A silent night? Really?

While I sit here on my comfy bed with its green sheets working on my essay for my philosophy course, I can hear the whooshes of the cars passing by on the road outside my window. My blinds half drawn keep flapping in and out occasionally reminding me of their presence. The little attention-seekers! But they also make me feel thankful for their company on this silent night when I have to sit and build a bridge of thoughts and ideas that is at least 2200 words long. Ambivalence is in my heart, I am tired, but I can't sleep, I want to experience the bliss that comes from delayed gratification. A good grade on my paper is what I'd like to see, that nice sparkling A that appears on my transcript is worth a million sleepless nights if that is what it takes to get there.

My faithful one and only Winamp continues to generate inspiration, my little magic box.

My first final in 2 days, actually more like 1 day, or to be more specific in 34 hours, yes, I actually counted the hours.

I made a summer reading list for myself. I must finish all the half-read ones that lie in the safety of my multi-purpose closet before I can begin any new ones, but I guess that may not really stop me from starting any new ones. I don't have a bookcase. It would be nice to have one.

My essay beckons, I must get back. Talk to you soon!

Associations

Lately, in one of my rather introspective moods, I've been thinking about the people I know and I've begun to understand the concept of outgrowing people.

Have you ever met people who hold onto their past so tight that their fingers bleed? Well, I have and I must say, it's unfortunate how they aren't able to see that clutching onto things and people gone by does not do them any good, but, in fact it actually begins to eat away at their spirit and it's sad that they don't see this happening. Not only does it destroy their spirit, but it also slowly kills all the possibilities of the person they could become.

Well, perhaps this process isn't really visible to you in the beginning, it just seems like they need all the sympathy they can get. But, later when you move ahead and you watch them continue to die a slow death, you realize how much you've grown as a person and how you can no longer continue to sympathize with them. It's scary to think that contempt for such a person can creep in at such a time. I discovered this myself very recently.

I'm discovering what a large, colourful ball of wool this world is and there is nothing that can stop me from knitting my own lovely cardigan with all this wool. Holding onto something from the past is less than desirable and a terrible no-no since so many lovely adventures await us in the future. In this context, I can't help but feel like I've outgrown some people whom I know to be clinging onto ancient history. To listen to such a person whine about everything you've probably been listening to is such a spirit-dampening experience, almost torture after a while. I have realized we have nothing in common anymore.

So, after all, it is possible to outgrow a person, it makes me wonder whether we ever had anything in common at all, ever.

Or perhaps, the person was one of those people who come into your life for a season and although your association with them never actually ends, it is never the same again because there is no way you can relate to anyone at that level anymore. They have nothing new to offer and you have nothing to give them anymore but empty nods and boredom.

It is good to know I've grown as a person, but it's also sad to think how I will have one less person to share my experiences with.

Sounds of the soul

When something exceptionally significant happens in one's life, it is said on occasion that his or her planets or stars are in perfect alignment with each other. Similar I think is my relationship with writing.

A lot of my work comes from a pent-up surge that keeps building within me over time and once my thoughts have been incubated sufficiently in my mind, they decide they need to breathe the air outside it and that is when my fingers come into furious contact with the keyboard.

But a lot of other times, I experience these little epiphanic brainwaves which I realize I must record or else they just melt away into the ether just as soon as they come to life in my mind. 

I consider the planets of my writing aligned when I have the right thought come out and I have just the right music to accompany it. 

Music and language go hand in hand for me. Without one, the other does not seem to have an identity. Music is but a beautiful symphony of  just the right combinations of chords and notes that which when aligned in the right ways can produce nothing but magic.

This divine coupling of the right harmonius symphony with the pearls of language can only evoke what is beautiful. 

Writing in itself is a lovely experience. Through it, one can enliven death itself, it can also help one find oneself through the art of introspection. 

In my belief, writing can be of two kinds. The first is factual reporting - writing about plain facts and ensuring that sentences and facts are arranged responsibly and meaningfully just so that they can convey something physical. 

