You cannot be great by acting like larger than life, confident beings with heated words, colourful metaphors and fake conviction; used to entertain the mediocre. It doesn’t make you god. And it definitely, will not fool the shit out of real rationality.
You tried so hard, you tried consistently.
You say you did, but, did you really?
You seem unhappy, you are always depressed.
It takes the best of you and you claim to have panic attacks.
But all you do is ‘try’.
Why is it that you ‘try’?
You dont ‘do’ you just ‘try’.
You try to fight for what you want.
You try to fix what went wrong.
Is it that you console yourself?
Or is it that you actually ‘try’?
Because, what you and I, both don’t realise is that ‘trying’ is a ‘thought’ and not an ‘act’.
‘Try’ is a ‘barrier’, a ‘hurdle’, a ‘rock’.
So don’t you ‘try’, don’t you dare ‘try’.
Just do what you can, and then do what you can’t.
Do that which is ‘mad’, do that which is ‘bad’.
Do that which is ‘wrong’, do that what makes you ‘strong’.
Because whether you like it or not.
“YOU ARE DYING ALONE”.
I told him, I cared about his work more than he did, and it was a tongue slip. I did not mean to say it but it came out that way. I believed it to be true because it was true because I wasn’t consciously saying that. Yet I destroyed it, it was in front of me and I destroyed it, he trusted me and I broke it. I disappointed myself more than I disappointed him. I felt broken and sad and helpless. I was better off being completely helpless. I tried. But I was ignorant.
I care, but I proved otherwise. I am naive, it is worst to say and destroy rather than just destroy. But earlier on I criticized someone who ruined something of mine, and I was mean to him, and it was karma which worked against me. Now I can’t show him my face. I can’t see his. I can’t face him at all. I have lost all my chances. I never get a second chance
I don’t want a second chance. It will be true to just look at him from a far. And never get near. I don’t want to hurt him again. I love him. But wait, about how many have I used the word love? Am I real with this? I have made this word so mediocre. I hate me for it. But do I really hate me? Because if I did. I would be dead. Am I even sincere? No I am not. What am i? I don’t know. I have feelings for him. I want to see him succeed. I want him to be the artist. My friend called him a stud. Yes he is. And what am I a big blob of flesh. Yes I am. I am despicable. Everyone in my life seems to despise me including me.
Acting like a hopeless romantic isn’t going to cut into anything. I want him to be something great which he is and is capable of more than this. But I am not going to be piercing into his life anymore. And the solution to all of my problems seems to be silence. If only I could condition myself into being silent, and listening to all. I need to stay silent, observe, and work on my life and my body.
Talk about body: If this is actually love the way I feel at the moment is supposed to make me a little more than slim, and that is skinny. I do love him. I will keep living him. And keep these feelings alive, I shall never tell him. I shall stay secretive. I will keep it in my heart hidden in the safest place so that no one can take it out of me. I will stay this way, this will be my success. It is amazing how the minutest thing as a dot can actually become a full stop. And this is a stop.
She is addicted. She is fine. She isn’t fine. She doesn’t know. Yet she knows. She cares. She is taken care of. She smokes. She breathes. She drinks and eats. Yet everyday her addiction increases, her heart beats faster, she tries to stay normal. But then she thinks to herself this isn’t normal. But what is normal, and what is the reason? She can’t answer that. She can only ask. She is superficial, double faced and very judgmental. She is kind, open hearted and loving. She is normal. Because normal is a word of great meaning.
From time to time, she has flashbacks. She judges herself, her memories and her life. She thinks of all the things she has messed up. Everyone she has hurt. But there is no way to make things right, because time has passed, days have become nights. But little does she acknowledge how right now is.
She remembers all the ex-boyfriends she has had, and she knows there is no one she loved. Yet when she was asked if the words of the song playing in the background had any meaning for her, she had said yes. A yes that was confident. A yes that meant, “YES”. But the truth remains as it is. She had never felt for anyone. Or maybe she did, but her conscience was never ready to accept. Her conscience believed she was a sinner and a liar. And this is why, on this day, as she sat and wrote everything that was anything. She was imagining herself in a place that was beyond her reach and yet so close. It was out in the universe yet in her heart. It was in the arms of the man standing right next to her. “If only I was prettier, and better as a person. If only I could be something he would want. If only I had a heart which was pure. If only I was as smart and intelligent to be considered an option.” She knew she was better. Better than all people and all women in her sight. But she had a past filled with darkness. She was comfortable being there. She couldn’t step out of it. It was her home. And he was light. She had recognized the light way long ago. Yet she opted for the darkness. She chose darkness. She slept with darkness. She regretted her existence and walked back in to darkness.
