Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Quiz 1

Today is so not a writing day, so let's all do a quiz! Copy the following and post it into a comment in reply to this blog.

Favorite food?

Least Favorite food?

Can you cook?

Favorite colour?

Do you have a good sense of humor?

Favorite music?

Would you rather stay in or go out?

Are you easily jealous?

Horror or comedy?

What do you like best about me?

What don't you like about me?

Are you romantic?


Do you believe in...

Ghosts?:

Life on other planets?:

Love at first sight?:

That there is one person for everyone?:

That a guy should pay all the time?:

In abortion?:

In having a plan for everything?:

In helping the poor?:



Testing 1 2 3

Hello all ::ninja.. I am IQ's assistant, so just wanted you guys to know she's fast asleep at the moment and if you're missing her, she will be around after 3-4 hours.

Thank you :$


Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Introspection

Are you an introvert or extrovert?

This is one of those questions I dislike when they crop up on surveys, questionnaires, and quizzes. I remember once writing down that I am an ambivert, in an essay assignment way back in high school. Needless to say, my teacher circled the word. Apparently, she thought I was making it up. I was flummoxed. I wouldn't just put a word down in an English essay just because I decided I wanted to invent my own words - I distinctly remember having read this word in a dictionary.

This was the same teacher who, three years later, ended up calling me the "super-editor" and gave me bonus marks for correcting her errors.

But, very recently, the issue of what makes a person an introvert and an extrovert again came to mind. I have read many difference interpretations of how these terms are measured and applied to individuals, and yet, we always want to compare these specifically to oneself and to the people around us.

I would say that I am an introvert - I dwell in my own head and in my own personal space more often than I dwell in the external space. I think, alot. I prefer peace and quiet rather than crowds and noise. I've always had a dream to live, relatively isolated, on my own dream island, replete with small cabin, forests, beach, mountains and...silence.

But then again, I love people. I am a pretty friendly and sociable person, and I have no qualms about speaking to strangers and dealing with crowds. I love performing in front of audiences, and giving presentations (as long as I am comfortable with the subject matter, of course).

And I'm confident with myself, to the extent that I don't feel that I need to hide myself, my thoughts, my feelings - to an extent. Take for example, my openness discussing all of this on my blog.

Which brings me to the idea of what demarcates the boundary between introversion or extroversion - if these indeed are the terminology that can be attributed to the differences in a person's ability to express themselves outwardly.

In my position of being open on my blog: it comes down to the fact that I don't give a damn what other people think about what I think. So, is it a matter of introversion - that I don't care what others think and hence isolate myself from feedback. Or extroversion - that I don't care, because I am so secure with myself that I remain open in thought, for all to see.

And yet, in the fact that I entertain comments and feel happy when someone comments to whatever it is I choose to share, I do care, don't I?

You can tell that I am a confused soul on this matter of introversion and extroversion, can't you? Subsequently, I've done some more browsing on the matter and I came across this: 10 Myths About Introverts. (written by Carl King, author of "Sos You're A Creative Genius, Now What?")

Myth #1 – Introverts don’t like to talk.
This is not true. Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won’t shut up for days.

This is totally and entirely true for me, beginning to end.

Myth #2 – Introverts are shy.
Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an Introvert, just start talking. Don’t worry about being polite.

Again true. I am not a shy person and definitely not afraid of people. I am, however, quiet (see Myth #1), and because of my inclination to spend more time in my own head, and remain quiet, people may misconstrue my lack of interaction as shyness.  I can be at the other end and totally garrulous and sociable.

Myth #3 – Introverts are rude.
Introverts often don’t see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest. Unfortunately, this is not acceptable in most settings, so Introverts can feel a lot of pressure to fit in, which they find exhausting.

I am not rude. I am probably the most pleasant person ever. But, erm, yes I can be rude. I don't resort to useless profanity in trying to put down someone or make them feel stupid; I utilize my ice-cold and blade-sharp tongue (figuratively speaking) to cut down people with reason and facts. Fits right in with wanting to be real and honest. 

Myth #4 – Introverts don’t like people.
On the contrary, Introverts intensely value the few friends they have. They can count their close friends on one hand. If you are lucky enough for an introvert to consider you a friend, you probably have a loyal ally for life. Once you have earned their respect as being a person of substance, you’re in.

True, true, true!

Myth #5 – Introverts don’t like to go out in public.
Nonsense. Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for Introverts.

I'm all for recharging, yo, but, yeeeah, I am an outside person. 

Myth #6 – Introverts always want to be alone.
Introverts are perfectly comfortable with their own thoughts. They think a lot. They daydream. They like to have problems to work on, puzzles to solve. But they can also get incredibly lonely if they don’t have anyone to share their discoveries with. They crave an authentic and sincere connection with ONE PERSON at a time.

This. Is. SO. Me. (:

Myth #7 – Introverts are weird.
Introverts are often individualists. They don’t follow the crowd. They’d prefer to be valued for their novel ways of living. They think for themselves and because of that, they often challenge the norm. They don’t make most decisions based on what is popular or trendy.

YES I am weirdddd, and everything this thingy just said.

Myth #8 – Introverts are aloof nerds.
Introverts are people who primarily look inward, paying close attention to their thoughts and emotions. It’s not that they are incapable of paying attention to what is going on around them, it’s just that their inner world is much more stimulating and rewarding to them.

Me!

Myth #9 – Introverts don’t know how to relax and have fun.
Introverts typically relax at home or in nature, not in busy public places. Introverts are not thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies. If there is too much talking and noise going on, they shut down. Their brains are too sensitive to the neurotransmitter called Dopamine. Introverts and Extroverts have different dominant neuro-pathways. Just look it up.

"Home or nature" - right on. I do like thrills though ...just not all the time. Too much talking and noise - I definitely shut down. 

Myth #10 – Introverts can fix themselves and become Extroverts.
A world without Introverts would be a world with few scientists, musicians, artists, poets, filmmakers, doctors, mathematicians, writers, and philosophers. That being said, there are still plenty of techniques an Extrovert can learn in order to interact with Introverts. (Yes, I reversed these two terms on purpose to show you how biased our society is.) Introverts cannot “fix themselves” and deserve respect for their natural temperament and contributions to the human race. In fact, one study (Silverman, 1986) showed that the percentage of Introverts increases with IQ.

With me. Enough said. :B



Thursday, May 24, 2012

Parenting


Inspiration comes from many places. Today mine comes from Kiara's blog. That stanza is one of many in her latest poem.