In contrast, there is writing that happens as a result of deep introspection and complex thought processes. Personally, the former process is a lot easier but from my perspective, it takes a lot of the joy out of writing because although one might apply oneself to the task, there is a noticeable void in such work which can only be filled with the introduction of a soul. The latter however is responsible for the creation of genres such as fiction and creative nonfiction. 

Until much recently, I was still quite cloudy on the concept of thinking. People usually associate thinking with the brain or the mind. But, only recently, I learned that the mind is in fact the soul and the soul is who a person really is. The body is 'what' someone is and the soul is 'who' someone is. 

I'm a spiritual person by nature and being spiritual does not necessarily mean being affiliated with any particular faith. I was born into a Hindu family, and therefore, my outlook is very Hindu, very humanitarian, very spiritual. Hinduism does not mean complex rituals or worshipping multiple deities of clay and stone. It just means having faith in what is good and that is what I equate with being spiritual. I'm also not trying to advocate my faith, because faith is a very personal thing and one's mind is the sole thing that no one can physically manipulate (leaving out the part about other forms of mental manipulation - propaganda creation etc., well those are topics for a rainy day and a nice beverage). I also equate spirituality with finding myself, in getting in touch with the good within me, with getting attuned to who I really am. 

Writing provides me that connection, it is my vehicle on this quest. It helps me introspect and introspection helps me write, so in essence, they are inter-related, two sides of the same coin (however, cliched that might sound). I could not imagine this universe without music or words.

In all that darkness of the space outside our planet, I can only unsuccessfully try to imagine what it must feel like to be surrounded by nothing but silence. 

Being a child of the '90s, I find it hard to understand the concept of silence, and it doesn't helpto be alive in an age where there is an over-abundance of sounds, or rather noise,  of all sorts - either croaking frogs, or gushing water, or someone rapping their knuckles on the table, or human voices; even in the dead of the night, the crickets on their nightly chatter, the whining cats, the occasional speeding car on the road, the sound of someone snoring or breathing. There are sounds everywhere.

Writing to me is a very spiritual process. It is my form of worship - to myself. I owe it to myself to write what I think, I spew out my thoughts for anyone who would be remotely interested in reading a few lines. Who knows, mayhaps sometime I might be able to hear from someone who relates to my rants. Perhaps in the process of my effort to transcribe what writing means to me, I might have done the same for someone else just as I know many individuals have done for me through their writing. 

As much as it is a lovely feeling to be appreciated for being unique, it is re-assuringly comforting on some level to know that there is at least one other person in this cosmos who can relate to what I think and vice versa. Hey, at least we aren't alone! 

Talking to the raindrops...

A little something I wrote earlier this year:

Pure pearls of water,

      how elegantly

      you roll down

      that transparent pane. 

When you visit,

      do you

      have a story to tell me,

or,

      is  it  hope

      that you  have to share? 

Each of you

thatKisses

t h e    p a r c h e d    e a r t h,

do you feel secure in a warm bundle of fulfillment

or is that something you do because gravity leaves you no other options? 

We stare at each other.

I feel an instant connection with you.

You remind me

of

all the worlds

that I have lived in

and even

of those in which I haven’t. 

You

propose a friendship

between us,

refusal is not my response. 

We share a beautiful language,

for which words and speech are trampled upon,

imagine their insignificance. 

The landscape of our communication

is just as lovely

as the flowers of unspoken words that we cultivate on it. 

You are liquid magic.

You overwhelm me.

Each of you that yet rest on my big glass window

are part of my very own collection of diamonds and stars.

I look at you

and we converse

in our very own language

and you

always have only

wonder and amazement to offer,

in abundance,

with a wink and a smile. 

In Just a Moment..

I learned a few days ago that a friend I had met a few months ago had passed on last week. I'm going to refer to the person as 'Kay'. 

