Hello, I guess.
It has been long.
And I am, again, in a space where I am at a heady loss for a definition. Or multiple definitions that make up a top-tier, unabridged, single definition. Definitions of constants, of emotions, of feelings, and everyday workings. Definitions of reality.
When I look back to recall: I was certain, a few years ago, that I was living through what was imaginably the worst year of my life. Having to get over self-inflicted truths and untruths, pain, shame, distrust. Having to let go of ambiguously-forged dreams. Love, even. Plus, the time had come to grow out of the 20-something, happy-go-lucky mould - make necessary and timely 'adult' decisions for oneself. To actually make something out of myself. Change, as always, helped. Out of sight, out of mind, afar. But of course, the recklessness of it all led to (if even possible) more debatable decisions. A whole new level of baiting regrettable choices. Coz life is a metaphorical video game of course; you have to level-up to hang in there, potentially win. If memory serves me, there was an unmistakeable intervention by the Universe (for lack of better or more credible characters), in general. "Whoa, whoa, whoa now - maybe take a break." And take a break I did. Slowed down, unplugged, disparaged, enclosed in another forged shell - trying to place blame and fight the ill-defined worldliness of the world, that had apparently lost its charm. Late realizations might just be the only recurring theme of my life. Just saying.
Somewhere in between the lose-myself-some-more-and-go-numb-why-not phase, I understood that if I was indeed able to escape all the emotional pain, for the sake of equilibrium or whatever, some stand-in, replacement physical pain would not be a bad idea. Well - bad idea. Enter body dysfunction, general dysmorphia, topped with a wholesome helping of dejection and despair. Easier labelled than defined, and easier said than fought off. Once there, the hounding stealth of pointlessness wins and comes to life. Some more hounding. The heart loses all intuitive abilities, and the brain does not function as well as it used to. Everything else around settles down to a lilting hum, constantly interrupted by the clear, now-familiar genre of numbness. All the time, with lots and lots to think about. Questioning sanity vs time ratios for example, without any disdain for the current state of circumstances.
Then life continues, with me yo-yoing through miscellaneous existential bylines some more. More living, breathing nothingness. I understand that I am in a sustained, unfazed search of something - to find, to hold, to cherish and celebrate. To yearn for in my illogical moments of chaos, spaced so accessibly close to each other, almost a daily ritual. The desire and design for happiness: a term even more ambiguous than the current state I am in. An everyday, two-faced, now-familiar reality? There, maybe not too proper a definition, but that could help with some temporary translation for now. Sigh of relief.
Postscript: Guess the smashing 'I Am/About Me' rhyme I wrote all those years ago was meant to last, to be comprehensible for years to come. Not just for flaunting the convincing coolness next to the pretty blog display picture, no.
While writing this, I could picture the many banal idiosyncrasies shared with my 17-year-old self. All that undefined exasperation has only channeled into agitation and a bit of loathing. For circumstances, for myself, for the greater good. I was pretty sure at 17 (sitting in my room, rebelling - to be able to address and engage myself in the then exciting-and-full-of-unknown-possibilities world) that I was not where I was meant to be. Almost exactly a decade later, here I am - questioning the surety of knowing that I am not where I want to be. The definition of the full-of-possibilities world has not changed much either. Just that the unknowns are not pleasantly uncharted anymore. Just that the intent and nature of my rebellion is not so external anymore, as it is internal. The pointlessness of it all (just another-day-in-the-life-of edition) is as uncanny as it can get. Just saying.
It has been long.
And I am, again, in a space where I am at a heady loss for a definition. Or multiple definitions that make up a top-tier, unabridged, single definition. Definitions of constants, of emotions, of feelings, and everyday workings. Definitions of reality.
When I look back to recall: I was certain, a few years ago, that I was living through what was imaginably the worst year of my life. Having to get over self-inflicted truths and untruths, pain, shame, distrust. Having to let go of ambiguously-forged dreams. Love, even. Plus, the time had come to grow out of the 20-something, happy-go-lucky mould - make necessary and timely 'adult' decisions for oneself. To actually make something out of myself. Change, as always, helped. Out of sight, out of mind, afar. But of course, the recklessness of it all led to (if even possible) more debatable decisions. A whole new level of baiting regrettable choices. Coz life is a metaphorical video game of course; you have to level-up to hang in there, potentially win. If memory serves me, there was an unmistakeable intervention by the Universe (for lack of better or more credible characters), in general. "Whoa, whoa, whoa now - maybe take a break." And take a break I did. Slowed down, unplugged, disparaged, enclosed in another forged shell - trying to place blame and fight the ill-defined worldliness of the world, that had apparently lost its charm. Late realizations might just be the only recurring theme of my life. Just saying.
Somewhere in between the lose-myself-some-more-and-go-numb-why-not phase, I understood that if I was indeed able to escape all the emotional pain, for the sake of equilibrium or whatever, some stand-in, replacement physical pain would not be a bad idea. Well - bad idea. Enter body dysfunction, general dysmorphia, topped with a wholesome helping of dejection and despair. Easier labelled than defined, and easier said than fought off. Once there, the hounding stealth of pointlessness wins and comes to life. Some more hounding. The heart loses all intuitive abilities, and the brain does not function as well as it used to. Everything else around settles down to a lilting hum, constantly interrupted by the clear, now-familiar genre of numbness. All the time, with lots and lots to think about. Questioning sanity vs time ratios for example, without any disdain for the current state of circumstances.
Then life continues, with me yo-yoing through miscellaneous existential bylines some more. More living, breathing nothingness. I understand that I am in a sustained, unfazed search of something - to find, to hold, to cherish and celebrate. To yearn for in my illogical moments of chaos, spaced so accessibly close to each other, almost a daily ritual. The desire and design for happiness: a term even more ambiguous than the current state I am in. An everyday, two-faced, now-familiar reality? There, maybe not too proper a definition, but that could help with some temporary translation for now. Sigh of relief.
Postscript: Guess the smashing 'I Am/About Me' rhyme I wrote all those years ago was meant to last, to be comprehensible for years to come. Not just for flaunting the convincing coolness next to the pretty blog display picture, no.
While writing this, I could picture the many banal idiosyncrasies shared with my 17-year-old self. All that undefined exasperation has only channeled into agitation and a bit of loathing. For circumstances, for myself, for the greater good. I was pretty sure at 17 (sitting in my room, rebelling - to be able to address and engage myself in the then exciting-and-full-of-unknown-possibilities world) that I was not where I was meant to be. Almost exactly a decade later, here I am - questioning the surety of knowing that I am not where I want to be. The definition of the full-of-possibilities world has not changed much either. Just that the unknowns are not pleasantly uncharted anymore. Just that the intent and nature of my rebellion is not so external anymore, as it is internal. The pointlessness of it all (just another-day-in-the-life-of edition) is as uncanny as it can get. Just saying.
