Category: Life

  • Hypocrisy Perfected

    They say that the fear of ridicule breeds the most repugnant of cowards. So then the most repugnant of cowards must surely breed the most despicable of hypocrites. And I fail to see how hypocrites can be happy or fulfilled people.

    I find that so many times we’re too willing to sacrifice what we want for ourselves under the guise of being martyrs for the greater good. But that greater good is rarely subscribed to by those for whom we claim to pursue it. Yet our self-pity, or is that self-destructiveness (read cowardice) prompts us along that very same path that robs us of our own peace or happiness, all the while convincing ourselves that we’re doing it to make someone dear to us happy, which should inevitably make us happy.

    But it doesn’t. Because rarely, if ever, does anyone reciprocate such sacrifices. If they do, it’s usually for someone else that they’re also trying to please or ‘make happy’ and as a result, we end up in a vicious cycle of unfulfilled aspirations of securing the love and adoration, if not at least appreciation of those we deem deserving of our sacrifices, only to discover that we’ve lost the essence of ourselves in the process while they were trying to please someone else.

    I’ve always believed that we act out of duty rather than conviction when the guilty martyr in us triumphs over our courage to be true to ourselves and just to our souls. There’s less risk in having to face the consequences of a bad decision that may leave us exposed or vulnerable, and infinitely more cowardly comfort in the knowledge that if someone betrays us, we can blame them for their dishonesty and feel justifiable pity for ourselves. Justifiable or not, that pity will never leave us feeling fulfilled, loved, or appreciated. It will leave us seeking fulfilment from others, and we will disguise that yearning as willing sacrifices for those we love, but it will never bring us any closer to being true to ourselves.

    There’s a fine line between being selfish enough to sustain our own soul’s desires, and sacrificing enough to selflessly contribute to the life experiences of others. Being human lies somewhere between being a narcissist and a martyr. And hypocrisy has no part to play at all.

  • Integrity is Dead

    Betrayal never is an easy pill to swallow, no matter how jaded I might be. The worst of it is when I find myself compelled to question every moment of sincerity that I expended in affection, admiration and respect towards those that I held in such high esteem. People, including me, often suggest that no matter the outcome, the good memories of what has been can never be taken away. I know now that that is absolute rubbish!

    Betrayal sours good memories. But worse than that, it creates doubts where there should be none, where we can’t afford to have any. Not only does it raise questions about the inherent integrity of the betrayer, but it also calls to question every instinctive judgement call I ever made. How can I trust myself to see good in others if time after time I have been proven wrong about my assumptions through the simply callous act of betrayal? How am I supposed to believe in others, see the good in them and give them the benefit of the doubt if every single time it appears that I completely missed their deceptive manipulations?

    Being trusting is so easily, and seemingly justifiably misconstrued as being naive instead. I can’t live suspiciously while maintaining a facade of sincerity. At least I choose not to. And so it seems that if I persist in staying true to myself, I risk growing old alone and isolated, with my nearest and dearest only appreciating the veneer of me, whilst being totally oblivious to the emptiness that echoes inside, waiting desperately for the arrival of one that I can embrace completely. Perhaps that shows in some subliminal way which is what scares them off due to the overwhelming expectation of true commitment and trust.

    But I can’t accept that I am alone in this want, in this desire to have a true companion. Surely every human being has a need to be understood, accepted and appreciated? If this be true, then why do others not seem to want it as much as I do? Are we all victims of our own betrayals? Too many questions, not enough answers, and certainly a scarcity of sincerity to make any responses even plausibly trustworthy.

    Like I said before, integrity is dead. Self-preservation killed it.

  • Habitual Distractions

    There are times when I feel like receding into a more simpler state of life. I reminisce about times gone by when things seemed easier, and life felt less complicated. But just as soon as I start taunting myself with these selective recollections, I realise that that is all it is. Selective memories of what felt good, or not so bad. If life really was simpler back then, it’s only because I lacked the realisation of what was really happening in my life and around me, and not because it was any easier.

    The more I learn about myself, and especially others, the more complicated life gets. And since I can’t unlearn it all, I can’t see it getting any simpler either. That got me thinking about habits this morning. Hardly seems like there’s a connection between the two but I realised that if it weren’t for the blessing of habits, I’d constantly be distracted by the mundane. But when the mundane becomes habit, it frees up my conscious state of mind to focus on what’s really important. And when what’s really important is daunting and seemingly insurmountable, that’s when I slip into the state of morbidity that makes me yearn for the distractions of the mundane without the burden of real life attached to it.

