The little voice

It's always whispering,
Muttering curses, little bits of
Self-flagellation.
It's soft, and often hides
Around company, shy,
Doesn't like to be shown-off much.

It's a nag, though! Constant,
Creeping,
Inspired, with an Imagination
That is vivid, artistic
Almost!

I shut it up, swat at it,
Tell it to eff off,
And it retreats, for a bit,
When the sun shines and the grey cells
Stay busy.

But back in the quietude,
Its favourite hunting-ground,
It springs,
Vicious, like a marauding
Predator, on my dreams.

The happiness space

"You need to be happy with yourself to be happy with other people", a smart and wonderful person said today. This was amid a relatively philosophical discussion, and it stopped me in my ruminative tracks, as it were. Happy with yourself. I have always been happy with myself, at least, for as long as I remember -- those days, when I was asked if I was content, I would immediately say yes, much to everyone else's surprise. Not many people seemed happy with their lot in Life.

To say that has changed seems to signal a shift in the planes of my existence. Perhaps this discontent signifies that we have started challenging ourselves unnecessarily, creating discontent. Or that we have become older, with more responsibilities and more reasons to realise how much life sucks, and how unfair this whole damn thing is to all but a lucky few.

But mostly I think it's because we rob ourselves of our simplicity -- we pack on other things. We strap on expectations of others, societal norms, "personal improvement", work "goals", career "aspirations", and we lose sight of important things, like our inner peace. And the ability to have a quiet moment.

And worse, we make lacklustre decisions that we are verree likely to regret later. They are not bad or foolish decisions, just awfully boring, seemingly "necessary" ones. These often leave us muddling through to "finish up", even if we just want to say screw it, I'm not doing this crap.

But to give our sad selves some credit, it seems that as we grow older, the world around us, the way our attachments change in their own spheres, the awareness of aging and the terrible bloody banality of have-to-do-no social engagements (peppered with inane questions and ridiculous small-talk) slowly attack our IP. Or perhaps it is our lack of IP that causes us to be that affected by this agglomerated melancholy.

I suppose the bottom line is that we have to build our own happiness. I feel lists might help, and organization. Smiling at yourself and telling yourself that no, you are prettier than them, and that no, you started this, now you'll finish it. It means beating down the negative sentiments that dog us about our incompetence, unacceptability, unloveability, undesirability, etc. And I really think it entails a whole lot of not taking yourself too seriously, and not taking all but a very few very seriously.

 It's a bit of an effort, but if we can achieve (or re-achieve) that happiness with who we are, mad flaws and all, we might find that our reactions to those nasty little curve balls Life seems to throw at us are better, more positive, and definitely simpler. We might find that we no longer walk around with bright smile and a slightly cloudy heart (note the clever weather analogy).

If you still can't find that happinness, though, looks like the helpful folk at freaking wikipedia are willing to lend a happy hand:

http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Happy-Being-Yourself

Move over, all existential philosophers who ever wrote tomes on how to be happy with oneself. Wikhow will put all you fellows to shame.

Just a thought.

The world will be strewn with people you could not save.

All the country's a stage...

I went to watch a play today, and found myself thinking. The customary announcement "ladies and gentlemen, please stand for the national anthem." rang out and, like well-trained automatons, we rose. No one sang of course, who does that? The hall was dark, but everybody would hear and know that you care and that you're actually standing because of some sense of patriotism, and not because everyone else is doing it and you don't care enough not to.

As I listened to the well-done instrumental version of Sri Lanka Matha, almost literally twiddling my thumbs, the thought popped into my head that I had recently read some raging rhetoric on how language-biased our Sinhalese national anthem is, given that many Sri Lankans are not Sinhala-speakers. This hadn't really made an impression on me and I had instead felt sort of vaguely offended and pro a multilingual Sri Lanka Matha. 

That day, in the dark, I tried to imagine I was a Sri Lankan Tamil. Born speaking Tamil and surrounded by Sinhala-only renditions of everything ranging from administrative machinery to my own national anthem.