Considering that I met Kay just once and we talked for less than an hour, it would be strange for me to feel any sense of loss at this news. However, it not only shocked me but it also gave me some perspective on life and death and the very instant that I read about the person's death, the cliched phrase 'live like there's no tomorrow' made a ton of sense to me. Perhaps, it is alright to not know someone too well and not feel too mournful in such a situation, but the fact that someone so cheerful meets with an untimely end compels me to wonder what it is all about. 

In the time that Kay and I talked, I got the impression that Kay was as real as real gets, there was not a single hint of superficiality in Kay's words which only reflected Kay's incredible enthusiasm and Jack Kerouac-esque zest for life and travel. I could relate so much to that since I'm quite mystified by both of these myself. I never really had a penchant for plays and theatre, I love watching them yes, God knows I love musicals, Cats and Aida did were truly enchanting and if I had the opportunity, I would watch one regularly...but I never had much of an interest in reading plays. 

The only time that I took an interest in reading or writing a play was when I was around 13 or 14 years old and I was bored, and I felt the urge to type something out, so around 9 pm one evening, I wrote a small dialogue between young King Tutankhamen and young Julius Caesar. I don't remember what exactly I wrote but I vaguely remember the size of the dialogue and what it was  approximately about - it began with both the characters who are children playing together and then one of them did something to irk the other and it just took off as a childish verbal fight from there. I printed it off and showed it to my father as well. I felt like a new person, like I had accomplished something great. I read it and I re-read it a couple of times and I liked it, I had my own approval and I was inspired to write more such dialogues and I hoped I would be able to extend my new-found talent into the area of writing full-fledged plays. 

And why did I just switch my track to writing about plays? That's because I learned about Samuel Beckett from Kay and it inspired me to try and expand my literary interests to include theatre. Kay was a student of theatre when Kay was in school, but one of Kay's teachers did not appreciate it when Kay decided to write a play that was his own take on Beckett, in fact the teacher failed Kay just because of Kay's display of originality. If I had a teacher like that I think I would rather get a C or a D rather than be in the teacher's good books which I'm sure would mean conformity to tradition. Tradition is good but not always and in all situations. Innovation is to be appreciated. If everyone had to resort to conventional practices for everything, then we would certainly not be where we are today - I would not be typing this out and you would not be reading these words. Who knows, we would have probably remained apes struggling in search of food every single day, or maybe we would have just been extincy as a species. Innovation has pre-historic roots, for sure.

Well, I don't know where my sheet of dialogue between Junior King Tut and Junior Caesar is, but looking back at that one instance ties up my past with my recent past and even my future. But, after that one dialogue, I never really read nor did I write anything remotely related to a theatrical dialogue.

  

But I watched a Youtube clip of 'Waiting for Godot' by Beckett and it made me want to get hold of the play and read it. I would like to read all his plays if I find them, the depth of the philosophy in 'Waiting for Godot' is an element I would like to explore.  

 

Perhaps one hour is not enough to know a whole deal about any one person, each person is a complex bundle of characteristics and thought processes after all; but without being judgmental, I think it is possible to get a general idea about the person in the least, if not anything else. You can easily sense the person's vibes and can at least tell whether you like them or not. But, then again, you could be wrong: a lot of people take a lot of time to open up, mostly the reserved kind. I know that for a fact since I tend to be quite reserved, but once I warm up to someone, I find it really easy to talk to them. I've met a lot of lovely people, I've had my share of unpleasant experiences with people as well, but I guess everyone that I've met has changed me and my life by way of conversation and sometimes by their behaviour, sometimes even by their mere presence in my life, albeit a temporary one. Talking to another person gives me so much perspective on a lot of matters. I have also realized the importance of varying perspectives, since without such a variety of these, the concept of brainstorming would have remained non-existent. At times, in order to re-inforce one's own perspective on something, it is important to understand a different perspective on the same matter at hand.

