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  • Life Lessons from Forest Gump

    I just watched Forest Gump…again. And again, I loved its simplicity. I realised exactly how emotionally far gone I am these days when I found myself choking up on the scene where Jenny shouts out his name and then wades through the water in front of the Washington Memorial, he discards decorum, as he always does, and runs out to meet her. That wasn’t the only scene that choked me up, but anyway, I digress.

    I realised I was even worse off when I suddenly noticed that my thoughts are running through my head in Forest’s thick Alabama accent! But there’s a sincerity in his character that few can relate to, or hope to achieve in real life simply because he was never swayed by public opinion, or negative sentiment. But this was largely because he was never accepted by them either.  

    What I’ve learnt is this. The more we fit in, the less likely we are to be individuals. We’re unique, just like everyone else. We’re all struggling to present our own ‘unique’ interpretation of how life should be lived but always within the bounds and expectations of society, because we need to fit in. Isolation is too painful. So we must conform. Even our creativity is expressed within the parameters of what is acceptable by the same groups that we aspire to belong to. 

    Forest was a born reject, and had no choice in not fitting in. But it seems being mentally challenged, stigmatised or an outcast is a prerequisite to living an amazing life. Otherwise, chances are that we’ll only end up being mediocre. Even if we excel, it will be the upper percentile of mediocrity that we achieve, which will seem amazing to those in the average bands of mediocrity, but nonetheless it will still fall short of amazing. 

    Nothing amazing was ever achieved through conformance, and non-conformance is by its very nature a painful experience. Human nature, through its inherent survival instinct will avoid pain if left to follow its instinct. But we’re a step above animals, because we have superior intellect, reason and choice. If we cower, we reduce ourselves to animals. But if we persevere, we’ll become masters of our state, rather than victims. When we’re in this state of mastery-consciousness, we’re automatically administering the cure for so many spiritual illnesses that plague our society independent of race, religion, culture, social standing or material worth. 

  • 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.

  • A mask for truth

    Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.

    Oscar Wilde (via vesperbat)

  • Me

    I’m at odds with life. I’m the most responsible person you’ll probably ever meet, but also the most child-like at heart, but I’m not a child. I’ve resisted every effort by others to force me into a box so that I would be easier for them to deal with, but I’m not a rebel. Especially not one without a cause. But I am rebellious. 

    I resist meeting the expectations of others for the sake of conformance or maintaining some balance in the predictability of society. But I also play my role to ensure a social balance. I don’t see rules and limits, only principles and reason. And despite the amount of life in my years, I’m still grappling with how little I know of myself.

    And then I look without, after focusing within for too long, and I notice how most others are oblivious to these truths about themselves. So I wonder if it’s reasonable to expect them to notice these truths about me? I want to be known, intimately, but most never look close enough to notice enough to know enough to appreciate me the way I would them. But that is the trigger for the vicious cycle that spares me any meaningful connection with others, because in realising this, I withdraw, withhold, and wither.

    It’s not that I haven’t tried. No. In fact, I have tried often enough to have rightfully earned the label of being naively daft! But my child-like naivety prompts my obstinacy to resist any efforts to make me behave boringly. Predictably. So in my resistance, I’ve nurtured my passion that waits patiently to love ferociously a worthy subject, but instead I’ve only secured my isolation. 

    P.S. Just noticed that this was my 500th post. 🙂

  • The Fruit of Betrayal

    Betrayal seems to be at the heart of 95% of all cases of mental ‘illness’. When I reflect on my life, especially the low points in my life, betrayal in some form or another was the driving force behind me not wanting to go on. But this betrayal was not always blatant, nor was it always a result of a romantic relationship. 

    Being betrayed by someone you love as a soul mate or companion in life just simply makes you want to kill, or die, or kill first and then die! But so often we seek affirmation from our partners to make up for the insecurities established in ourselves through interactions with a much broader audience of significant others, that I believe betrayal by a lover or partner is so much more hurtful and destructive, because we expose our fragility that much more. 