I've been so inundated with work lately that I've hardly spared a breath, nor had a breath to spare, to pause and write for my blog. But I still browse around the bloggers world. Subsequently I landed on Kiara's poem, and that one stanza is what I was all set to quote in the comment box in response to her post. I stopped myself as I found my thoughts widening and growing, as does a vine, and as it grasped a topic that I have frequently found my thoughts landing on, I thought this isn't comment material - for if it remained as such it would either become a overflowing essay or a restrained blurb which wouldn't go much into the full essence of the thought.

Although the poet might have written her poem with a different purpose and intent, I found myself taken by that stanza for the very reason that it reminded me of the transition between child and parent.

As we go through life, as a child, we most often encounter those moments wherein we contest the dictate of our parent(s). They tell us to do something, we most often have an urge to do otherwise. If they say go right, we want to go left, simply because we want to do what we want, not what someone else is telling us.

And as we continue growing, we might find ourselves thinking "I'll never be that way with my kids",  "I'm going to be a better friend to my kids", "I'll let my kids do what it is they want", "I won't boss them around and force them to follow what I want". We resolve that because we know what it is like to be a child and what is is that we opposed and why, that we will be the better parent.

I wonder, though, how often we realize only when we are a parent, that it isn't as easy as it may have seemed. Perhaps, we may have made mistakes as a child - run with the wrong crowd, being at the wrong place at the wrong time, following our own stubborn will to do as we please, only to regret the fact we did it.

Perhaps we let ourselves fall in love with the wrong person, only to break our heart. Perhaps we followed our will to do whatever we wanted in school, and ended up in a dead-end job. Or, put our money in the wrong investments, trusted the wrong people, didn't look both ways before crossing the street, nor looked before leaping.

Maybe when we become parents, that instinct to protect our child will overrule the resolves we may have made previously. We don't want our children to make the same mistakes we made. We want to give them a smoother path, a better life. Yet this instinct to protect comes to swords with the child's will to live as they please.

Maybe one day they will assert, "It's not fair! You got to do it when you were younger!" Maybe that's the whole cycle. We learn from our mistakes.

I have always averred that if and when I am a mother, I'll be my kids' best friend. And I must admit, I am pretty awesome with kids. But then, who knows what instincts may pop up when it's one of your own. It is an overwhelming thought; and I think in this case it might be better not to think too much but to go with the flow.

Yeaaah. Might already be too late on that point. ¬_¬

(Thank you Kiara!)

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Ey See

As the work day winds down, I slouch back in my chair, almost sliding out of it onto the floor, and stretch lazily from toe to fingertip.

Heat? What heat?

 I take in a mouthful of warm air and yawn. I've got a few hours to go and then I'm so out of there. I visualize myself swimming laps in a cool swimming pool, or racing my bike down the street while the air washes past my face, and stifle yet another yawn.

As I contemplate taking a walk outside and getting myself an ice cold drink, my coworker returns from a "walk" to the departments downstairs, a walk in hopes for some chance of cooler air, and she narrates a conversation she had while on the way back. "So D was like, WOW you know its HOT if IQ is HOT!" This being a proverbial elbow in the ribs at my cool temperament and low tolerance for cold.

"Yo," I replied, "I'm going down now, to inform her that IQ is ALWAYS hot *wink wink*"

(Apparently lame one-liners go hand in hand with sweltering weather.)

Anyways, we figured out how to get the AC (that we thought was pretty much nonexistent) going. For the duration of whatever remained of the day, that is.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Ode to the Chicken

This was meant to be my Mothers' Day post, but somehow I wasn't feeling up to the task on the day of. The topic rose again yesterday while talking to one of my friends, and he commented "chicken or the egg" to which I replied, "the chicken."

Now, I'm one of those superthinkers who can't let things alone, especially when they pose a challenge. I remember my astonishment when I was younger and confronted with this so called causality dilemma. Things which make you think outside the box always fascinate me. And so as I usually do, I get thinking and cranking out whichever thoughts my mind does, to lay out all the different possibilities and their consequences in order to find the answer.

I refused to research any findings that might have been published until I could be satisfied with finding my own solution to the puzzle. It's been a long while now since I did accomplish this task and I've never voiced it so I am sure that once I do there will be varying responses that will both accept and challenge what I assert as my answer.

So, since I have figured out the answer to the question, I decided I may as well finally see what the many answers at the back of the book say. So I google, and inevitably I land on my beloved Wiki.
 "To better understand its metaphorical meaning, the question could be reformulated as: "Which came first, X that can't come without Y, or Y that can't come without X?"

That couldn't have been better phrased for me to contest the idea that perhaps people have been approaching the question from the wrong angle.  The article on the chicken or the egg goes through philosophy, chemistry, biology,  evolution, and theology. And this is only a brief summary, mind you, compared to the vast material existing on the topic.

So we understand that we cannot have a chicken without an egg, and we cannot have an egg without a chicken. Now forget about the very idea of source of existence. What about the actual lifecycle of either? The idea of survival.

For, a chicken, from the moment it may be classified as a chicken, as opposed to an egg, can survive to the end of its lifecycle, independent of the egg. The egg, however, may survive, yet the chances are slim because the nature of the egg is such that its developmental survival depends on the chicken who brought it to life.

This is the nature of the Mother.

Consider twenty days of  incubation, and the fact that the species is a domesticated one, which means that they have a vested interest in raising their young. 

"The broody hen will stop laying and instead will focus on the incubation of the eggs (a full clutch is usually about 12 eggs). She will "sit" or "set" on the nest, protesting or pecking in defense if disturbed or removed, and she will rarely leave the nest to eat, drink, or dust-bathe. While brooding, the hen maintains the nest at a constant temperature and humidity, as well as turning the eggs regularly during the first part of the incubation."

The hen incubates, helps the chick to hatch out of its egg, clucking to stimulate the chick to break out, and after the egg is hatched, the chick then relies on the mother to protect and tend to it.


"The hen will usually stay on the nest for about two days after the first egg hatches, and during this time the newly hatched chicks live off the egg yolk they absorb just before hatching. After hatching, the hen fiercely guards the chicks, and will brood them when necessary to keep them warm, at first often returning to the nest at night. She leads them to food and water; she will call them to edible items, but seldom feeds them directly. She continues to care for them until they are several weeks old, when she will gradually lose interest and eventually start to lay again. "

It may be just another species, another animal that we just think of as food, but tell me how all of this cannot compare to the joy and tenderness a human mother has for its child. The very essence of what a chicken is and what an egg is is the relationship that exists between them, the mother and the child. When it comes to the idea of which came first, the question isn't "Which came first, X that can't come without Y, or Y that can't come without X?" but rather, which needs which to survive?







