing I have resolved never to do is assume that it can’t get any worse. I’ve made that mistake too often before. It can always get worse. 

    If nothing else, the lessons of my life, thus far, have taught me that even when it seems like the darkness is going to overcome me completely, it always only ever took a single split second of light to change that. The trick now is to remember that the next split second could be the one when that light will pierce through the morbidity and pain. It reminds me of so many defining moments in my life. Moments when everything seemed consistently headed in one direction, and in a split second, it all changed. The moment I received that phone call when my first wife died. The moment I received that phone call that I got a job after being out of work for seven months and having made the last payment of my mortgage from my credit card. 

    There is no guarantee what the next split second brings, but because I’m often a creature of probability more than possibility, I easily forget those defining moments in my life, because innately I’m a statistician by nature. And the statistics prove that the trends of my life are mostly mediocre and blandly predictable, rather than unpredictably beautiful. But that’s because I tend to have a jaundiced memory that holds on to those experiences that caused me the most pain rather than those that caused the greatest elation. As ungrateful as that may seem, it makes perfect sense.

    By design, I seek to protect myself from harm and pain, not happiness and joyful laughter. So it’s inevitable that I would be cautioned before I am encouraged. Perhaps that’s why it requires courage and effort to make a life beautiful, because it requires fighting against the very nature that I despise within me. 

  • The Theme of My Life

    The theme of my life has been one of misunderstandings and assumptions about who I am and what I stand for, especially by those closest to me. So it’s little, or in fact no surprise that I am constantly misconstrued in my intentions or efforts to achieve positive outcomes in my engagements with many.

    I don’t subscribe to the stereotypical views of life or spirituality, and I question what most assume to be obvious. In this questioning I’m often seen as arrogant, difficult, uninformed, illiterate and even pompous. Regardless of extended efforts to establish understanding and context, the negative assumptions persist. And this, if nothing else, has been the core of my struggle in a hostile world. 

    I don’t refer to myself as anomalous because of any romantic notions that I harbour about my individuality. Being anomalous is not a pleasant place to be. It is often received harshly or responded to cruelly, simply because most don’t know how to deal with what is uncommon, or more commonly considered weird. That is me. And that has been the theme of my life. If current trends are anything to go by, then such shall remain the themes of my life for the rest of my days.

    I have ceased to live with expectations for a long time now. Expectations from others has been the cause of the greatest pain with the deepest wounds incurred by betrayal. Not always betrayals of trust, but most often betrayals of expectations. But I continue to live with hope, because hopelessness never appealed to me no matter how many feeble attempts I’ve made to embrace it. But this same hope causes me to believe in others more than they believe in themselves. I see potential where others see futility, and for this I have been scorned too often.

    I maintain the insane notion that I have something positive to contribute, and from this belief I derive hope that I may yet prove to be beneficial to a course greater than my own existence. I have very little that I hope to achieve on a personal front, for personal gain, but there’s much to be achieved on a human scale. Whether I will ever be accepted for the humanity that resides within me is yet to be seen. Right now, I see a waning moon and a setting sun, and while each offers its own serenity in the cycle of life, they both prove to be an unsettling reminder that the darkness will reach me soon, as it will us all. 

    The image of the pendulum’s arc swinging across the horizon of my life continues to grow stronger by the day. It’s brush against this ephemeral existence continues to provide perspective on my insignificance relative to the universe. Yet the ego will not be silenced into complacency. 

  • All that is gold does not glitter,
    Not all those who wander are lost;
    The old that is strong does not wither,
    Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

    From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
    A light from the shadows shall spring;
    Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
    The crownless again shall be king.

    ― J.R.R. Tolkien

    (via sohumanandflawed)

  • Between Martyrdom and Cowardice

    Don’t confuse the actions of a martyr with those of a coward. There are many that profess to be martyrs, but in fact hide behind their fear as cowards by presenting their acts as selfless acts, when in fact it’s nothing more than spinelessness. I know of many that lament their inability to live according to their principles. Who with one breath despise the oppression of society and with the next uphold the repulsive social structures that feed such oppression.

    We profess to uphold religious principles and moral high grounds until we’re faced with the reality of choosing between principles and daddy’s wealth, or principles and mummy’s acceptance, even though we know that both are steeped in cultural arrogance and societal bigotry. We embellish our profiles with elaborate degrees of knowledge, prestigious accreditations of piety and align with the most respected nobles of society, but succumb to the simple pressure of choosing between a life of comfort and acceptance, and a life of modesty and principles. 

    Being romantic in words and cowardly in action is easy. Both feeds an insatiable ego. The world will always be greater than our greatest aspirations if focused outwardly, but will fade from view the moment we seek to overcome the frailties within. I despise cowards, and cowardliness, especially when accompanied by a pretentious mourn for sympathy and understanding. Those that indulge the cowards are only appeasing their own need for such affirmation. That’s why a true martyr is rare, more rare than a coward ever will be. 