Oftentimes, the people who appear to be really pleasant when you are first introduced to them turn out to be anything but. However, in my experience, I think even a short conversation with certain people is enough to change one's life. But what I don't appreciate is when someone tries to give you a piece of his/her "advice" when it is completely unwarranted and that too, just in the first meeting. How presumptuous! The person who offers you his/her "advice" seems to lie under the impression that there is something wrong with you and they immediately offer you their pearls of wisdom. No thanks, but I don't think there's anything wrong here and I never called for Mr. Fix-It! 

It's sad and strange to think of Kay as gone. May Kay's cheerful and positive soul R.I.P.!

My New Blog

I have another blog on Wordpress, I will be alternating between both my blogs simply because I have had this one for more than 3 years now and I think I can't allow this one to lie inactive just for sentimental reasons. 

This will reach you to my new blog! :)

~*Renaissance*~

My friend, Aparna, recently created a blog of her own and after being nudged by some inspiration, I have finally decided to get back to check up on my own and revive it. 

I have been doing quite a bit of reading this year as I had intended to at the start of it. Of all my resolutions at the start of this year, the one I have been actually following up on has been reading. I realized that I used to be quite an avid reader when I was younger but somewhere along the road, I lost out on a lot of time I realize I could have used for this purpose. 

I have managed to get back into this habit this year and I'm trying hard to stick to it. The books that I have read this year include Crash, The Last Unicorn,  The Emperor's Children, By the River Piedra I Sat and Wept, We, Song of Kali, The Man In the High Castle and a few other names I cannot really recall this moment. And to speak of temporary amnesia this early in the morning considering the fact that I didn't sleep last night. Yes, I wrapped up 'By the River Piedra..'  last afternoon and I completed 4 chapters of 'The Calcutta Chromosome' by Amitav Ghosh, it seems like an intriguing read so far. I was also reading 'The Secret' which seems quite interesting.  

Some other books on my reading list for this year are Midnight's Children (Salman Rushdie), Propaganda and the Public Mind (Chomsky), Timequake (Kurt Vonnegut), some Calvino, Umberto Eco, Ursula K. Le Guin (I'm dying to get my hands on her new release 'Lavinia'!!) and other titles. 

One thing I realized is that there's way too much propaganda and such stuff that's lying around for everyone to pick up on, and not everyone can really tell when the truth is being told and when fabrications are made, or whether any amount of truth actually remains. I realized then that I must not believe everything I read, I need to be a lot more discriminating against fabrications and I must believe only what seems closest to the actual facts. But how does one do that when the truth is deliberately blurred for us by all forms of media and the ideologies they represent? Well, the media is far from reporting anything even remotely related to the facts, so I guess we have to listen to everyone, read what everyone has to say and make our conclusive truths. In this age, I think we all have our own truths. Truth is subjective - believe what you must and understand that you may never be enlightened on the actuality.

Circumstances will change, hopefully. Fingers crossed! 

Music and Lyrics

....*Seasons are changing,

waves are crashing,

and stars are falling,

all for us*....

I simply cannot get this song out of my head...and to think how wonderfully it suits this time of the year, during this transition from big drops of ice to pure drops of sparkling sunshine...especially the twilight during a nice spring day, when the sky is artistically smeared with the most deliciously amazing blend of orange, pink and blue.

The Spring is Here.. I Think!

Seasons sure do know how to make a grand entrance...well, some of them more so than others. They go around in circles chasing each other, just as right now, the Spring seems to be gently making its way into this dull, bare, winter-infested town as it seems like it has been patiently waiting for the opportunity for quite a while now. The spring is when the world and its people slip into a more peachy, delightful skin. It is a feeling comparable to no other. In a few days, the winter will be behind us and soon, there will not be any proof that it was ever here at all.

