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 :)

What makes an year

An year is made of

• Change, above and beyond everything else. Seeing it, gritting your teeth against and finally accepting it for the inevitable fact of life it is.
• Decisions, no matter how big. The ones over which you ruminateand spend sleepless nights thinking about, or the ones which happen in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a "holy shit I did it!" kind of feeling. The ones which, no matter what the outcome, are always the right ones. The ones which lead you to now, this moment.
• Love, third but never last on the list. Big love for small children. Affectionate love for the goofy pet. Troubled, oft-tired sibling love. Surprising surges of love for parents, during those moments of realization of how much they do for you. Sweet, constant love for friends. Mad, passionate love for the other half your divided soul. Sweet, comfortable "let's do this for a hell of a long time more" love for the same.
• Friendships, old and new. Surprising discoveries about both.
• Happiness, from simples joys and big achievments.
• Sorrow, from inner realizations or senseless outside violence.
• Anger, at wrongdoings, mostly to others. At helplessness, mostly your own. 
• Family, constant. 
• God, and the untenable link he has over everything we do, unfortunately. Sigh.
• Nature, beautiful, the sea, the beaches, yellow flowers in the garden and blue, blue skies. Sunshine. Waves. Lights over a lake at night.
• Work, hopefull something you like. If you're lucky, something you suddenly discover you like.
• Booze, in high-to-moderate levels.
• Realizations, preferably about yourself, generally not too complimentary, but usually very revealing.
• Art, in any form.
• Books, in every form. From vampires to Jamaican plantation slaves. Never discrimate!
• Food...healthy, unhealthy, the whole lot. 
• People, strange acquaintances, those you never want to see again, hesitant friends, instant dislikes, confusion, struggle, always very interesting.
• And contentment, hopefully, that this year's been OK. 
• And hope, that there will always, always be something to hope for.
• And a quiet sense of achievement, because you've come through 365 days of your life again, unscathed (almost).

Good new year's :)

Making it count

I just stumbled across a blog post by a friend -- a good friend, in fact, someone I haven't had a nice. long jaw with in a long time. She says that she "stumled upon" her life's passion, and goes on to say how nice that is, given that so many search for what they want to do for so long. This kind of reassured me.

Because I logged on because I was feeling decidedly maudlin, the sort of gigantic rain-cloud-suddenly-above-my-head feeling that I don't usually allow to settle on me for too long. Any number of reasons are behind this, I know; new work hours, change, and overall, a general feeling of being chronically unable to make good decisions and get my shit together in a constructive way.

My editor at work has the most interesting desk--she travels extensively and has a miniature totem pole-like thing sitting next to a colurful creamic bowl that looks like something Machu Pichu would have in abundance. Around her desk are little inspirational quotes, printed out neatly and pinned to the spongy fabric of her workstation. One says, "If you think you can, or think you can't, you're right." This has, for some reason, been haunting me over the past few days.

Perhaps the greatest fear we have is that, through our sheer inability to make use of it, our much-touted potential will go waste. Because everybody obviously has greatness, that much you have to believe...we may not all be created "equal" but we surely all have potential...even the child with Down's Syndrome or the torso-only beggar who drags himself through the streets of dirty Colombo. It's always just a case of tapping that potential, which in turn would depend on the tools one has to do so.

Some of us have hardly any tools, but strive and find more. Some have, and make maximum use of. Others, just are. They don't seek, they don't maximize, they "go with the flow" (ye grand excuse) and "hope for the best" (ye second grand excuse) and watch while Life takes them wherever she wills. At the end of the day, these people, who are really cowards in pretty clothes, can always say that things happen for a reason and that if they didn't make up to all they could have been, well that must be Karma, no?