Tag: random thoughts

  • By all accounts, I am indeed a madman. I have desires and yearnings that appear to be normal but reflect a weakness of spirit that is pitiful. I have been painfully tutored about the nature of people, yet my belief in their inherent goodness and potential wholesomeness remains strong.

    A wise physicist once said that the definition of insanity is repeating the same behaviour and expecting a different result. So by definition, I am a madman. I see and experience the hypocrisy of the closet sincerests among us, yet I continue to believe that there is an inherent goodness that lurks beneath. Not only do I believe it, I plan on it, I count on it and I expect it.

    There are exceptions of course. But here’s the coup de grace of it all. In believing in this flawed human spirit, and in living a naively misguided life, my reputation has been tainted because of good intentions associated with bad outcomes. And these exceptions that I admire and appreciate so much would rarely feel inclined to be acquainted with the likes of such a tainted soul. From afar I’ll continue to desire and yearn, but I dare not step close enough to tarnish them with the putrefaction of a decaying soul.

  • 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.

  • Burning out

    I seem to have lost any inclination to want to share my thoughts and instead have been preoccupied with sharing photos recently. I even changed my theme to place more emphasis on the pictures, but I know the new theme probably won’t last. My constant search for a theme that reflects what I want to present my digital world as is a reflection of the changing moods I go through constantly in my efforts to find my sweet spot in life.

    It still eludes me. Very little is comforting, and I choke on my food far too often. Yet another indication of my impatience with life. I’m constantly agitated as if I need to be somewhere else doing something else even though the present moment is not always unpleasant. I’m afraid of getting settled in this single life that I’ve established for me. Only me. No one else plays in this space. Just me. But it seems like me is not enough so far, but I’m resisting the temptation to seek a companion because of this dis-ease that I feel. 

    I need to slow my thoughts down to a sprint. Right now they’re racing ahead at blistering speeds that rarely allows any of them to be fully formed before being replaced with another thought, not always from the same train either. Perhaps my focus on photography will encourage such a slowing of my pace. Maybe I’ll pause for long enough to absorb what beauty abounds, instead of always analysing, critiquing, and interpreting. I need to slow down. I’m burning out. 

  • A Few Random Thoughts…and a rant!

    I think celebrating birthdays breeds a sense of entitlement within us. Celebrating an event over which you had absolutely no influence whatsoever is superficial beyond belief. Automatically we entrench the idea that the manner in which you’re acknowledged or showered with gifts on the ‘occasion of your birth’ is supposedly a barometer to determine your worth to your significant others. What rubbish!

    The way I am treated when I give of myself to those around me, how I’m appreciated in that process, and how much I’m remembered in a good way by others when I’m not present seem to me to be much more relevant markers against which to determine how others appreciate me relative to how I would like to be appreciated. 

    The date of your birth is nothing to celebrate. It’s how you’ve chosen to live your life in between all those birthdays that counts. Focus on occasions and I swear you will miss life itself. Wait for a specific time to do something special and your life will become routine before you know it. There’s something to celebrate every single day of our lives, but we’re impervious to it all because we’ve been conditioned to look for events worth celebrating based on predefined bullshit criteria set out by society established on pagan rituals that 99% of us are completely oblivious to. 

    But, it’s my bloody birthday and you will acknowledge how special I am, even if you don’t bloody mean it, right? Damn! How pathetic. Today is not my birthday. Today is my daughter’s birthday, and she turns 7. And I had the displeasure of having to explain to her why it is that just because it’s her birthday, she shouldn’t suddenly expect her cousins and family to want to gather around to acknowledge and appreciate her, when they pretty much have no time for her the moment she’s out of sight. 

    I think we often forget that we’re raising kids to be adults. In fact, I’m certain that we do. Look around at the irresponsible idiots that pretend to be adults these days, and you’ll immediately know what I’m talking about. How many times have you read horror stories in the news where children were involved and thought that the adult in question should never be allowed to breed? I do this often. And I constantly remind myself these days that I am raising an adult, not a child, and if I raise her to understand that fun and good times and having a carefree but responsible spirit is not limited to childhood but something to be treasured throughout her life, then I reckon I would have achieved more than most parents these days.

    Too many parents are liberal apologists. They’re so afraid of being disliked by their children that they forget that they’re supposed to be providing guidance to the next generation of adults, rather than trying to expand their social circles within their offspring. But I guess at least they’re present and trying, which is more than we can say for the self-absorbed personifications of Barbie and Ken who think that children are just a necessary prop to enhance their social standing! 

    Blah!

  • We’re Strange

    There are no guarantees in death, except the end of life. So don’t plan on achieving peace, comfort, closure or anything else, because none of it is a given. However, life holds certainty, even though we don’t always interpret its certainty correctly. But the natural order that is established, and the laws of cause and effect that apply, will always apply, every single time. And the only thing we can control in all of this is how we respond to what we encounter along the way. 

    We can’t cause anyone else to act a certain way or feel a certain feeling any more than we are able to influence them. And we can’t influence them unless they deem us significant in the context of their lives. But just like how we apportion such significance to those that we choose or want to be significant in our lives, the same applies in reverse, but yet we fail to realise this simple truth, which is why we constantly strive to acquire the heart of some that may only have a fleeting affection for us, but in fact holds us as insignificant in the bigger scheme of their lives. 

    We erroneously believe that we get what we deserve. We don’t. We never will. This world is created for respite, not justice. It is created as an opportunity for us to perfect our own humanity, not to impose our sense of humanity onto others. We may polarise towards like-minded beings and in that be further deluded into believing that what we’re surrounded with is in fact a reflection of the world that is beyond our reach. It’s not. Our world is what we make of it. Our perceptions and expectations are products of our fears and aspirations, rarely with a healthy dose of reality. 

    We’re too afraid to be alone, that’s why we recoil at the thought of being different. Even in our differences we seek affirmation. Even when we don’t expect acceptance or adoption, we need to be acknowledged to be of some value in our being different. But when that is withheld, we assume that we’re defective and therefore inconsequential and insignificant, when in fact we quite possibly may have achieved what we’ve been striving for and dreaming about all our lives. We’re unique. But we only want to be unique if we’re unique like everyone else. 

    And then we die, hardly having lived at all, but affirmed in our mediocrity, and celebrated in our conformance, but rarely appreciated for our individuality. But we lack an appreciation of our self, and are still surprised at not being appreciated by others. We’re a strange bunch, aren’t we?

  • Living with hope is infinitely better than living with expectation. When I live with expectation, I erroneously convince myself that I’m entitled to so much. When I expect things from people, I assume that I’m significant enough to have such an expectation. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Maybe they just owe me because of what I may have done for them, but then that would taint my original intentions of being selfless. So I can’t maintain such an expectation because it makes me feel insincere. And I despise insincerity. I despise selfishness. I despise people that are oblivious and complacent. They’re oxygen thieves and probably the biggest contributors to that big hole in the sky. Social liabilities.

    Hope, for me, is believing that it can be better…not necessarily that it will get better, but the realisation that it can be better seems to offer some comfort. Some hope. A distant altered reality that’s always within reach but just out of my grasp…but even if just a mirage, it gives me purpose, I think?