Thursday, May 17, 2012

May 17

Good morning world!

It just occurred to me that it is not the case wherever most of you are reading this. It will most likely be the afternoon, evening or even the eerie hours of the night, wherever and whenever you all choose to read this. No problemo, it is MY blog afterall and I'm writing this down for my own record of my experiences so you all are going to share my lovely morning with me. 

By now you're probably well acquainted with the waxing and waning of emotion that go along with my day to day personal narratives. Sometimes so full of exuberance, and sometimes so bereft of it. I have freaked out friends who, familiar with my optimistic side, are faced with a cynical side they've never encountered.

Well there is absolutely NO room for any negativity today because it is my my favourite number and favourite month. And it is beautiful outside.

Strangely, when I was down in the dumpster of emotion, it occurred to me how when we're sad we want to mope with the saddest songs and sulk with the worst glummest weather. And yet, strange enough for me, who the weather matches emotionally step for step, it was beautiful outside. And I couldn't see it. Nothing could persuade me that it was a beautiful day. Perhaps if I had stepped out and gone out in the sunshine and experienced the magic of the day, perhaps I might have been persuaded. But I refused to entertain any chance that I could see the beauty of the day. I was so embroiled in my own turmoil to see beyond the limits imposed  by emotion.

Almost every instance when we're overcome by some sort of grief is produced by a change within ourselves. We must transition ourselves from one mindset to another and it is this transition that jarrs our very souls to the point of uncertainty. For, we are strong when we are certain, and we are weak when we are not. Doubt is that element that eats away and erodes at whatever the essence is to the core. Sometimes it is misplaced and sometimes it is not, and it is the very nature of doubt itself that you cannot be sure when it is.

We want to believe. We want to believe so much in our own faith that we know that to do so, it will take everything out of ourselves and to do so is to take the plunge into a neverending abyss wherein you cannot tell where you began and where it ends. Our fear of not knowing is what pulls us back, and our experiences of having taken the jump and ended up broken which feeds hesitation. 

We fall for a reason, we doubt for a reason, for in that moment when we most fear to lose something, we know just what it is we want and how much we want it. Sometimes we fear that we will lose faith, and it is faith itself that pulls us back up from our grief.

I like to think that I make myself stronger. But I'm more so glad that I don't have to do it alone. Today is my beautiful day, and I hope that if you have days when yours isn't, that mine today may brighten yours.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

When Words Fail



Strangely I'm out of words and it's one of those days I just feel like remaining silent in a way, and so I just doodled something out of the blue, and I really have no clue what it is or what I did, but there you have it.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Heartbreak Warfare

It is one of those weird singularities of our species. A heart can break and still keep going, in perfect working condition. Because of the relative redundancy and impracticality of the phrase, one might wonder where it even came from and why it is even in use, however pondering about it for a few seconds you already know why. It's a common phenomenon that occurs to almost every single person born into this world, and sooner or later the experience itself denies even explanation.

Wikipedia defines: A broken heart (or heartbreak) is a common metaphor used to describe the intense emotional pain or suffering one feels after losing a loved one, whether through death, divorce, breakup, physical separation, or romantic rejection.

It's weird, isn't it? It's all about what goes on in your head and somehow it's the heart that breaks. And weirdly, even though all the heart does in essence is pump blood, when your heart breaks sometimes it strangely feels like it's hurting. A pain just spreads outward and seeps into every pore of your being; your heart hurts, your head hurts, your very bones hurt - to the very tips of every finger and in every breath that you take.

It is very fascinating, this connection between the mind and the body. And it makes you wonder, since it's all entangled with this idea called love, if perhaps it's all connected to the soul. Can the soul hurt? 


Even as I write this, I skim through Wikipedia's excerpt on the broken heart and I come across this piece:

For many people having a broken heart is something that may not be recognized at first, as it takes time for an emotional or physical loss to be fully acknowledged. As Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson states:

"Human beings are not always aware of what they are feeling. Like animals, they may not be able to put their feelings into words. This does not mean they have no feelings. Sigmund Freud once speculated that a man could be in love with a woman for six years and not know it until many years later. Such a man, with all the goodwill in the world, could not have verbalized what he did not know. He had the feelings, but he did not know about them. It may sound like a paradox — paradoxical because when we think of a feeling, we think of something that we are consciously aware of feeling. As Freud put it in his 1915 article The Unconscious: "It is surely of the essence of an emotion that we should be aware of it. Yet it is beyond question that we can 'have' feelings that we do not know about."

I have been of the opinion that certain things happen to us so that we may learn; and if we do not learn, they repeat until we do. I have approached hardships with the belief that if it hasn't been working for me thus far for whichever mode of operation I had been employing, perhaps it is time to change my approach. For all those young crushes gone unrequited and resulted in forlorn poems, or the times we've fooled ourselves that infatuation was love, or that we fell in love just for the sake of experiencing love itself without regard to the person it was applied to, or perhaps just those friendships that made you wish for more, or you end up fooling yourself that the something more is there, and in any case ended badly, perhaps all those little moments of heartbreak gear you up for the real thing. So that maybe one day when your heart really breaks, you won't shed a tear. But then again, would that be a true heartbreak?

And what a headache all this nonsense about heartbreak is. Makes you really wish we were all robots. Then you can't have feelings. "What feelings?" No feelings, no pain. No time wasted in sobbing your heart out, no time wasted in sleepless nights, no getting choked up with random thoughts or being depressed and unproductive.

I've been thinking that to be heartbroken is a form of self-pity. I mean, it's just because you wanted something and you didn't get it - so it's your own selfishness that's doing the crying, right? We could give ourselves the same pep-talk we'd give anyone else "Get up, move on, it'll all be better in no time, have faith!"  and yet we refuse to entertain such thoughts because we want to feel that pain.

If we didn't, we'd be letting go of that which we wanted all too easily and all too soon. We want to jump into the mud and cover ourselves so that it's obvious to anyone looking that we're distraught and maybe that someone we wanted to love us would have pity. "Oh, are you really unable to live without me? Geegollygosh. Okay then I shall grace you with my presence for ever lasting eternity, just so you're not in pain."

Then comes that issue of love being unconditional and selfless. That it's for the sake of their happiness, not yours. We so then "let go", but all the while listening to every sad song and thinking morbid thoughts, and sometimes even become micro-stalkers. "I've let go, but hey they've GOT to see my pain." I mean, they caused it after all.