  • Looking for Inspiration

    I once walked into a yard that sold raw materials like natural stone and treated timber that I was looking at for a DIY project I had feeble intentions of building. When the owner approached me, I simply smiled and said, “I’m just looking for inspiration.” He laughed and walked away. I often set out wanting to do something, having an idea, or sometimes just a concept in my head, and then letting it dwell in the back of my mind waiting for inspiration to strike. Sometimes, it comes from nowhere, but recently, it hardly comes at all.

    I’ve enjoyed only bursts of energy and enthusiasm recently, with the days in between being real challenges. This afternoon I set back and wondered how many others become complacent about their misery by convincing themselves that if anyone else had been contending with what they have to deal with, they’d fall to pieces or kill themselves. I’m guilty of the same self-destructive smugness. I look at the problems of a teenager reeling from the betrayal of lustful love threatening never to love again, and wanting to destroy herself and everyone in the process, and I smile. That same smug smile that leads to me forgetting how relative everything is. Just because I’ve endured more in quantity doesn’t imply that the intensity of my agony was any greater than hers. 

    But I need this insensitive comparison to make myself feel better about my own self-loathing. I sway from being convinced that I deserve nothing better to knowing that I’m just too amazing to be discovered by mediocre meddlers. But that’s really what many people are. Meddlers. They meddle in various aspects of their lives, looking for inspiration, but never committing to anything because they’re waiting for someone to appreciate them first. The excess we commit in our natural disposition as social beings is in our penchant for wanting to feel loved before we love, being appreciated before we express gratitude, or receiving before we consider giving. 

    I heard someone say today that a veil exists between this world and heaven. I think that our struggles, our principled endeavours and our consistent striving towards our noble ambitions is what tears away at that veil. If you don’t believe in heaven, then consider that veil to be all that prevents you from achieving your utopian ideals, whatever they may be. My search for inspiration will never abate. But it will be more joyous if accompanied by one that cools my eyes, but warms my spirit. So I wait patiently, living with conviction, but no expectations, only hope that some day soon my garment will arrive in all her splendour to finally caress the dreams I so painstakingly nurture to keep the jaded me at bay.

  • What dreams may come…

    It’s been a strange few days. I haven’t felt this disconnected in a while. Morbidly detached. Going through the motions. Knowing that all that I have on my plate will quite quickly dissipate into insignificance soon enough only to be replaced with a fresh set of challenges. I don’t really mind that at all. It feels like progress in some morbid way, knowing that I’ve overcome some challenges and realising that I will be faced with new ones soon enough.

    The lull never lasts. It’s as if I’m destined to be challenged at every stage of my life, and the only thoughts that keep me sane is that I know I’ve overcome worse before, and I convince myself that every challenge that I overcome is a preparation for something greater. My education at the hands of life has been invaluable, and there’s not a single book, article, or class I could have taken at any point that would have prepared me in any way for what I’ve had to contend with so far. 

    No amount of study or reading would have prepared me for a life with a borderline violent psychotic, or the unexpected death of a loved one, or the estrangement of a child, or the harrowing helplessness of unemployment when I had loved ones that depended on me to take care of them. Nothing could prepare me for betrayal. Nothing could prepare me for life. The only thing I could do was ensure that I…never mind…this all seems pointless…reflecting like this…regurgitating the day’s insanity in the hope that I’ll be able to construct something meaningful out of the senselessness of so much. I can’t. Perhaps I just don’t want to right now. Perhaps I’m just hoping for an endearing response from a significant other that doesn’t exist…perhaps I’m just…

  • Another brush with the faint of heart

    Sometimes I wonder if I’m depressed or am I just an ingrate. I usually get these thoughts annoying me when I’ve had yet another encounter with betrayal or insincerity.

    Fear breeds cowardice as much as betrayal breeds hypocrisy. Or something like that…I think…I can’t really think clearly right now…not sure if it’s the lack of sleep, the distracting pain in my gut, or the untimely reminders of betrayals gone by.

    I’ve realised that in this world, the spineless will always reign supreme in the end because they’re more adaptable than those that have a back bone. It’s so much easier to live a life as an un-tethered liberal. Stand for nothing, fall for anything, and never accept accountability for commitments, either implied or explicit.

    If someone believes in you, that’s their problem. You never asked them to in the first place. Everyone bemoans the fact that they feel insignificant, unloved, unimportant, inconsequential, pathetic, alone, blah blah blah…but everyone is also always pushing away such love or care or concern or selfless commitment because it demands a reciprocation that is too constraining. We cry for companionship or understanding but then despise it when it comes in the wrong packaging.

    What a laughable bunch we are, aren’t we?