But now as she sits and writes everything that was anything. She has finally realized, she want his light. She wants to be his home. The person he would come back to and never want to leave. But she knows it is beyond her reach so she decides: “I will watch, I will attend, admire and care. But I will do all from afar and never near. I might not be in love now, I might be heartless now. But he is whom I want. He is the one I want to love. May I fall so deep and never return. This may be my wish and I will forever yearn.”
She exhaled softly, “I couldn’t imagine a life without children. Once, I even… Wait. Let’s see.”
She guided me toward the large tree on the corner near our house.
“This was late one night, when I couldn’t sleep.” She rubbed her hand over the bark as if unearthing an old treasure. “Ah. Still here.”
I leaned in. The word PLEASE had been carved into the side. Small crooked letters. You had to look carefully, but there it was. PLEASE.
“You and Roberta weren’t the only ones who carved,” she said, smiling.
“What is it?”
“For a child?”
“On a tree?”
“Trees spend all day looking up at God.”
I made a face.
“I know.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “You’re so corny, Mom.”
She touched the bark again, then made a small hmm sound. She seemed to be considering everything that happened since the afternoon I came into the world. I wondered how that sound would change if she knew the whole story.
“So,” she said, moving away, “now you know how badly someone wanted you, Charley. Children forget that sometimes. They think of themselves as a burden instead of a wish granted.”
Continue reading “Book Excerpt: For One More Day by Mitch Albom”
Life is supposed to be lived, and not wasted. That’s what everyone says. Yes it is very true it is supposed to be lived, but there are billions of people out there, and everyone has a different way of living it, individual lifestyles. There are articles everywhere telling people and inspiring them on how to live, and make the best out of themselves, but here’s my question, do the people who write these articles really live themselves the lives they teach others to live.
It’s a fantastic organ the brain, it has its secrets, and its weapons (imagination) and its physical and non-existent parts. It is widely known that the average human being only uses about ten percent of it. The not so physical part of our brain is what we call the mind, is that the part which contains our soul? But that is not what I want to talk about here.
It is me I am talking about. I am 19 years old, and I am very disturbed by all the information I have about the ideal life, coming from everywhere, I am sure most of you would agree about all that advice we are given, all the instructions we shall have to obey and all the knowledge we are given to take in, leaves our true minds in horror, and lost in a crowd, we have no idea where to go whom to listen to. It is interesting to note, how much all these institutions play a part in our daily, small decisions. I’m am talking here of the very basic, religion, family, rituals, culture and of course the wide spread internet which leaves all the knowledge of the world hanging around in our jeans.
Over the nineteen years of my life, I have only gained control of my conscious in the past five, but still I have no control over myself. There was a time when seventeen year olds were considered fully grown “adult” men and women, who had no trouble knowing what they want, of course, considering the limitations to information they were given, they had a choice either to rebel or to follow, and when it came to follow, they had only one decision to follow, the words their elders, at a very young age, embedded in their minds.
It seems that as the world’s information has grown infinitely and is now in the pockets of every human being, it has left us, the youth, very confused. We live our mental lives in a different realm every hour, of course, we do end up blaming our hormonal changes, but, really, do you think that is all it is?
It is supposed to be more than that, considering history, where very few people had this problem of not being able to think straight. We, on the other hand, are never able to think straight, we are like children, except that we don’t take pleasure from our imagination, instead we bare it like weight on our shoulders, on our conscience, and at night when we lay on our beds, our mind keeps giving us flashbacks of whatever we had thought and done which wasted our precious moments, and that arises guilt in our throats, blocking our nerves, making us tense, and the only way out is to masturbate to sleep.
Sooner than later this guilt becomes a form of pleasure, and anonymous quotes like, “The worst part about anything that’s self-destructive is that it’s so intimate. You become so close with your addictions and illnesses that leaving them behind is like killing the part of yourself that taught you how to survive.” become a pleasure to the senses, and we calm ourselves down, and instead of curing our illnesses, and trying to get out of the imaginary realm we have created, we end up making it our best of friend, not realizing that we, in our ideation are slowly leaning towards a form of schizophrenia.
Since we are not able to describe this to anyone, we let it take over our lives, and when we are finally ready to step out of this realm and make matters right, that’s when we realize it has been too late. Our conflicts with our past, our parents, our religion, our inner self and our prejudices have consumed and rotted the best part of our lives, and now that we are out of it, it is simply too late. There is no going back in time. Thus another pang of guilt clutches our hearts and vows to our soul:
“Till death do us apart.”