Nuh uh. In most cases, our own stupid feelings pretty much did. If it were their fault it wouldn't even be half as hard to let go. They cheated on you? Good riddance! They lied to you? Good riddance! You never needed such rubbish in your life anyway. But when it's unbearable and your heart is breaking in 293141592653 pieces, usually its because you broke your own heart. You let yourself believe in more than  existed and you let yourself dream beyond what you ought to have.

But then again, if every single person has experienced this phenomenon, there ought to be various different accounts of it. Imagine the vast library that could be produced if every single person wrote about every heartbreak they experienced. That's just the beauty about feelings, they provide fuel for paintings, words, songs, poems, stories and - hey, whaddya know-  even blogs.



Sunday, May 13, 2012

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Mujhe phir tanha sa karde.

Jo bhi main kehna chahoon
Barbaad karen alfaaz mere
Alfaaz mere.



Illusion ̶E̶p̶i̶p̶h̶a̶n̶y̶

kaaga re kaaga re mori itni araj tujhse chun chun khaiyo maans
khaiyo na tu naina more, khaiyo na tu naina mohe piya ke milan ki aas..

You are walking the path you have been walking and suddenly you are bowled over. All of a sudden, you are frozen, stuck, in a quagmire, uncertain what it is that has happened to you, that is happening to you. You are rooted to one place, almost holding your breath because suddenly everything has become loose. The world has gone tipsy turvy, upside down, inside out, you feel as if suddenly you've lost ground and fallen out into the stars. You're at the shores where waves wildly, violently crash millions of miles high and you're in a desert where the sands gust with moaning winds. You're in the pitch black of a cold blustery night and on top of a mountain on a morning on a meadow where all you hear is your heartbeat.

sau dard badan pe phaile hain, har karam ke kapde maile hai

You're drowning in emotions and you don't know if you're happy or sad, but all of a sudden you're choking back the feelings that suddenly pour out of you and you cry. You cry and don't know how or why. It is beyond your control, the ability to think and reason all left behind. You're pulled into a seizure of epiphany and yet you're left at a loss. You're coming apart even while you're finally filled with that sense of calm and attainment. The capacity to be happy and sorrowful merge into one and suddenly all the emotions you've held inside, all that you've experienced and yet to experience, refuse to be held.

kaate chahe jitna paron se hawa ko, khud se na bach payega tu
tod aasmanon ko phoonk de jahanon ko, khud ko chhhupa na payega tu


The glory of being expresses itself in the glory to feel where suddenly the body refuses to adhere to the constraints of physicality and the mind by rational, the heart continues to beat and yet somehow has ceased. The heart has burst into all that it represents and every possibility that lines the spectrum of emotion becomes one. Every failure merges with every success, hardship merges with every fortune, affliction merges with consolation, loss merges with gain.There is a pain that radiates throughout the and suddenly it loses its meaning as the way pleasure loses measure. Words fail to explain as no language compares to that which is universal; every moment of yearning is magnified and simultaneously dispelled by fulfillment and the breath stops even as it breathes a prayer, for prayer itself is left behind as just the means for that which already consumes your being entirely.

koi bhi le rasta, tu hai tu bebasta, apne hi ghar aayega tu

Music thrums and dissipates even as it fills completely with silence, and darkness surrounds even as light bursts out, radiating to blind, for that which is felt could not be explained nor seen. To that force which I surrender, that force which is called love.


O naadaan parindey
ghar aa jaa..

Friday, May 11, 2012

Happy Feet

You know it's a good day when you can go out in bare feet.

Well, in my case that is. Especially as I get cold feet pretty easily (not in the sense of losing courage).  But today is probably the first day in the entire year that I've left home for work without any socks.

Gone are the days of boots. For many of you, readers, I understand it's hard to visualize this while you're in the sort of climate where boots aren't needed and bare feet are almost norm, but I beg you not to visualize the big clunky boots the word seems to signify. But yes, I now have to transition myself from the comfort of pulling on the snug boots and put them back into the closet for what may be another year.

I love socks. It goes along with my love for soft and cuddly things. Socks, blankets, comforters, pillows, teddy bears, hoodies. I'm a fanatic for comfort, and I'm definitely addicted to warmth.

This is where the balance of two options must be weighed. The snuggy comfort of my socks are now overruled with the fresh freedom of bare toes and the almost seductive feel of sunshine on bare skin.

And I can definitely tell you that this seduction is supremely alluring. Against better judgement, I have this almost overwhelming bad habit of just revelling in the sensation of sunshine on my skin. Sitting out in the sun reading, writing, just staring at the clouds. Walking in the sweltering heat without even feeling uncomfortable because I am that much taken by the charm of the sun.

By the end of every summer, when I have turned 23948230 shades darker and have those gradients from fair to dark going along my arms and legs, I promise myself that next summer I'll use more caution and won't do it again, and each time the craving for the sunshine just seems to overrule any sense of reasoning and I just fall in love all over again.

Head over heels - and those are bare heels, for the record.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Footprint

Every morning when I leave the house, I take little shortcuts so as to reach the bus stop a little more faster.

The first of these shortcuts is cutting across three sets of driveways after leaving my frontdoor. In the process of doing so, I end up having to cross over a patch of "garden" that one of my neighbours have dug up. When I say garden, this is simply a trough of dirt that has been turned over and bordered. Not knowing whether this patch of dirt is supposed to be shooting up some sort of plant or not, I had, for the past few months, been jumping over it. However, nothing has grown out of that patch of dirt thus far, and as a consequence, today I didn't jump over the whole bunch of dirt and rather did a little hop so that I left a footprint embedded.

As I continued to walk off down the road, I was reminded of a memory similar to this situation.

Years and years ago, when I was still a wee little thing, my family had visited some relatives one summer. Now, these relatives had been in the process of renovating their house, and there were a series of construction zones throughout. One of these zones was the area connecting the kitchen to the patio and living room, and for some reason there was a trough of cement freshly poured right between the patio and kitchen entrance.

Early in the morning, being happy and hyper to be out in such sexy weather (not that little innocent me was calling it sexy at that time) I ran down eagerly to join the older people and in so doing, I accidently ran in a way that my foot stepped right into that patch of drying cement.

"Uh oh", I thought to myself and thinking fast, I quickly wiped my foot on the mat placed by the patio doors and quietly joined everyone else.