 Then I tried being a Muslim, born speaking that dialect of Tamil that Sri Lankan Moors speak. For a second, I felt vaguely uncomfortable, like something I didn't know existed within me had shifted. Then the moment broke and I thought to myself that if I were the sort of "tolerant Colombo Tamil" I know, I wouldn't have wasted a thought on it, I assumed.

The most startling realisation for me was that I didn't know, and couldn't quite imagine, what  it is like to be the other, Because as gung-ho as we all are about national integration and unity, mainstream Sinhala thought points at everyone "else" to be the "others". That is why, I think, even the thought of a multilingual national anthem seems mildly preposterous to many of us, and is casually shoo-shooed by most "tolerant Colombo Sinhalese".

...and all the men and women merely players.

I also realised that I didn't know why I was standing. I believe it was out of some love I feel for my country that I definitely wouldn't term "patriotism", but instead a sense of home that is unshakably bound with Sri Lanka.

For the rest, I wonder why they stood. I also experienced the passing thought that if I didn't want to stand up for the national anthem, for whatever reason, I should be able to do so. I felt though, that if I did, I would be looked at quite askance by all the tolerant folk filling up that darkened auditorium.

Bits and bobs

You know those times when you realise that you were wrong about fundamental things? It's a strange sensation. I think the mind takes time to adjust to it. Instead of acclimatizing and evolving ways by which it can deal with the situation, the brain goes in to overdrive. I don't know if it's always the case, but mine starts sprouting bits and bob of popular culture and oft-heard adages. 

"The best laid plans of mice and men..."..."I tried my best, but I guess my best wasn't good enough.."... "What doesn't kill you makes you stoooongerrr...", etc. 

It's like a constant cacophony inside your head, with things you always knew coming back to haunt you and tell you that you've gone and put your foot in it this time. The corny song verses are the worst, yurgh. They even come with the accompanying bars of music. After a point, you realise you need to tune out, or slowly go mad. 

Here’s to them

Of the long talks and the longer walks,

The gut-busting laughs and nasty on-dits,

The jokes that only they understood.

Here’s to love, the sort that surely must

Have engendered envy; the sort that

Sometimes is surprising is even allowed.

Here’s to happiness, sorrow, anger, lust;

Extremes, always, hardly tempered,

Hardly neutral.

Here’s to what was – here’s to what seemed

Eternal.

Here’s to the good times, the bad times, even the worst of times,

But always times,

Always tangible, like live wires, like electricity;

Never dull, never placid

Or painstakingly normal.

Things that make you question.

You can be in the middle of the most mundane, routine, regular day when an existential crisis hits you. Often, it's the strange, small things that make you question the validity of the life you live, or the work you do, the routine you have chosen to control you. This is all despite having made a conscious decision to adhere to that routine and disregard all the rhetoric on how you should give up your city job and chase your dreams all the way to Tuscany, on the back of a handsome, leather-jacket-clad stranger's bike :)

Small things, indeed, like a routine survey that questions if you feel content in the workplace and if it aligns with your long-term plans for life. Or like an in-the-middle-of-the-rush moment when you find yourself staring out of the windows of the city's tallest buildings, looking down at Colombo's twinkling lights and wondering how you ended up becoming something you had one day vowed you would never become.

Maybe "crisis" is too strong a word -- I think I'll stick to "wonderings," although, of course, that is not a word, per se :)

Thoughts over tea

Have been meeting some different types recently, due to some new developments in life. Quite a few of them work in NGOs and research organizations -- the horrors that well-heeled corporates shudder at. Low pay! Humanitarian aid! Run! :)

One of these is a tiny young woman who's currently involved in community rehabilitation in Jaffna. She sat across us at the table in that ragged canteen as we, a motley group of 20-somethings from weird and wonderful walks of life, discussed life, love and, well, boys, over hot tea and helapa. I freaking love helapa. She told us about her work in the North and about how words can barely express how beautiful the land is, and how interesting and open the people are. She's wiry and energetic and as she spoke with her hands flying and her eyes glittering (seriously), you could see how excited she was about it, how enthralled by the sheer awesomeness of the life she's living.