I cannot wait for the time when it will blow all the magic and goodness from the cup of its palm to the world around. It certainly seemed like it was on the threshhold sometime ago, but now, it is heartening to see that it has placed one foot inside the doorway. The houseflies and ladybugs that I used to be paranoid about driving out during the Fall suddenly seem like angelic messengers of the warmth, colour and goodness that the arrival of the Spring will bring into our lives. It is as if they are just as excited about the new season and have come to spread the word. The sunshine is back, and it is here to stay.

Before we know it, the summer will be our house-guest....and soon, it will be time for bonfires, barbecues, flip-flops, crowded beaches, parasols, sipping peach cobblers under the sun, afternoon tea on the porch swing, conversations by the sea, fishing trips to the lake, icy lemonade on the street, sunrays and Saturdays...

Precious

Happiness. I can associate this word with a million little random things and happenings. I remember getting a forwarded email, a number of times from different people, titled '50 Natural Highs'. The fact that this particular email has stuck around in my head proves that it is one of my favourite forwards of all time. I remember treating that email like a checklist of sorts. Each item on that list of 50 was something that could certainly get a "omg, that sure is an awesome feeling" out of you, because each of those things are things that are commonplace and sometimes even mundane happenings in our lives; often times their mundaneness just has a mind-numbing effect on us, and as a result, we fail to see those fine rays of delight that we probably absorb but just don't treasure enough.

One such happening in my life occurred on an afternoon last semestee - my chance finding of a cookie. Yes, I know, a cookie, it may not seem like much of a delightful happening. Well, to me it was. That was one of the best cookies I have ever had. I opened my desk drawer and found it there when I was looking for something else. I bought it the previous day, but I had come home so beat (and not possessing much of a sweet tooth)..I just emptied my rucksack and put away all the contents wherever I found any space. This cookie had somehow been 'put away' in the drawer and imagine my delight when I found it there the next day.

Life's little surprises, somewhere within your reach, and finding them by chance, just when you need them!! Isn't that one of the most wonderful feelings ever?! ;)

One More Time

Listening to: Dream Field by David Lanz

Sometimes, I have these moments of realization. After drenching myself in a deluge of apprehension, I'm going to generalize the statement I just made - I think we all have those 'moments of realization' in our lives, at some point or the other, maybe even multiple moments. I think you might know what I'm talking about.

I think I had two such moments in the past four hours. It's a beautiful feeling and one of great amazement as well. I felt as if Time had stood still for a short second and was revealing some of its magic to me, it felt like this magic was something I was waiting for. I'm out of words when it comes to describing those moments. I won't exactly reveal what those realizations actually were, they are something I choose to keep close to my heart until the time comes for me to actually utilize some of that wisdom I gained from them realizations.

One of them, one of the more recent realizations, which made me leap off my bed, leaving my textbooks staring after me, and log in to my blog to type this out, although not entirely life-altering (but definitely so in some way), was positively something that has made me ingest an extra pinch of wisdom. I feel like I've grown so much more spiritually in that one moment. I feel like I'm standing on two more responsible feet that will take me where I really need to be moving towards; that one moment just stole away another one of those thick masks that blind my eyes to my Purpose.

How inexplicably amazing are those moments that bring to you the gifts of realization on their beautifully-ornamented gold trays!

I was just leafing through the rather wordy pages of my journal the other day, I was actually amused at some of the things I had written in those pages. For a moment, I couldn't believe it was actually ME who actually wrote some of those lines. I remember feeling so serious about the content of some of those entries while I sat and wrote them when I did, but now all that seriousness feels betrayed by my laughter at the younger me. But, one thing I still feel whenever I write in my journal is this unique sense of liberation, I feel like everything that I fear sharing with anyone or even fear admitting to my own self, just cascade from my head to my fingers and onto the crisp, white paper in a matter of no time at all. My pre-entry mindset is all about excitement and I literally feel like the words are going to burst out of me if they do not stain those inches of paper.

