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.

On growing up

Growing up, it seems, is a bit of a painful business, to put it lightly. An inspired person I know says that when he looks back at what he was an year ago, he can't believe how much better a person he has become. That's inspirational.

It seems that when you're young (er), you measure your change by the bulk events that occur in your life -- first relationships, the last few years of school, college, your first real jobs. What were you before, what are you after. As you get old (er) though, you see the more gradual changes; you feel how life has settled its heavy hands on your shoulders and pressed you down to the earth, telling you that some things are that you have to be 'adult about', and that now you are actually 'adult' enough to deal with them.

One of the toughest lessons you could learn is that the world doesn't, surprisingly, revolve around you (fancy that!). Younger, even the humblest among us thinks that, hey! This is all pivoting on me! I am the pivot! Everybody's waiting for me. But then you realise that they're not waiting for you, because everybody grew up. And maybe some of them lost their faith in you along the way, while you were busy being fabulous. And maybe you lost your faith in some of them. Maybe we all realised that we're alone in this journey, and that we have to build our survival skills alone.

This is a hard lesson, especially for us silly few who believe in rainbows and happy endings and good things for good people :) Our philosophy is broadly idealistic and highly impractical -- a beautiful world where everyone muddles through together and makes the most and best of every situation together. *Cue the violins*. It doesn't matter that we're practical young professionals with keen intellects and years of solid education backing us, we still believe in this crock. Perhaps we need to maintain some of this possibly destructive idealism, but it bites us, often right in the butt, when the rest of the world plows over it with its practical cynicism and its hard realities.

But that's ageing for you; when you can't escape it, you're old (er) enough to accept it for what it is -- the way of the world, and its people. 

In the middle of exams...

...and I just realised there is something SO satisfying about finishing a pen. Buahahaha.

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.