While a part of me was truly envious that you could be so in love with what you do, a part of me was fascinated -- what is it like to be so passionate about something? 

Fresh-faced

Still hope there
Still dreams allowed,
Seems a while since
That was a thing
To be.

I am cuckoo alone.

These few days...I have been feeling mildly psychotic. Psychotic not in terms of actual psychosis but in the sense that I feel my being is being slowly pulled in two dozen different directions at the same time, each requiring a specific, measured, and urgent amount of energy and success to be achieved. This feels like some noxious by-product of growing up and turning adult, and doing all the things "you're supposed to do."

Through it all, however, I have come to the happy conclusion that not only can you please everybody, including, very much, yourself, you also cannot count on everyone being as understanding about your not meeting expectations as YOU would be, were they in the same circumstances. All that 'be kind because everyone is fighting a harder plan' biz seems to be a bunkum in real life. I suppose it's more difficult to acclimatize to the fact when you generally make an effort to be "the understanding friend."

Also, success has suddenly become an internally-measured factor. Yes, let's just all open up about it -- for the greater part of our lives, success is as how the world sees you --parents, teachers, peers. If they are successful enough in inculcating their well-meaning ideas of how successful you should be, soon you absorb it in to your world view..and voila! Le stress!

Sometimes I wonder how some people balance. Especially those super mom types with irritating husbands and crying children and nagging in-laws and let's-meet-up-for-high-tea-at-Galle-Face-Hotel lady friends. I suppose they have learned the lesson of how to achieve enough inner peace and calm to manage life and all its madness. To think I used to laugh at folk who used that cliched phrase, "24 hours in not enough." Now I don't know if I wish there were more than 24 hours or if I'm glad because the requisite hours of rest allow everyone to shut their traps, including my inner psycho goddess. Who I'm sure is gorgeous and well-educated, but can turn in to a raving lunatic in constant PMS mood sometimes.

"My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect, and I, too, speak with with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone."

The Madman, Khalil Gibran.

Ispot on, old chap.

A long post by an indecisive individual

Decisions -- they make us. They take us to where we are going. And often if we have a real problem with the way Life has turned out, or the hand Life has dealt us, or the way People possibly view us, it's good to just look at decisions, because there you'll find your answers and an admonishment for blaming Life and Other People. I admire people who are decisive. They seem to be the type of individuals who go through life with so much grit, always knowing which way they are going (though not always sure if that is the right way). They make choices fully aware that these may screw them up -- but they don't, because they make them with real conviction. Never half-baked ideas or "OK let's try it like this this time." They waver, but momentarily; purpose follows them like a puppy with an affection complex "pant, pant, here I am, I'm cute, pick me up." :P

How do these people do it? I find myself floundering over the slightest thing, and worst of all, making decisions and then thinking "well, I'm sure that was for the best anyway," when the choice seems like the easy way out, the path already trodden by a million different others, the boring choice, the safe choice that's completely normal and expected. You see, there's nothing wrong with the choice, but it's just so not-happening. In The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes, a book that got under my skin in several ways and made me think about my life (not in the most pleasant way), the protagonist Tony Webster talks about how he had lived a perfectly acceptable and "peaceable" life-time...but how little he had made happen in his life. The whole narrative seemed to me like a eulogy for settling, ordinary decisions, and mediocrity more than anything else.

How decisions mould us, though. Makes you think about the series of events that has led to this point of life and time, and what could have been (to be avoided at all costs), who is in your life and who has had to leave it, who you have cut out for various reasons. But that's change, and another story all together. But I do, I do admire people who can make spot decisions, who do not think that OK is all right, and that maybe that could be done next week...because the thing we do not realise is that this particular moment in time is never, ever coming back again. This chance is critical in that the ripples this stone's-throw cause can be caused by no other stone thrown at any other angle. I wish I was like that. Instead, life for me seems to be a series of "maybe-next-times", something that can get tiresome when you're not tired enough to think of nothing.