On certain occasions, I never realize how carried away I get with myself, I'm perpetually trying to figure out answers to matters that I know are not of immediate importance. The funniest part is that, at times, I do not realize how deeply embedded some trivial (occasionally, not so trivial!) matters are in my head, and I know so because they come to me in my dreams; and usually, I wake up the next morning thinking, wow, am I actually really thinking about (the matter) so seriously that it should stay in my subconcious?!

The human mind is interestingly mysterious alright, muy misterioso!

I wonder...

It's been a gazillion years since I last posted. For a while, I've just been a bit lazy to post, but then today, the writer in me has awoken once again after her deep summer slumber. The glowing ball of fire we call the Sun is just so perfect in itself. It seems to bring out everything wonderful about the world when I take just one look at it. I've drawn my drapes and tucked them into the two locks of the window so that my room soaks in maximum amount of sunlight.

I'm just so head over heels in love with sunshine that at times it's almost an obsession for me to sit and stare at the sunlit world outside my window for hours. I wonder what it is about the sun and its magic, gold rays that provoke all the cheer and wonder to just bubble out of me as if I was a bubbling brook of some sort.

The simultaneous occurrences of the sunset and the moonrise are such a treat to the eyes. I wonder how the shy, solitary moon feels to be standing among the dark clouds of the night...its pure pearl-white radiance makes it seem like it is suspended on a string from the heavens into our ordinary world. {Above is a picture I tried to describe...I thought it was a really special sight, well, thanks to my camera, the picture does not even look half as beautiful as the actual sight, so much for my photography skills!}

....a tearful goodbye.

Today, right now, right this moment is the only time I know I'm ever going to feel so strongly about the end of something I cannot describe how I feel about. I'm referring to Everwood, the television show I fell head over heels in love with right since the very first time I saw it reeling on my television; it has remained an important part of my television-loving self's obsession throughout the course of its lifetime and mine as well. There were its numerous elements that simply go beyond simple description. I read a few articles and blog posts regarding the series finale and the authors of the respective articles and blog posts seemed to give me an impression through their writings that they cared very little about the show; some even went to the extent of describing the show as 'sad and melancholic' and the final episode as a 'well-oiled tear-induction engine' (courtesy: NYT). I don't have any problem with people opining their beliefs and feelings, because that is something they are rightful of. I don't really care what anyone says or thinks, there are a gazillion others out in this huge space that simply adore this show, just like me, of this, I'm most certain!
I think it is only humane to get emotionally attached to human characters, even if they are only fictional. Somehow, I just think of television shows as an alternate reality, when I watch a show, I just feel like a part of that reality, even if I'm not exactly a tangible part of it. Some shows in particular are so close to reality and yet something about those shows compels us to watch them, even though the sole purpose of entertainment is to take us away a million miles from reality into a surreal world. I guess a lot of us are just suckers for the emotional rollercoasters. Not myself, but I know there are a lot of people try to identify with the fictional characters on TV shows. I loved the principal characters on Everwood - The Browns (Andy, Ephram, Delia), The Abbotts (Harold, Rose, Bright, Amy, Edna) and Nina Feeney and the way the show revolved around the lives of these people. Sometimes, it made me want to wish that these people were real and other times that they would just have a separate TV channel just for this show (of course, I feel the same way about every other show I love) where they could air the show 24/7. SOME of my other favourite shows are and have been: One Tree Hill, Frasier, Grey's Anatomy, Out There, Related, Seinfeld etc. Each show that I love is my favourite for a unique reason. I guess we no longer live just our lives, we also carry a part of other 'people' within us, the people whom we love watching on the tube, who evoke a kaleidoscope of emotions within us. Does reality exist in reality? I think not!

As for Everwood, it will remain a show close to my heart, as will be the case, I'm sure, with many others as well. I just wish it would have never ended, everything about it was so perfectly brilliant, even though it may not have been directed by a Coppola or a Spielberg and it may not exactly a huge Golden Globe or an Emmy-sweeper; the writing in particular was a job well-done indeed and so was the theme music which has always and will always remain in my heart as well. I have so much more to write about this show, but I cannot exactly gather all my thoughts at this moment, which is a pity, but I guess, the show itself can can speak for itself.

