Words are so important to how a sentence sounds. By using the correct word, one could sound superbly vague or right on target. Both of these can benefit the person framing the sentence. (In different circumstances, obviously.)
With all the media noise tonight, I have been thinking how loosely we often frame our sentences. Or I might be completely and totally off the mark here. And in fact, these sentences are of the former variety I previously mentioned. They are coined with such perfection that they divulge enough detail to give some news. But never fully enough. This is not just one incident, of course. It is so many incidents that I have officially lost count. Situations are many, where people who stand for rights and those who are supposed to be defenders, use empty words and phrases.
We cannot be enveloped in this diplomacy. We just can’t.
It cannot and must not become the norm. Let us not learn from mediocre people who are not willing to stand their ground.
Sometimes the world scares me. With the sheer possibility of everything I imagined going wrong.
Sometimes the world comforts me. With the serendipitous joy I encounter.
Somedays it feels like a good mix of the two. Others my boat is rocking and the seas are stormy. But the negativity breeds and often leaves an aftertaste of bitterness. With enough consumption of sugar and candy, I assume it will be gone. I, however, still need facts to back up this assumption. And if I am wrong, I wonder if the bitterness is a sad reality of bad experiences. Does this bitterness help in some way?
Some needs are basic and simple. Others are convoluted and heavy. As I drift away from the simple, I find myself clutching the nuances and complexities. Desperately. I urge myself to believe that the simple will no longer do. I demand the difficult, the hard-to-find, the unthinkable. Everyone hushs and shushs me. Tells me I am expecting too much. I am warned of loneliness and detachment. I hush and shush them in return. I will not let this go. I demand nothing short of exceptional. I am willing to give up a lot of mediocre for it. I am willing to fight battles for it. It would possibly lead to being labelled crazy. But I think it will be worth it.
A feeling that most of us believe in other worlds and in the possibility of some of these worlds are fiercely evil took over me today. It is a different matter altogether that this realisation dawned on me in the middle of watching a superhero movie. I turned to my friend during the movie and said, “Why aren’t any of these humans ever surprised when an alien spaceship crashes or strange creatures start shooting at them? They just start running in the opposite direction like they know trouble has landed.” Before she could respond, I said in high-pitched excitement, “We all believe in outer space creatures!”
She laughed and we went back to watching the movie.
But I couldn’t shrug off the thought. So many of us go to watch these movies, read these fantasies, watch these TV shows. It is a bit about entertainment and even a bit about ‘getting away from all things real’. There just has to be something more to it. What makes us connect to these superheroes and their mostly immortal lives?
I have always leaned towards the belief that we aren’t the only species in the universe. This mostly comes from the fact that I imagine the other worlds are more fun and when I tire of this one, I will move to another planet. Or at least take a vacation there.
I don’t think I like slowness.
I live life at such a pace that I lack slowness. To relish the journey. To refrain from hatching out answers, solutions. I could use the time to breathe in a fresh sunrise. To stop living in the future and holding onto the past. But these words I think, I don’t necessarily believe. I reach out to slowness unwittingly sure it won’t engulf me. But when it does, I feel trapped and fight to break free of the drudgery. To escape back into the cycle of questions with quick answers, problems with easy solutions.
I perhaps need slowness. Even if I don’t like it.
Maybe there is a way to acquire it? Slowly?
She couldn’t believe her luck. Or the lack of it rather. The confusion filled her up and she fought for clarity. She liked clarity and control. Currently, it was all she lacked. It was being stripped away from her, both willingly and unwillingly; this irked her. She wished she could fix it. But fix it how? She would never again feel like the same person after this was done. But life was beautiful that way wasn’t it? Only living in this confusion was too much for her. She hated the discomfort and hated feeling helpless. The fact is that she would have loved a phone call with her future self to find out how life actually turned out. Suppose there would be no fun in that. She would perhaps, most certainly learn zero lessons. The trouble lay in the conflict of wanting to know anyway. But she needed to ‘live out the confusions until they became clear‘.
No and me had a torturous relationship. Similar to the one that yes and me shared which was unpleasant to say the least. I don’t know and me were the best. So comfortable, so safe. So non-committing. It infuriated everyone and comforted me. Pick a side, they said. Make a choice! Stand by your word! Stop hanging around on the wall. The wall, though, felt clear of strife and conflict. Sometimes courage mixed with stupidity allowed me to pick one side. After numerous occasions of choosing the wrong team, unwittingly, and winding up at the raw end of the situation, I allowed the tumultuous and controversial bonds to persist. They thrived in the confusion and the reluctance.
I have ranted about this before but I don’t think I am ready to shut up entirely yet.
I am terrified to read the comments in most articles. Some tweet threads can be scary, too. There is just so much spite, hatred and malaise there; it makes me uneasy. Uneasy that we are willing to dismiss each other’s opinions so easily. Uneasy cause we have not been taught how to dissent well enough. Uneasy that all this anger is being shielded under free speech.
The responses, often, aren’t articulate counter replies (which I have no problem with). But, instead allegations and abuses are hurled at each other. What defines one’s identity is marred. It forces many to retreat and feel ashamed. We seem to not be able to establish any dialogue with each other. With language like this, I cannot imagine civil discussions. Forget intellectually eye opening ones. We have become so frigid and rigid in our beliefs that reason, logic or even merely another’s opinion don’t matter. It is disturbing for me to imagine a world where everyone speaks but no one is really talking.
I am developing a blanket policy not to read comments on articles online. My poor heart is incapable of handling the brutal blows humans are dishing out to humans in these “free” spaces.
Maybe my civil refusal to engage in dialogue is as bad as the other side that yells obscenities. I don’t know.
Some memories are too precious or horrible to be captured on camera. But those ones stuck around as well. I realised I got visions of these memories from time to time. I remembered how his jacket tore at that junction. I remembered when they fought like fools outside Sangeet. I remembered the many movies at Sangeet Theatre. Sometimes when I passed the location which reminded me of a memory, the entire sequence would replay in my head. Almost like I was living the moment in retrospect. It left me feeling the same way I did when the memory first happened. This is not just the good memories of course. So then why do I take photos? Am I afraid that someday I won’t remember it spontaneously and it must be induced? Forced by the face I am making in the photo? I wonder.
The story will go on.
I am merely a delivery mechanism. A vessel to voice its emotions and feelings. A story, any story, every story, quite possibly did not start here and will not end here. I am just the vague in between halt. It enriched my life more than I brought it to life.
There is no right or wrong.
This story can be shaped by me in any way, sometimes with grace and elegantly; sometimes atrociously. I must allow my mind to flesh it out or end it in my mind. Unfortunately, often prematurely. The time comes when forces align, when stars shine and when the entire story falls in place. Even then, it is not the end. It is always in limbo.
‘Stories never end.’
Inspired from song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GC63HGcsfEg