“What did I know of life, I who had lived so carefully? Who had neither won nor lost, but just let life happen to him? Who had the usual ambitions and settled all too quickly for them not being realised? Who avoided being hurt and called it a capacity for survival? Who paid his bills, stayed on good terms with everyone as far as possible, for whom ecstasy and despair soon became just words once read in novels? One whose self-rebukes never really inflicted pain?"

All these thoughts, however, come on the back of a really good day, so the vagaries of life is another thing to think about. Brings to mind what my mother had recently said to a friend who had hinted at the futility of life; that, in the words of Lord Buddha, nothing is permanent -- not the good times, nor the bad.

Feel good

Feel good about yourself, I say. Revel in your achievements, no matter how small. Because every little success you achieve on your own is something that no one can take away :)

Setback, or sign?

Pop culture - and Fabebook bumper stickers - tell us that setbacks are to be ignored. That these are stepping stones to those elusive "dreams" we're to follow to comlpete our lives. On the other hand, you have The Sign Theory, which states, quite emphatically, that "maybe he left you for a reason...," and "...failure is the lord's way of giving you another chance...," penning setbacks as a cosmic signal for the need to change something. This is confusing, I feel.
These people need to choose and make a damned informed decision.
Because surely, the way you view a roadblock, or a failure, or an FML moment, can change your consequent steps and the way you continue to deal with it.
I personally feel pressured by pop psychology. It has defined me, like most of my peers have been defined by it. We are the generation of beginning-to-love-your-curves and share-your-patriotism-on-Facebook.
But pop psychology is referred to as that for a very good, very literal reason - it's popular and that's about all. Nothing and no one ratifies it or controls it and it grows like a sprawling, colourful, mauling monster of silly ideas culled from average fiction and teenage movies.

It does not give good advice, I feel. 

Thoughts on thoughtfulness

It feels like thoughtfulness has become such a rarity that when it does pop up in real life, it's looked askance at, and even vilified. Most people cannot IMAGINE that a thoughtful word or gesture can be possible without a lurking, evil ulterior motive. This is a likely a reflection of society (thu. I spit on you) perceives the concepts of give and take. You can't possibly give something without wanting something, or someone, in return.
Social analysis  aside, I've come across very  very few thoughtful people. There are kinds people, nice people, people who are fun to be around, etc., but very few genuinely thoughtful folk. Having spent the major part of my life surrounded by family friends who were great in every way, all that is good, and kind and supportive, but no necessarily thoughtful  I was surprised when I went to college. I met K, the kind of person who bakes for elders' homes and brings you flowers on a random days, just because. It was lovely. And it inspired me, not a particularly thoughtful person, to try and be a bit more thoughtful toward people.
But I realised that it's the sort of trait that is best seen in people in whom it is inborn. Else, your gestures feel stupid, look a little stilted and are soon discontinued.

But, by the by in life, I have the luck to come across such people in unexpected places. It never fails to surprise me, or to make me smile. It always make me realise, also, that sweetness, and its appreciation, is an essential for a content life.

They're confused

They want to know why I prefer
To read
And miss the dazzling fleshy
Make-up pretty men and women
In orchestrated beauty
Onscreen
In CGI! With tigers and
Soundtracks and action and
Noise and vivid sex and
Blood-red blood and made-up
Glory.

But in my pages, the browned
Worn, ratty pages, my people
Live.
They breathe -- the dwarves and
leather-clad sex gods. They mimic
The voices inside my head.
The prancing young girl
Grows
In my mind's eye
To dazzling young woman, to mother,
To crone.
The men -- they're mine, they're created
But I give life
like God!
I draw breath from my being and
In my pages
They live.

