Tag: loss

  • Saving my insanity

    Saving my insanity

    Sometimes I write to share my insanity, but sometimes I write to save it.

    When everything about the world feels unnatural, sanity offers no relief.

    Besides, like Vonnegut said, “A sane person, when compared to an insane society, will appear insane.”

    I have often considered myself that lone voice of sanity, and in that assumption, I found myself to be insane.

    Fulfilment lies in finding one who will embrace such insanity with me.

    Despite the search being over, the insanity remains unfulfilled.

  • Computing Loss

    When others share their views or sentiments about tragic moments in my own life, it often overwhelms me more than the experience itself. Those first moments on hearing the bad news, or rationalising the loss left me feeling sombre, but not always overwhelmed with emotion. On many occasions I’ve been able to hold back the tears and shrug off the pain, only to lose my composure through the simple gesture or words of someone else expressing their sadness at the news.

    I was in Saudi on contract when my father passed away. I recall clearly sitting in the staff bus on our way back from Bahrain where we made the monthly trip to have our visas renewed. It was late in the evening when I received the text message from South Africa. My father had passed away. He was ill for some time after surviving a stroke two years earlier, and he finally succumbed to the illness. I stared almost disbelievingly at the message, but managed to maintain my composure.

    After absorbing the impact of the news, I reached over to a close colleague and showed him the message. He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. Only then did the gravity of what had happened hit me. Before that moment, it was just bad news. When he rested his hand on my shoulder, it somehow brought to reality the loss.

    Despite never having a really meaningful or fulfilling relationship with my father, he was a critical influence in my life, and continues to be so. My relationship with him reminded me of something I had heard from a man that was facilitating a leadership course that I had attended early in my career. He said that his father had been the greatest influence in his life. His father always sat in his arm chair day after day and did nothing but page through the daily newspaper. That spurred him on to commit to never be that way, and so his father’s lethargy drove him to achieve great goals and aspirations in his life.

    I’ve often overlooked some of the lessons I’ve learnt from unpleasant experiences and relationships in my life. By far, the most character defining moments for me have always been in times of hardship and great personal strife. Those moments and lessons would have been wasted if I chose to block it out with the anti-depressant medication or other escapist actions that many recommended at the time. I chose not to numb myself to the pain of what was happening. Instead, I immersed myself like a martyr wanting to feel every emotion and every sensation of pain and release, of heartache and joy. And I remained deliberately sober throughout because those were the only opportunities that truly provided me with insight into what truly lies behind the anger and futility in the actions of others. In seeking to understand my own weaknesses and emotions during those trying times, I emerged with an understanding and appreciation for human angst that I would otherwise never have acquired.

    For this reason, I’ve grown to appreciate the struggles of others, and more importantly, I’ve realised that it can always get worse. No matter how bad my situation was, what appeared to be the most intensely despairing experience at the time is just another life lesson now, with each new experience raising my ability to feel joy and pain at a level of intensity that no drug-induced flight of fancy could ever produce.

  • Only an old man appreciates the value of youth
    Only a person afflicted with calamity can truly appreciate being free of troubles
    Only the sick appreciate health
    Only the dead appreciate life

    Islamic wisdom (via cynicallyjaded)

  • Sealed in a Bottle

    dailydigressions:

    I wish that I could

    encapsulate the remnants

    of all our faded memories.

    Perhaps, keep them in

    a tiny glass bottle

    and pop the lid every 

    once in a while

    To breathe you in;

    to remember that

    the good old days

    were not mere fantasies

    that I cooked up

    inside my muddled brain.

    To convince myself

    that once upon a time

    you existed in this life

    and that love was a reality.

  • Only an old man appreciates the value of youth
    Only a person afflicted with calamity can truly appreciate being free of troubles
    Only the sick appreciate health
    Only the dead appreciate life

    Islamic wisdom

  • The story of that (empty) house

     


    This house,

    no, THAT house

    held many things.
    In it’s wall grew

    a tangle of thoughts, emotions, musings wanderings,

    knotted together with desire, hope, love and courage

    decaying with anger, misunderstanding, insecurity and indifference
    This house,

    no, THAT house

    was built on a strong

    yet unsteady foundation

    of fascination
    That house (yes, I’ve learnt it now)

    burned down with anger.

    Bellowing flames

    pouring out of tiny windows.

    The smoke rose in great, dense clouds

    roared and flared

    light bulbs exploded,

    windows shattered

    doors burst open

    in and out

    in and out.

     

    The occupants inside singed their throats with their screaming.

    Burnt their hands with their clawing, their frustration, their anger.
    Huffed and Puffed

    and blew THAT house

    down.
    All the while the fire raged on

    (simmered, then raged, then simmered, then had to be kindled)
    And one day

    the fire died

    (as all fires usually do)
    And there was nothing but a quiet creaking house, swaying in the wind.
    Lonely on a hill

    Crooked

    Bent

    ……….
    The one weeps

    for tangled thoughts

    and knotted words

    and buried hopes

    and heavy silences that stretch

    the damp walls of an insane house

    with no occupants

    except one crazy heart

    and one reluctant fool

    who leaves and returns

    with nothing on that tongue

    but caution and lust.

    The one weeps
    For these crazy occupants

    with tangled emotions

    and knotted words

    who neither love nor hate

    Nor stand nor sit

    who hover somewhere

    between heaven and hell
    The one walks through the house

    Running fingers over peeling wallpaper

    Inspects burnt floorboards

    Stopping to listen

    to creaking eaves

    rustles in the attic

    a faint voice of the imagination,

    runs a finger over dust on the mantelpiece

    sits on the floor,

    suddenly.
    Weeps
    for the blood-stained floor

    the splintered drawers

    of past-battles

    forgotten
    the notes etched in the walls

    the whispers hanging in the rafters

    the sighs pressed against the windows
    The house groans

    waiting to fall

    waiting for the one to walk out

    and shut the door behind

    so that it may collapse

    peacefully

    quietly
    finally
    as if it had never existed

    as if the walls did not hold stories

    as if the rooms did not hold thoughts

    as if the ceilings did not hold secrets

    as if the carpets did not hold pain

    as if the house did not hold love
    As if it had never existed.