Later in the day, we were called down and were questioned. "Whose foot is this?" They asked. Scratching my nose, fidgeting and acting cool, I shrugged and acting as innocent as I could be. I tried passing it off so that maybe if I was a cool customer they'd definitely think it was my younger siblings or maybe even some of the older relatives.

"IQ, you sure you didn't accidently step in this?" They smiled down knowingly at me. "What? Noo...it wasn't me.." My mind did somersaults reconsidering the morning scene and thinking of the possibilities of someone having seen me do the crime, and going through the scene again and again, I quickly concluded that noone had witnessed me committed the crime and therefore they had no evidence against me. I smiled up at them charmingly. I felt smart.

Then they smiled at each other again. I was suspicious. Why do they seem to be laughing at me? I furrowed my brows looking at them with my fists on my hips. "Can I go play now?"

That's when they pulled out a measuring tape. My eyes darted side to side. What's that? How come they weren't interrogating the others?! How...unfair.

"IQ, maybe you can help us. Let's see what size this footprint is and see who's foot matches the size."

That's when it hit me. OH NO! In reflex I curled up my toes to make them somehow look much smaller than they really were. Oh no no no! This couldn't be!! I'mmmmmmm dooomed! I bit my lip in distress as I realized what was happening. I sunk down to the floor and covered my face.

"It was an accidenttt," I whimpered.

To my consternation, they burst out laughing. How rude. I got up again and replaced my hands on my hips. "Well, if you are done laughing can I go play now?"

And with that, I hopped over the dried concrete with my footprint and went to play my Sherlock Holmes.

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

Respite

Today is beautiful.

Today is one of those days that just make you long for summer vacation. The good old days when school would be over and you get three entire months to do absolutely nothing. Sleep in longer, head out in the warm outdoors, play a good game of soccer or just a walk on the beach, get a pizza, a slushy, enjoy the sunset as you just relax.

That's the theory of course. I have never truly been too keen on vacations that made you have to stay at home. When in school I usually dreaded the last day of the school year and the long days of waiting until school started again. Not just because I was just a nerd, mind you. But because, my father being the stickler for productive time, and perpetual studies, would enforce upon us a schedule for the entire day which comprised of extra hours allotted to mathematics, physics, biology, chemistry, music and chores- anything that he could put his mind to. He was big on discipline.

Of course, we did have our days out at the park, biking, playing games, going out for pizza, but everything we did was in that cautious way as if we were scared of enjoying too much lest we get penalized with extra homework. Mind you, as long as we did everything we were supposed to do, we were free to do whatever we wanted. However, with the hour upon hour of assigned duties, there seemed very little hope of that happening.

During one moment when we were allowed to watch TV, I got a bit enthusiastic and started singing along with the cartoon's title song. "We're the planeteers, you can be one too, saving the planet is the thing to do! Reusing and reducing is the way, here's what Captn Planet has to say! ... GOoooooooooooooooo Planet!"

"You know the whole song by heart and you don't know your timetables? Wasting your time watching TV - go to your room now and make sure you know all of them by heart!"

Oops.

I think I learnt to keep my own sentiments and emotions to myself in this way. On the other hand, I can say I'm probably as smart as I seem to be today because of the early years of extra studies. I knew my derivatives when my classmates were learning the 9 timetables. I was assessed in 4th grade to be of 9th grade reading level. I knew Ohm's law when the class was learning what electricity is. I was given my first encyclopaedia of Biology on my 8th birthday. I don't mean to sound like I'm boasting; these are memories.

It's our experiences which make us who we are. As a consequence of dreading vacation time, I would fill my summers with extra classes. High school summers were used to learn what would be taught in the next year. University summers became an extra semester.

Don't get me wrong, I love learning.  Only thing is, I love learning when it is on my own pace. Being the rebel I am, I dig my feet in when someone tells me what to do. I want to do what I want to do. If I want to read about sciences I want to do it because I can discover it on my own, rather than have the textbook slapped on my desk and crammed down my throat.

There are those times when I actually have the occasion to do absolutely nothing. There is part of me that feels guilty. I have an inner voice that says, "What are you idling time away for? Do something productive!" And I get up and do something productive. Other times I have to rationalize to myself that I deserve the time to myself.

Yesterday was one of these times. I thought, why can't I just live for the sake of living right now. Why do I have to DO things to make it seem that it was worthwhile, when I don't get the chance to enjoy the world for what it is. If I stopped to admire the clouds - a slap on the head and move on and don't dawdle.

Maybe this is what makes me who I am now. The reason why I love just sitting and thinking. Why I get so happy with a beautiful day with beautiful weather. Why I appreciate every moment I get to simply walk out in a quiet morning and listen to the mourning dove call out to it's mate. Why I get the chance to simply bask in the sunshine and breathe in deeply for whatever the moment is worth.

Because, today is beautiful.

Tuesday, May 08, 2012

Winning

I stayed home today and gave work a miss. I sat in bed with a deliciously hot cup of tea with lemon, my comforters around me and my book of short stories that was gifted to me because the cover of it said "New Stories about Cops, Criminals, and the Chase." and my father was like "HEY, THIS IS FOR YOU", referring to its connection to my work.

 And it is a great book. Compiled by Michael Connelly, how could it not be? For one, it makes you think. One of the short stories involves a female officer who, on undercover duty, was raped, and her husband's inability to deal with the consequences. Right after the incident she tried to explain to him what happened  while protecting him from all the details, "I was lucky to get his gun away from him when I did, but the point was to come out alive."

 What touches me is how regardless of it being her who was attacked, her instinct is to protect him, to support and help him cope with the incident, she views herself the officer who must break the news to the husband of the victim, all the while his wife.

 The moment that strikes me most, is in a fit of anger he throws down a glass of juice, and it shattering in a million pieces. She reacts calmly and practically, "Am I supposed to clean that up?".

 "I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at him. I'm angry at everything else. I'm angry because I'm a human being. What I can't figure out is you. How can you be so damn calm about all this?"

 "You think I'm calm inside? You think my mind is peaceful today? You have no idea. It's because of what's inside me that I don't have the energy for outbursts. I don't have the luxury of a temper tantrum. What you're going through is natural, but it's not about me."

 "Damn it. Don't you see...he's getting away with it. He did this to you, and nothing's happening. He's winning."

 And she sits herself right down, cross-legged on the kitchen floor, next to him in his anguish. This is the part that clicked the light on in my head:

  "You and me, we've got different ideas about winning. You think the only way to walk out of a fight a winner is to beat the other man down. That's how men talk about fighting, right? Only a loser runs away. It's not like that for us. We win by getting away. We win by staying alive."