And nobody else see them
Like me.
They know them, but my people
They're difference from other people's people.
My places are the same, but different.
My moats are bigger
My meadow is a different green and my busy sidewalk
Has different faces, holding coffee cups,
Striding busily.

So my pages, my worn, ratty
Thumbed-through volumes, my dusty
Shelves of Annes and Aidans and
Janes and Darcy and Lalithas and
Ford and the Millenn
ium Falcon, they live.
They live and so I live to live
With them.

And everybody else remains
Confused :)

The master craftsman

Everybody has an alter-ego they present to the world. It speaks in a certain way to certain people, it addresses the poor in a certain way and the rich and influential in another. It has certain opinions on religion and world politics and what this world is coming to. And it always has a certain way of sounding --intelligent, or resigned, or world-weary, or cute.

We all have a set of labels we keep in our pockets, ready to slip in to our fingers at the correct given situation, ready to be quickly slapped on to our foreheads. These labels define us as we would be defined. Appropriate to situation and person, the label comes off and on.

We decide what best to wear to suit the most ubiquitous label or if to change attire and play around with several labels, play chameleon. We can;t quite decide who takes our breath away, but we decide which ones we keep, which ones show the most promise and which ones show the highest likelihood of our greatest future happiness.

We each have a justification for why we are, what we do, how we dress, what we talk about. This explanation is detailed for some, simple and easy to understand for others...but always ready at hand in case someone bothers to ask

.

We are hardly ever ourselves. We are a careful alter-ego of our reality, masterfully crafted to only show what we need the world to see.

A thought on peace of mind

At the outset, one could imagine that peace of mind doesn't have much of a place in life anymore. Everywhere I look, there are people walking, talking, dancing, spending the evening with friends, going out for a beer, catching up, gymming, hitting yoga classes, doing zumba, taking time off, crunching at work, grabbing breakfast, getting coffee with the girls, and stuff, and more stuff. It's always funny to hear someone say something along the lines of "oh I have to do that, that's where I get some peace of mind", or "oh I can't make it today, need some time for myself and a book." But it's there, as elusive as it may sound, most people have their refuge -- the place they go to just let go, and forget, mostly, I guess.

But the thing with this peace of mind business --  it's a grand irony. We get attached to these essential refuges or these things (or worse, people) who are supposed to be our grand getaway from the mad rush of real life. And the thing with attachment, the thing that really bites, is that it always, always disappoints. Everybody and everything will, at some point, disappoint you. That's not even cynicism, that's pure reality with a good dose of old-fashioned irony thrown in for measure.

People will act up, love will vacillate, families will throw tantrums. Gyms will close, friends will leave, the walkways of your haunts will be swallowed up for development. The trees you love will be cut down, your dog will die (GAHHHHHHHH). At some point, your anchors will all bob loosely in the water and leave you floating in distress, with no aim, and worse, angry with change and the fact that you lost out on the one thing that kept you together.

So, what to do? Geez, I don't know. I stick by my belief that the only way to rid ourselves of this vicious cycle is exactly as the Buddha preached -- remove yourself from attachment; find a place within yourself where you can retreat to, where this peace of mind is neutral to external shocks. Basically, find inner peace. Peace that doesn't rely on unpredictable props.

But, alas and stuff. This, as I have found out the hard way, is difficult. Most of us need something to hang on -- probably why we most of us still far away from reaching any stage of enlightenment. So, while I think this is an excellent strategy, and pat myself on the back for realizing this, the next time I want some peace of mind I will still be heading to my bed, surrounded by my loving family, and curling up with a good book.

A great hope fell/I am now an insomniac

It's quite funny that I have progressed from find-me-a-moving-car-with-air-conditioning-and-I'll-fall-asleep-like-a-baby-with-my-mouth-open to closet insomniac and bad dreamer. These days, with changes in work times and late shifts, sleep has been elusive, and for some reason, dreams have been a little less than pleasant.

