Mental funk and other junk

I had the worst case of Writer's Block over the past few weeks -- I kept wanting to pen some thoughts down, but all I could come up with were melancholy ramblings that are too morbid even for this blog (hah). This has been the result of a slight mental funk, I believe, the kind of thing that we fall into on and off due to small, seeming insignificant incidents that we shrug off and act mature about. These come back to haunt us. Such unfunky times are characterised by thinking, over-thinking, brooding, feeling generally sorry for self, and going on Facebook too much. Facebook is the worst thing that ever happened to us. Even I -- the world's greatest nerd and self-proclaimed bigger-than-Facebook person -- had to deactivate my account for a bit to deal with some snazzy exams. I've already checked the damn thing about 6-7 times TODAY to see if a new picture I've been tagged in has got more likes. The picture is cute, but that is far and away beyond my original point of Facebook being the bane of our damned (and I'm not swearing here) generation. Also, Whatsapp and its darn faulty time-stamps.

Anyway! Before this develops into the kind of full-blown rant that my Inner Goddess is oh-so-very capable of, let me just say that church and cookies got me through that mental funk. Church, because I believe and my faith is something that has always guided me when things go wrong. Cookies, because I baked them alone, dancing alone to some good 70s songs, gesticulating with my wooden spatula at my (very curious, and maybe a little frightened) dog, who was keeping me company. The cute little baby girl.

So, if the mental funk descends upon you, brood a little, as we all have the right to do, and focus on the things you have to get done in life. These things seem to fall by the wayside when we're too busy feeling spaced out and weirded with our own selves. Also, do something you enjoy, alone. Company is nice, but sometimes you need to do stuff for yourself, by yourself.

That's all, folks.

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.

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 :)

Halleluijah?

I sat down today to study some Puberty and Adolescence. I pushed the digital clock my room-mate and I read the time by every hurried morning two minutes before the bell behind the big plastic bottle of drinking water-which is still is use although it says "CRUSH AFTER USE" in big letters on the label. Distractions thus set aside, we proceeded.

It is a LITTLE hard to concentrate on Lutenizing Hormones and their functions however when yours ears are being veritably ASSAULTED by booming music accomapanied by a voice singing " For the lord is my tower..." or something along those lines. A retreat you see is going on in the college chapel.

Brother Joseph I believe...miraculous victorious.

I could.not.study. I could not think. I listen as the singing segues in to a barrage of voices...Brother's rising voice, magnetic, spell-binding. Accompanying, the gradually rinsing voices of the congregation. Praise you Lord. Thank you Je-sus. Haleluijah. And as I re-write the names of tongue-twisting hormones all over my notes, I can see it. The up-raised hands, the closed hands, that feeling of power trembling through the air and always, ALWAYS, Brother's voice in your head. Creeping through you while the oragn music hammers against your skull. You are powerless. And suddenly it seemed so calculated to me. The rising voice and the matching music. The people blindly responding. Because blind it is, your intellect does not function, you react instinctively like a trained animal to its master's call.

How would I know? I've been there, a very simillar retreat. I only went because I would have got hell ( ha ha) from our hostel warden if I hadn't. And I, the skeptic, felt the same as them. The pain in my side was healed by The Spirit and I as I closed my eyes,trembling because I felt something completely out-worldly, I knew that some thing was going on.

Brother was walking around, going up to the people who seemed a little skeptical, their eyes still open. Let God speak to you he would whisper, give in, give in, my child. And they would. They'd drop in to a damn dead faint right there. All of them, like flies.

I closed my eyes tighter because I did not want that man anywhere near me. Nowhere near me. Because I knew at that moment that if he touched me I would be out. It as frightening, I was terrified. of losing control, of giving in to something I could not by any means explain.

Now I think. What was it? Is it really the spirit. Is it our mind, telling us, do it, give over. Is it brother, the miraculous healer who says don't praise him, it's all Je-sus. Is it just psychosis? What is this faith? And I don't question because I don't believe. I believe in a God who can do miracles. I believe in a God who gave me the mind to ask these questions and this soul which refuses to bend easily.

What I might not strictly believe in are these people. Who might do this today. And tomorrow spurn a beggar or force a Bhuddist to convert if he wants to keep his rented home. That's what I don't believe in.