It is really sad and I know that our precious Everwood will never return to us, but I guess life will go on, we will carry its wonderful memories and people with us, in our minds, wherever we go.

Indeed it is.....Foreverwood!


"The drama's faded and the dust has settled down
And the looting's over and the fires, I guess they're finally out
And life goes on and on and on, though slightly shaken
No more urgency or screaming or things breaking
And we've been here before
Bracing ourselves on the doorways
For the aftershocks... They'll get you every time
The aftershocks... Just when you think you're fine"

La Musica

8 months of living with an (East) Asian roomie has left me finding myself craving for (East) Asian pop, particularly K-Pop and Mandarin Pop. Beyond a certain point, I guess, music is just simply music, be it someone singing in Zulu or gibberish, it just doesn't matter. Language doesn't really stand as a barrier between me and music at all. As a lover of variety and experimentation, I've always loved listening to different genres of music and reading books on a variety of subjects. Everyone who has an ear for music or who's musically talented certainly has something (s)he can offer to the world in terms of music and we really need to appreciate that. Music and art are after all the same thing, except that for visual art, you need a keen eye and an understanding of art; but although music is an art, it is different in a minor way such that anyone can appreciate music, you don't really need a deep understanding of music to appreciate it, exceptions can be made in the case of a few genres of music, though. It is amazing indeed how much talent there is all over the world, but it is a shame that not everyone has an equal opportunity of being recognized for their talent and potential. Maybe there is space for only one foot in one shoe, or again, considering the existence of miracles in this cosmos, maybe not. K-Pop is actually quite interesting, if not for the language barrier, I could probably have a better understanding of this genre of music, but it doesn't matter, really. :)

Through the Looking Glass

Another year gone by. It's time for change to make its presence felt in our lives once again, not like it is ever absent anyway. It's 5.46 a.m., and a few minutes ago, all I could hear was the sound of the deafening silence that surrounds me (and this once noisy dorm building and our once disturbingly noisy floor) and the birds chirping outside. The silence also amplifies the sound of the electricity running through the lights in the room, something which I never really found myself paying any attention to earlier. It all got too silent and depressing, and I needed to hear another human voice, so music is my fastest and closest option. The sky outside my window is this slowly changing into a nice dark blue, Batman's purple and black cape is no longer the veil between my eyes and the sky.

It feels like just yesterday that we all moved in here and today, our once liveliest floor in the building is dead as dead can be, there's not a single sound of anyone around, I cannot imagine not living in this room in Saugeen-Maitland Hall, it feels like I've lived here forever. I've seen a few sunrises but so many sunsets from this window of my room, each sunset that painted the sky a different combination of pink, orange and red, and occasionally even a dull grey in the winter. Even at 7 every morning, there would be people around, and that was the time I would have to be up every other day to prep up for my 8.30 a.m. class, I swear I'm never taking an 8.30 a.m class in my life ever again, it's just too early for me.

I'm not the best person at accepting changes, it all gets too overwhelming for me. I feel crazy and emotionally drained when I have to deal with major changes in my life. I call it my 3 stages: first, I get crazily nostalgic and I become my own slide projector reviewing the wonderful events of the recent past and wondering why I have to even go through with this change if everything was working so perfectly; second - I'm already going through with the change and I think I'm liking it or not liking it ; and third - the change is changing now and I begin to miss the original change. Well, I'm not sure if anyone could understand that other than me, lol! I'm so lost right now. Is that a slight pink in the midst of all that blue in the sky that I see?! Oh yes, I guess those are just the clouds that have a slight trace of pink in them. No matter how much we as human beings advance scientifically one or nothing can ever replicate the colours that Nature has eternally patented itself with the creation of.