    But more often than not, the betrayal that is likely to set the wheels in motion for a healthy dose of mental ‘illness’ is experienced much earlier in life. Sometimes, I believe, it’s as early as when we’re still toddlers just growing into our conscious states. I often test my rationale around this by observing babies because that is the most innocent and sincere state any person can ever be in. They act purely out of instinct and respond entirely based on their inherent nature without having been tainted by life yet. While they may be selective about who they allow to cuddle them and comfort them, they nonetheless respond to those affections without restraint. But when they are shunned in deliberate ways by the care givers that they naturally expect such affection from, it starts building the sub-conscious processes required to protect themselves from such harshness which eventually manifests as defence mechanisms or survival instincts. The more the pattern is maintained throughout childhood and into adolescence, the more deeply ingrained this sense of emotional starvation becomes. 

    I think that the earlier in life that these experiences occur, the greater the chances are for teenagers and adults to be diagnosed with mental illnesses that seemingly have no direct correlation to their life’s experiences. For this reason, I believe that reflection and honest, sincere introspection is the greatest weapon we can employ in avoiding such a pitfall. But society seems to enforce the idea that unless you’re affirmed by others, you’re wrong or worthless. So in this process of reflection, we judge ourselves based on our perception of what is or is not appreciated by others and use that as a benchmark against which to determine our self-worth. 

    (Just some random thoughts I needed to write down)

  • Thoughts on Tumblr

    In many cases, but definitely not all, Tumblr gives me a view into what really rests within a person’s heart without distracting me with societal prejudices. I’ve often been pleasantly surprised to read the thoughts and passions expressed by bloggers, forming a mental image of them, and then stumbling across a photo in their archives that reveals how stereotypical my assessment of them really was. Not negatively so. Just a few innocently incorrect assumptions. 

    Some people tend to use their Tumblr blogs to form an alternate reality for themselves, while others use it to expose a side that they’d dare not expose to anyone in real life. Yet others seem to use it to engage in a way that would otherwise not be possible because a lot of what is shared and discussed on Tumblr would probably raise more than just a curious eyebrow in real life. I think I fall largely in this group.

    There is pretty much no one in real life that I can engage with about a lot of what I share on my blog without them thinking me to be strange, superficial, pretentious, or worse. But my true joy in blogging was realised when I finally accepted that seeking affirmation for every post I wrote was not what I wanted from this. That was the most liberating realisation for me because up to that point, I realised that Tumblr was turning me into an attention whore. So more recently, my blog has become a more true reflection of me, rather than what I want others to perceive of me. 

  • All we do is talk talk…

    We spend too much time researching and articulating our differences and too little time on our character. It’s easier to be an armchair critic than it is to be a practising philosopher. Discussing and debating ideals and perspectives is great, but like everything else, only in moderation. If my dashboard is anything to go by, then there is a very definite disparity in the amount of effort applied to practising, compared to discussing and refuting.

    Surely Islam has more to offer than the excessive debates between sects and madhabs? The next time you feel inclined to post something, reflect on whether it is pre-emptive, constructive or simply argumentative? More often than not, it’s argumentative hidden behind the guise of it being an effort to guide a potentially innocent person that may stumble across the misleading interpretation or viewpoints being rebutted.

    I think that if we focused more on practising our deen and less on debating it, we may just find that the true beauty of Imaan is realised rather than the incessant debating that prevents us from uniting.

  • Ramblings of a Madman

    I’m exhausted from a trying day. More trying than usual. Yet at this late hour I find myself browsing through old notes that formed part of a feeble attempt to write the novel about my life that so many keep insisting would be a worthwhile endeavour. Apparently it holds the promise of being therapeutic to others, if not myself. 

    I looked at the word count and was disappointed to see that I had only written about 12,000 words so far. But each paragraph tells a story of its own. If not a struggle, a setback, with the occasional peppering of optimism and a joyful experience. Always short lived. I’ve been toying with the idea of sharing snippets of it from time to time on my blog, or possibly setting up a dedicated page to just ramble on endlessly. But the very real possibility of not finding an audience for it dissuades me from even trying.

    I know that one day I’ll regret not putting into words what anguish my heart holds, yet also what buoyancy my soul nurtures. My painfully endearing resilience.

    To write or not to write…?