    Life, by its very definition, will not get easier. I can try to keep it less complicated, but the only way it can become simpler is if I grow oblivious to all that I’ve learnt already. I’d rather not. There’s too much beauty and wisdom that I paid a heavy price to experience and acquire that would be lost in the process.

  • Reflections

    I’m 40 now. That’s supposed to mean something, isn’t it? Strangely though, it doesn’t. Nothing changed when I turned 40. Everything that was a struggle or a joy at 39, continues to be a struggle or a joy at 40. Seems I was right to despise birthdays then. All it does is raise unrealistic expectations about impending changes in your life, so that you’re prompted to look at others in order to measure your worth. Some would suggest that it’s an innocent but meaningful milestone. I would suggest that if you need a birthday to review your life, then you’re sadly distracted by what’s not important.

    Wish I had something positive, passionately inspiring and uplifting to write about. A marble-hearted soul showed me the truth of my own insignificance in my little world recently. Just made my world that much smaller. This is not as cathartic as I need it to be. Probably because a few days ago I typed out a note to my dearest marble-heart acknowledging my insignificance, and resolved to read that same note every single day for as long as I need to, so that I never lose sight of that reality and dare to venture out in search of a life again.

    I’ve got a publisher apparently interested in looking at more of my work, but I can barely string together a coherent post. My book has taken a back seat for almost a year now. In moments of disappointment and dejection I deleted some really good writing which I obviously regret. I’ve had the urge to delete the rest of it recently as well, including shutting down my blog, Facebook account, and Twitter account. Retract completely from the social scene, albeit a digital one, and become a digital hermit. But in the pursuit of my marble heart, I isolated myself from many around me for good reason as well.

    I feel like a wasted 25 year old. Seems we all get distracted by bullshit during the course of life. Some more than others. Seems I’m incapable of writing a meaningful post tonight. Will probably delete it in the morning, but until then, and with a heavy heart at the thought of my recently lost beloved, I’ll throw in the towel for now. Peace. How I wish I had some…

  • Prayer or Worship?

    Perhaps if we worshipped more and prayed less, we may find that we’ll have less reason to pray and more reason to worship.

    That’s not as cryptic as it may sound. Worship, to me, is acknowledging the greatness of the Almighty and His power to make anything happen in your life. Prayer on the other hand, is submitting your needs to Him and hoping that you’re worthy of it being accepted. If this is an agreeable definition, then it stands to reason that the more we choose to recognise His mercy and blessings in our lives, the more likely we are to be inclined to show appreciation for it through worship, rather than to constantly overlook our blessings and focus on our needs that we need to pray for.

    But, we’re human, so we will err, and we will forget, and that is why in His eternal compassion, He has made available to us the channel of prayer at times when we find it difficult to acknowledge our blessings and are instead distracted by our needs or wants.

  • Resilience

    As resilient as I may feel at times, there are moments when it feels as if I’m about to crumble. Being an idealist is tiring. It raises expectations that the pragmatist in me convinces me is practically achievable, if only…and it’s that ‘if only’ that always sets me up for a whole lot of hurting. But occasionally, the ‘if only’ bit proves to be true and what I wish for actually materialises for a few brief moments, which only reaffirms the fragility, because the achievement of something I desire or yearn for is a subtle reminder that I have that much more that can be ripped away from me.

    I’m not used to having what I desire, just what I need. What I desire most right now is equally fragile, if not more so. I can’t give up wanting to have her in my life. She completes me, and even though the potential loss of her threatens to destroy me completely, every cell in my fatigued body refuses to give up on her. Which only makes me more fragile when I really need to be more strong. But I’m still optimistic. I have an expectation of happiness, even if my head feels hopeless, my heart will hear nothing of it.

  • The Purpose of Life

    To be available to those that have a need to benefit from the resources that you have at your disposal so that their life’s trials may be lightened by the burdens of your own. Your ability to dispense of these benefits in a magnanimous and selfless manner is directly proportional to the perceived level of dignity and respect by which you’ll be addressed or received. Forming symbiotic relationships with those that have resources that serve your needs proportional to the resources you have to serve their needs is what would tend towards a healthy exchange of benefits and trials leading to procreation within the confines of wedlock…that’s of course only if you choose to maintain your dignity in the process. If not, it will lead to procreation out of wedlock, or perhaps no possibility of procreation at all if your choice is an unnatural relationship.

    So in a nutshell, using and being used if done with dignity and respect, will lead to an honourable and happy life. Maybe.