 There are a number of reasons why this particularly touched me. You read an excerpt and you relate. I am one of those people who relate to pretty much everything; songs, a scene in a movie, just one line, a story. It doesn't matter if it's the crappiest movie ever, or the cheesiest song, sometimes all it takes is just one line, one scene that just hits me with the revelation that it (the line or scene, or whatever it is) belongs to me.

The ability to experience is something that is so personal, and yet the amazing capability of humankind to share the same experiences - when the lines cross, or the frequencies match, that moment awes me. This is the reason why friendships are made, and also why people fall in love. The amazing sensation of finding something that fits so well with your personal conception of who you are. Being bowled over with the realization that "Hey, someone understands me." and you never want to let them go.

I think this would account for the strength of the bond between the characters in the book as well. Because he can't cope. He struggles to find some sort of closure, and despite her attempt to make him understand, she understands why he doesn't. When he finally does what he ends up doing, despite it being wrong, she's ready to protect him even beyond protecting herself.

Why do I relate? There are probably more reasons than I can begin to explain. There are levels beyond what I am able to understand myself. Various levels of the subconscious that make me who I am, who I think I am and also those levels that I am not aware of as yet, as I am yet to discover as I continue to grow, emotionally and mentally.

Strength. Her amazing ability to put aside her own suffering and to face the new day because that is what she must do. Her ability to accept that it happened and focusing on the negatives of the experience does no good. To move on and beyond the past and be ready to do what she can with the present.

One of my personal experiences was very similar to this. While I survived with my honour and physical well-being intact, I can tell you that it affected me. Of course it did. When you come so close to losing a part of yourself that you never expected - of course you will be affected. When faced with the possibility of being hurt and most likely worse, there were several primitive instincts that surfaced in my mind.

First was of course to flee. That not being so easily feasible, the next was to fight. Fear dissipated from my mind and all I could feel was a sense of loathing, incredulous and angry that someone would even dare try to hurt me.  So I fought.

I fought so I was the one standing, I fought so that he was the one who ran away. I fought for the sake of survival, and for my own sense of dignity. And I lived to be glad that I chose to fight.

Courage. She put aside her own right to wallowing in anguish to be strong for her husband. There are a number of flashbacks in the story which show the bond between them. The love and tenderness, the reflex to protect him and make him, not just understand, but happy, in a manner of speaking, these are instincts that again I relate to.

And the overall message, of how so often we dwell on the negatives, and think about the difficulties and hardships we have to face in moving on with life from certain circumstances, when we lose sight on the fact that we're able to move through and get out alive.

She got out alive, and she did this with the belief that something was worth living. She looked to not the next hour when she'd be held in the hospital for critical care, nor the next few days, when investigations and interviews and criminal proceedings would throw the issue in her face over and over, nor the days facing the grief and distress and the strange distance between herself and her husband. Because she had faith that their love was stronger than it all, even if it took weeks, that was a life that meant that whatever else happened, there was a reason to move on.

While some of us don't have that much to give us the faith to go on, we need to be reminded that every time we want to give up, to stop fighting, every time we choose not to drown and try our best to hold our head high above the waves, the closer we get to the shores where one day, the fight will be worth it all.


Monday, May 07, 2012

Kaleidoscope

And the week has started off again. Good morning world!

I must say that my post yesterday wasn't really the writing-me, and I was sort of really not into whatever I was writing, and yet the comments to it definitely made me smile! Thank you for putting a big smile on my face, not just your awesome comments but the fact that these were comments from my best friends and best co-bloggers.  Yes I am a sentimental fool. I'm weird like that.

Funnily, something I noted was that the one post that has the highest views is the one where I did not write one word. My "I has a sad" post garnered the most attention. So, that's how it is huh? Shall I start with my Charlie Chaplin routine and express myself without words from now on? Bahaha. Yeah yeah, I am joking. (I wasn't really looking forward to the moochy and tophat.)

Now as a continuance on the topic of my new layout, now that I do have the feedback, I think I'll try to put down some sort of explanation.

It starts off with Supercalifragilisticsexyalidocious. The general first reaction followed along the lines of "Huh?" "Say what?" "Erm, okaay then" and "Watdaaa..." Most people who really are very used to me just took it in stride. Because this is typical me. I like to be wacky. I like to be outside the box. Through the years despite the varying circumstances I find myself in, I often hear one phrase. "Sometimes I wonder about you."

Alice through the Looking Glass
Hey, sometimes I wonder about myself also. I might gear myself up to do something that a part of me wouldn't ever dare to do, then I do it full throttle, and after I ask myself, "Did I really just do that?". If I were still a monkey (keep your remarks to yourself) I would most likely always be the kind who'd always be scratching its own head except that I wouldn't be able to because I'd always be off and away swinging around like I found banana-crack. Or maybe not. I might be the type who'd find the topmost branch and just sit there staring at the clouds and stars and thinking and wondering all day long. Who knows. Just thinking of  being a monkey in a monkey world just took me into a whole range of possibilities that could be portrayed as an entire movie.

Because I digress. Figuratively and yes, literally. So as I was saying, I like to be wacky. One of the most vivid memories of my childhood is one of me sitting in my new first grade class, and it was that part of the day when the class had to write in their journal and illustrate their story or whatever it was they wrote. I remember being so lost in my own world, and I had made a whole story up about being able to drive up the rainbow to a magical world. I vividly recall the colours of my rainbow in crayons and the sense of the other kids at the table being struck with their typical attention deficit disorders and peering at me (the new girl) concentrating so thoroughly. I didn't have to say a word to prove myself to them, in a matter of minutes of a few squares of drawing with a bunch of kids watching over my shoulder, I had myself new friends.

This memory is one of the setting stones in what I feel makes me who I am. I've gone through life without really caring about what other's will think about me. When I fall in public, I am the first one to laugh at myself. Despite being a girl, I've put up my own fists against bullies who dared hurt my friends or siblings. I've challenged the guys at outdoor sports and becoming undefeated gained their respect, and in the same way, the other girls' envy (oops).  As I once said: I don't care what you think because I am proud of who I am.

I'm wacky. I'm proud of it, if it makes you laugh. I'm crazy. It allows me to reach for the stars while other people are afraid to. I dare to dream. I know it can hurt, but somehow I still do. And I live. In as many colours possible.

A kaleidoscope is a circle of mirrors, allowing the viewer to look into one end as light enters the other end, creating a colourful pattern, due to the reflection off the mirrors. What do you see?

