Tag: reflections

  • I’m losing myself

    Acceptance. I’m pretty much screwed without it. No amount of affirmation, gratitude or inclusion will ever fill the gaping hole left by not being accepted for who I really am. Needing to pander to the dictates of others, or suppress my true nature from fear of ridicule leaves me wanting for life. I could easily be Charlie Chaplin or Jim Carrie if I felt confident enough to show my silly side. It’s often this silly side that makes me feel most human.

    I have an underlying need on occasion to abandon decorum amongst those that I trust will not use that moment of surrender as a yardstick against which to measure me. Moments like that would make me feel so much more wholesome. But I do not see any that I can trust in this way any longer.

    It’s not possible to live a life of perpetual pompous parades of good etiquette or restrained manners every moment of my life. Such unnatural behaviour has turned me into the jaded bitter old man that I am. Realising the need for social order on one hand, but also knowing that if unrestrained I will probably be shunned. I am not as contradictory or hypocritical as I may sound right now. This surrender I desire is not a surrender of principles or ethics, nor morals or discipline. It’s simply a surrender of control and restraint in being able to express myself in the most natural and colourful way I am capable of. With dignity of course. Always with dignity.

    I used to reduce many to stuttering, blubbering, gyrating, tearing, helpless bundles of laughter because of my antics and my humour, but I have no inclination nor motivation to express that side of me any more. I have no inclination for a life fully lived. The romantic notions I write about are lost concepts to my present being. Distant memories of a youth never lived. I am faced with a reality that spits in the face of my aspirations, and just saying that literally conjures up images in my head of venomous interactions of previous lives.

    I am a recluse under construction. I do not fit in, nor do I aspire to any more. I despise the erosion of sincerity that I witness around me, and I refuse to play any part in it. I am not socially anxious, nor inept. Nor do I have a mental illness or disorder that predisposes me to this behaviour. My only shortcoming is that I expect more than people are willing to expose of themselves. Our embellished facades shall be protected to our very last breath. And I will protrude like a hernia against the six pack of a society that is obsessed with image but lacks substance.

  • Just realised I’m a hopeless dreamer. And many would be forgiven for thinking that I dwell on the past or live in yesterdays. I don’t. I guess I reminisce often so that I am reminded of the similarities between what I have now, and what I may have taken for granted back then. The greatest challenge for me has always been my inability to focus on the present moment. In many ways, this constant reflection helps me to understand the importance of what is happening now, relative to the future, when I see it within the context of my past. I’m a complicated old soul. 

  • 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. 

  • I am an anomaly

    I am anomalous by design

    But fragile by nature

    Harsh to the touch

    But soft to the embrace

    Gentle to the meek

    But arrogant to the fake

    I am disdainfully naive

    But endearingly innocent

    Absent when wanting

    But ever present when needed

    I am anomalous

    I am me

  • seinedoll replied to your post: Personal Reflections

    Cheer up please! Everything is in your head.

    🙂 thanks…it is mostly in my head…except for the weight gain! That’s definitely not in my head! I decided tonight that I’ll write the story of me…if not for any reason other than the hope that it will lighten the burden of the realities that I hold inside that have yet to be shared with anyone around me. 

    Time will tell…the ghosts of lifetimes past never quite leave. They just saunter around in the shadows waiting for a moment of weakness or a lull in your spirits, before they surge straight through you, leaving you bewildered, without any trace of their presence, except the hints of remorse, regret, hope and most often, disbelief. Disbelief at how sincere naivety could be ridiculed as stupidity because I lacked the faculties to be suspicious. Bah!

    The greatest challenge has never been about moving forward. That’s easy. The difficulty lies in trusting that others will receive your efforts positively so that you can realise those goals that will provide the much needed comfort and companionship. But when most are inclined to judge without knowledge, the most noble of endeavours, or even the greatest of achievements fade into a heap of social worthlessness that threatens to disembowel you had it not been for the fact that such social appraisals are inconsequential to your sanity. 

    But sanity isn’t much to celebrate at times when it’s not able to be shared. And this is turning out to be far too morbid, so it’s time for me to shut it. 🙂

  • Personal Reflections

    I’ve realised recently that I’ve been distracted. These distractions have worn me down to a point of almost total lethargy and painful effort to do almost anything constructive. I’ve succumbed to the same self-defeating tendencies that I’ve always encouraged others to simply snap out of. Worse still is that I realise that this is what I’m doing, yet I lack any significant motivation to change it.

    I’ve put on weight to the point where my clothes are uncomfortable and my body aches from the awkwardness of being out of proportion. Compensating for the shift in my centre of gravity is causing my back to ache leaving me feeling as if I should be preparing for old age. Death has been a constant thread in my thought patterns, but not morbidly so. Just the realisation of how much will continue regardless of my absence, and who would be left abandoned in some way or another as a result of my untimely departure. 

    None of this is outwardly visible of course, with the exception of the obvious weight gain. The headaches are more frequent, the joints almost groan involuntarily and my fingers ache. They actually ache as if they’re under constant strain or as if I’ve jammed them into a door. All of these aches and pain remind me that I’m suppressing my true nature because I’ve grown too weary and jaded to venture into another battlefield not knowing how I’ll fare. 

    I’ve been seriously contemplating writing that novel, or at least starting with a short story titled The Story of Me. The more I think of it the more I realise how much there is to write about. There isn’t time to finish these thoughts. There’s rarely time to finish anything these days. But somehow I’ve managed to hold it all together and be productive at the same time. But very little of it has been a true joy. Although I refuse to make it feel like a total burden either. 

    I recently planned a weekend away to one of the most beautiful parts of the country, but cancelled at the last minute because I didn’t have the energy to make the 5 hour drive to get there. This from a man that used to drive 16 hours straight with only fuel stops and accompanied by nothing but his own thoughts and a simple appreciation for the beautiful landscapes on the journey. 

    I’ve grown old without realising it. I feel like I’m 90, battle fatigued, and waiting for peace. 

  • 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.