It's just like everything else in life -- somethings you think will never leave you -- sleep, people, feelings, idealism. Then suddenly, things change, life gets a little difficult and you're struggling to keep up with everybody else and what you're supposed to be -- and you realize that small things have changed. You spend a little less time with real people, you stop worrying about what everyone else is talking about, and you try to stop expecting more than this from other people.

But I miss my sleep, I love my sleep! It was one of those things that I could boast about -- oh dude I can sleep anywhere! Ok I still can, but still. And I hate bad dreams. For the better part of my life, I was hardly plagued by nightmares, my nightly ventures were a sunny reflection of my spoilt existence. I had the occasional tsunami dream (for some reason) and sudden LTTE-attacks dream, but that was it. There was the one time I saw someone hacked to death, but well.
Now suddenly, I wake up with a start and thank God profusely that what I just experienced viscerally was just a dream, only a dream. It's worrying.

Random Emily Dickinson thought I picked up. Wanted to FB status this, but that would be followed up with a volley of well-meaning "Are you ok?"s from too many good people. This, I cannot be bothered dealing with. On another thought, I need to find more Emily Dickinson...she's strangely elusive on online poetry portals.

"A great Hope fell
There was no noise
The ruin was within"

For the whole poem, try

http://hayquaker1.blogspot.com/2011/09/great-hope-fell-emily-dickinson.html

On that happy note, Happy March, and all that.

History

Isn't just mad monarchs and their fallen kingdoms,

Conspiracies, lies, long-lost love and monuments past;

It’s lakes – and people giggling on their banks.

It’s the sea – and fireworks on the beach

On New Year’s eve.

It’s the sunset – and watching, rapt.

It’s the supermarket around the corner – and swapping credit cards

When the balance runs out.

It’s the scraggly mutt on the road – and taking it to the vet together.

It’s the roadside biryani spot – and a hurriedly-grabbed lunch

Before heading back to work.

It’s looking at a pillar, a pillow,

A tree-top or a tee-shirt and

Feeling a rush of memories

Of things past, but not forgotten.

Soundtrack

I want to say something like "Soundtrack of my life", but I'm holding myself back from the cheesiness :P



Great music from an Aussie band that's recently shot to fame. If I'm not wrong, this is from Temper Trap's 2009 album.

The busy life

The world spins madly

In a rush of change

And in a whirl of excitement

And new things, new people

New me, new life.

The clock holds not

Enough time, but the body

Moves, incessantly, thriving

On the pace.

Loving it.

But the quiet moments,

The little talk, and lots of

Feeling, get missed out on,

And the old me misses them

Like the old me misses you.

Reconciling

Sometimes finding the line is difficult, because the line between "right" and "wrong" is almost fictional, and is always completely subjective. When making decisions, I find myself toeing the line with unease, a part of me firmly grounded in the strong moralistic teachings that have were faithfully ground in to my by our trusty missionary service, a part of me aching to break free of all this virtuous crap and be the free-thinker that my education and life experience have taught me to be.

Perhaps it is this dichotomy that holds the seed for most of the inter-generational conflict we see today, not counting the internal conflicts that go unmentioned. There's such a tug-of war between the indoctrinated beliefs that we were weaned on and the iconoclastic culture that the Age of Internet has brought us. Where is the line, then? How do we reconcile ourselves?

Perhaps it's east to ignore the struggle--I know plenty of young, educated minds that firmly abhor all things outside belief. "prudes" we call them, why can't they live a little? Maybe this is just their way of dealing with the conflict within themselves, surely it's easier than questioning yourself constantly, God knows. 

Then there's the other lot--the smokers and jokers. The ones the aunties talk about, the ones you whisper about, while secretly wishing you had half the guts to do something that wild. Again, a great way of dealing with, beginning and ending with that beautiful sentiment: fuck this, fuck this all.

But for the rest of us, constantly questioning Life, belief and reconciliation of the self with the two, it's a long and arduous journey towards gaining some peace of mind. Fuck this, I say, fuck this all :)