Sunday, May 06, 2012

Rainbow

By now, those of you who are following and land on this page are first taken back by the drastic changes in the layout.

 Some of you are thinking, "What the hell did she do?", some of you are thinking "Hmm, interesting". And maybe just a few might be thinking "Wow! Nice!!" I have no doubt that the former reactions would be in majority male, and the last female. Then again, I can be wrong.

 I like changing things. Well, to be more precise, I like variety. And lately I've been not to keen to write anything. What occurred exactly was logging onto my own blog and looking at it and thinking, something is missing. It's nice, but it isn't entirely me. I should have taken a printscreen of what it looked like so as to keep a memory of the evolution of my blog; I have no doubt it will be changing again in a few months.

I loved the landscape mountains background and the raindrop window of the blog, but it wasn't rightly me. I wanted something that made me feel that it incorporated what Supercalifragilisticsexyalidocious was. One day I might try my hand at explaining that also, but definitely not today. I'm rushing to finish this right now, because I won't want to write about the change in my layout tomorrow morning, and I've gotta run out.

 I wanted black and white. My room is black and white. I like things nice, neat, clean. I like the sophistication the combination of black and white portrays and represents.

But then, I'm all for colour, vibrancy, the spectrum of all shades and hues. Hence the rainbow.  When I look at what I've done, I feel hey there blog, you look like me. (Not that I have stripes on my face or anything)

 Some of you might like it, some won't. In the same way, you might like me, some of you might not. It's all good.


Friday, May 04, 2012

Recharge


Goodddddddddddddddddddddddddddd morning world! 

If you're putting down bets that today is a beautiful day, forget it, you've won the lottery. 

SUNSHINE. It is out doing its thing, yo. 

I woke up bright and early to the bright and early sunshine. The moment I stepped outside - wooooosh. 

It was one of those "slow everything down and zoom in" moments, sort of like a music video. And speaking of which, I felt so bouncy I actually started singing out loud. I didn't realize I was doing it, until I realized I wasn't listening to silence but my own voice, "dil meraaaaa muft ka" (for the record, it is not). 

It was beaming down furiously as if it was pleased with my own pleasure from the day before and wanted to make me jump for joy. Which is what I literally did. Yes, in the empty street under the blossoming and bright green trees, I jumped for joy. 

I am not crazy. Okay, so maybe I am. I am crazy. So WHAT. If this is being crazy, normal people are fools. 

Another point to be noted, I sleep the exact same amount in the winter, and yet, it is a struggle to wake up and get out of bed. As previously discussed, I usually perform my morning routine half asleep. I stay awake long enough to walk to the bus stop, and promptly fall asleep again until the station whereby I awaken to transfer myself as quickly as possible into the train to promptly fall asleep again. I awaken only when I reach my stop. 

Ok rewind. This is my winter routine. 

Now, it being spring, a real and true spring, wherein the sun is out shining bright and the warmth is reaching my bones, I am wide awake. Imagine a puppy that's got it's head out the window happily. Yes, me. 

Ok ok, NO I am not calling myself a dog, No, I don't stick my head out of the window. And no, even though I didn't write it, you all are adding the tongue lolling out image to that, which is definitely - I assure you - not what I do. 

But the element of glee that goes along with that image, yes me. I was happily ogling out my window the entire way. No, there were no sexy fobs that I was checking out, for those who would be so inclined to think. It was all scenery. Yes, sexy scenery. (Thankfully there is no consequence in any slip-up in typing that out this time; re: sexy fog.)

Beautiful blue skies, white clouds, sunshine. And this after the most gorgeous episodes of thunderstorms last night. Last evening, during sunset, was at my window admiring the cloudy white sky when all of a sudden, like a drop of ink into a glass of milk, this incredible fast moving darkness started seeping - and within a few seconds it was pitch black. I was truly amazed at what I just witnessed. Then suddenly like a good witch and a bad wizard were at battle, it all blew off and became white again, and everything became brighter again. Then, again, suddenly pitch black, and like a churning, the clouds started roiling and became boiling masses that loomed so ominously.  I was astounded. I wondered if this was the visual enactment of my recent poem, because, damn, it was pretty close to what I had imagined. 

Then it began. The lightning, the thunder. The glory of rain.

And the result:  a bright beautiful glorious Friday morning.

I is happys.






Resolution

This is hope.

The endurance and the struggle. The belief that there is something that makes everything that is not presently good worth it. The silent voice that tells you to perservere because if you give up now, you're going to regret it. If you turn around and walk away, you'll never have seen what might have been yours just around the corner.

This is Spring.

The fortitude and the perseverance. The capacity to create, life from death. The willpower to fuel the courage against the hardships that the world inflicts. The softly hummed melody that invigorates the fallen to rise up and embrace that same world again, because the darkness that was lasts only as long as you allow it.

When the world gives us the template to understand the dynamics of nature, how can we turn away and refuse to comprehend? For each leaf that had fallen, a new leaf is restored. For every seed buried, an entire tree grows tall. When the world itself gets buried under the hard and frozen ice, it endures patiently. There is a vitality and a will that spreads through the roots of barren trees, and seeps into the branches to the twigs, and flourishes.

Why do we then give up so easily and let go so soon of the things that should endure? And hold on tight to the poisons that should be dispelled? Why do we give up hope when all it takes it the belief that one day it will be worth it.

Because we don't understand that it is. It will be. The darkest days and coldest winds restore faith in the goodness of sunshine. If we can look forward to the brighter days, it is only because we appreciate it because of our experience without. If we can learn to love the good, it is because we have known the bad. Duality exists for our own survival, and when we come to understand that, we realize the days we celebrate, we only do so because we have moved beyond days that we have cried.

Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.

Thursday, May 03, 2012

Morning Glory

Lately, I've been pushing the clock. Each morning the sun rises earlier, and each morning I rise a little later.

Mind you, I don't rush to make up the time. I've got my morning routine down pretty well. Open eyes, stretch, turn off the alarm that I never use. Peer out the window sleepy-faced, and stretch with pleasure because the sun is out. Grab my outfit (gone are the days when I needed to try on everything and similarly kick off everything in an attempt to be fashionable, comfortable and coordinated. Now I just trust my innate sexiness to pull of whatever I wear), then head to the bathroom.

My morning routine normally takes about 20 minutes. In the winter, I complete this with my eyes still half closed and so not in the mood for facing the dark morning. Now? It is May, baby.

I walked out the door today to the most sexy weather I've encountered all year, with exception to that anomalous period of summer-like high temperatures in March during the solar storm. For the first morning I've ever stepped out in 2012, it was warm.

Now, I realize that warm and cold are variable measures, because they depend solely on our own personal perception of heat and lack of heat. So, taking this into consideration, I grant that FINE everyone has already been going out in their tees and sandals and whatnot skimpy attire they decide to celebrate a one degree raise in the thermostat. Whuddeva.

Cold just clings onto me. I can't explain it. I get cold easily. If you must insist on some sort of explanation I will regale you with this: opposites attract. Please do the simple calculation in your head so that I may retain some sort of sense of humbleness.

So when I walked out, I breathed out a delighted "Wow."  Right now, my little weatherboxthingy on the corner of my desktop states "Fog."  I look out the window, okay yes fog. But but, sexy fog.

Because somehow, magically, the sunshine is radiating out of that blanket of fluff and it is just illuminating over everything, and warming my back and....<we pause for a Purr-break.>

There is a bit of humidity and yet it's so perfectly matched with that spring-chill of a breeze that still rejuvenates you when you breath in deeply, or when it washes past your face like a teasing caress.

It's not hot and it isn't cold. And, to toss in more positives, it is Thursday. I walked into my office earlier to be met with loud laughter. I walked into the back and demand "WHY do I hear laughter so early in the morning?!" They all pause, and I continue, "It's not even Friday, so why are you laughing?" And they continue their laughter as they tell me the story. Yes, it is Thursday, meaning finally, almost, so closely, Friday.

Let us rejoice.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

Appreciation

Thoughts. They're what make us, comprise us, substantiate us. Thoughts are the basis for everything we are. "I think therefore I am."Cogito ergo sum: a philosophical Latin statement proposed by René Descartes.

Sometimes we just take it for granted, the ability to think. For the most part, we are all capable of the act, because to think is such an subconscious involuntary biochemical reaction to stimuli, a product of mental activity. Our eyes perceive light, therefore our minds think "light". And as we grow, we associate light to various experiences and our neural pathways grow, forming new connections and complexities in thought. When we perceive light, our minds register the thought "light". Our experiences then associate light to waking up, the days's agenda, the people we're to face, the work we're supposed to accomplish, the expectations, the emotions, the anticipation, the heartbreak, the joy, the dread, so MUCH. All from one little trigger.

Most of us don't realize what we're capable of. For me, the ability to think is an amazing adventure. I generally assert that I am never bored. How can I be bored? My mind can travel over 29348203423 miles in the mere micromillisecondth of time. I time-travel through decades, or step into the future. Memories, dreams. They're everything that our own thoughts create. The ability to experience is the ability to live.

When I hit rock bottom in a rough phase of life, I refuse to indulge in self-pity because I know that relatively I still have it good. When I stop myself from doing something, I know it's usually because of fear. Of self-consciousness. Of doubt. Of something, that if removed, I would be capable of amazing feats and accomplishments. So why should it be there?

We stop ourselves from stepping out of line, we stay behind the boundaries of what is expected of us, what we expect of ourselves, what we do because we know we can because we already have. Mostly, these things are what many people can do because we already have. And most people stop themselves because they won't take the chance in letting themselves go. Some people have no appreciation for the ability we as humans are capable of, many people have no tolerance for enjoying life for what it is. Many people scoff at the arts, the ability to think. They denounce "higher thinking" to the rich and lazy, or to those who play at being intellectuals.

Another of my assertions is that you don't have to be a life-saving surgeon or walk on the moon to be accomplished, to be good and do good and cherish life is far more than so many people are able to do. To have a good heart is something that becomes ridiculed because it doesn't get you anywhere in the hard and rough paced world. But is this really true?

The sky is the limit. Why restrain ourselves? We get pulled down by the drudgery and exhaustion of everyday routines. We don't give ourselves the time to sit and think. Our hormones go into head-biting action, or snarly antipathy.  We're up to here with every single thing. We don't let ourselves just breathe. We don't let ourselves just be. I ran into a quote once, and it said it quite succinctly. I don't remember it verbatim, but it went something along the lines of  "man ruins his health to get money to spend money to get his health back."

I've spent a lot of my life learning to spend my learning to live. I don't mean that in terms of literal education. I mean that I've strived to be able to know as much as I can. I'm also a lazy bum when I choose to be, mind you, but I like to live. And by living I need to think.

In the little downtime I get in between working, doing countless other chores and hobbies, I use my thinking to relax. I also use the little thoughts that get churned up to create and express, be it in the minutes I'm in bed still tossing before sleep settles in, or the moments sitting at the window on the train while the sun hits my face, it might be on the crowded buses while I'm looking at people swearing at each other, or the few minutes it takes walking home at twilight and seeing the stars pop out.

Inspiration is everywhere, and most definitely by our ability to perceive it, it is within us.


Tuesday, May 01, 2012

Sakura

May!

 It's that time again, my favourite month in the year.

Whenever this happens, I get overwhelmed with the magical beauty of everything, and to even write a word about this month, the season, is to write poetry. That's what spring and May does to me. My praise for the magic nature displays at this time of year just instils such a deep profound sense of awe.

I find it truly apt that Mother's Day belongs to May, because there is something so nurturing about the rebirth of life, the green buds, the blossoms, the lush green that's soon to sprout. There is a beautiful femininity that gives an aura of delicate fragility and yet, to be able to revive and thrive in such a way, an inner strength that belies that delicacy.

See what I mean? I just can't help it, the prose just sprouts like those new buds that adorn the once bare trees. May makes me happy. Beautiful entities are just born in this month and regardless of my low tolerance for the cold winters I am thankful that I can reside in a climate where this change in nature is so clearly emphasized. Not emphasized by people, mind you, because not just everyone shares my enthusiasm for this magical fairyscape, but emphasized by the force of nature itself.

Although the skies are still cloudy, and the chill still permeates the air, there is a promise that says one day soon, the skies will be clear cerulean blue and the clouds whispers of white cotton and the sunshine, beaming as a happy child's gummy smile.


May


There's a transcendent beauty that just seems to radiate from the very idea of May. A nurturing force that brims with life, and a whisper in the breeze that just allures you with the promise, the scent, the hint of warmer days to come. That tingle of raw elements of nature, the tremulous courtship between the sun and the rain that borders on antagonism, the battle to overcome, to overpower, to conquer and surrender. To witness and understand that it isn't the battle but the experience that instills awe, amazement and reaffirms a belief in the beauty of life.