It's so unusual...there's no noise, I miss the incessant screaming and craziness that was almost like the aura of this building. Wherever are the sources of this noise? Whatever happened to all of it?

Seasons go by, the leaves wither away and soon they grow back too, but among all the seasons in our heart, the summer's the best and the spring is the hardest, such is life, simple with many complexities; both, mysteriously beautiful and beautifully mysterious...and what's more, there's no greater challenge than living every day and every moment of each day to the fullest, and yet it is all so simple if we take the time to give it a closer look with a keen eye.

Nothing Quite Spells Blissful Peace Like....

This is one of those tracks! There's no way anyone can simply not love it!
Soak in the bliss!

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"Skylander" - Deep Sky Divers

The Big Picture

What is it about life that mystifies us so much? I’m not very sure very many of us have the answer to that, and a conversation with a friend also sparked me off on a trip to Mount Thought, accompanied by my faithful companion, inspiration, who is more or less my ghostwriter at times. Apparently, life in the present age is something of a big tornado; we are each the centre of our own tornadoes. We are just too consumed with all the illusory chaos that we refer to as Life. But is that what Life really is? Does Life really mean waking up at 7 A.M.; going to work; sitting in an office for eight hours; and coming back home only to rest ourselves on the couch in front of the television (and watching soap operas that never do us any good, anyway); going to bed and sticking to the same daily grind each day?

We have just too much on our minds already to even consider any alternate possible purposes our lives might have other than just being lawyers, doctors, or corporate professionals. Where is it that we came from, and just where are we headed? Will Time ever move at its usual pace rather than try to compete with its rivals for the God-knows-what Olympics? There is just too much to say here, but human beings can only communicate in so many languages and each language has only so many words; there is so much to think about, but only so much time as a lifetime to think during (and considering how BUSY we all are, we are definitely going to think about a lot of these questions! :p). But yes, there are some of us who might just dedicate our lives to solving these puzzles which most certainly need some serious solving.

I believe that each of us human beings has so many different perspectives and over time, we only grow and so do our perspectives and thoughts. To construct imagery, I think it is as if we are born with this really thick blindfold and as we age- both chronologically as well as mentally, we just begin to lose those layers that are wrapped around our mind’s eyes. Somehow, I’m just wondering whether I will ever be able to untangle these colourful threads that are tangled into each other with such intricate detail that only leaves me agape at the loveliness of it all.

The Da Vinci Code - The Biggest Thing Since 'The Passion of the Christ'

Sony Pictures

..Associations..

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"Children" by Robert Miles is one of the very first trance/dream house tunes that made its way into my life through my ears way back around 1996 or 1997. It is just one of the numerous magic workers that transport me to an alternate reality that is nothing like what we earthlings see through our eyes. Listening to this track is an experience which transcends description through any earthly medium.
Each note of this marvel of a musical piece is like a tiny particle of glitter that is like an eternal spring of wonderous energy from the cosmos. The stars - the millions, gazillions, trazillions of stars in this cosmos seem in such perfect harmony and it's as if they are trying to tell us the stories of each of their lives in their voices which echo throughout all the universes. All their voices come together in such perfection and forms this one miracle of Higher Creation. Through this miracle sprout inspiration, infinite wonder and dreams that drip with sparkling, pure water of an otherworldly yet mystical colour that collect to form an ocean of wonder. As we wade deeper into this ocean of splendor, we are soaked to the skin by not the water, but all the wonder and magic that is the water. This is but just a minute visualization of the experience that this genius piece of musical wonder stirs up in my world. The rest are all the secrets of the stars, the remnants of our daily conversations that shall retain their rightful place in my tightly secured box of imagnings, which I am forbidden to open until I am instructed by them to do so.

Once In A While, When the Sun Shines...

Why do all good things have to come to an end? As I watched the series finale of Frasier this afternoon, tears wouldn't stop rolling down my cheek, I must admit I was a little shocked in the beginning when my eyes began to act like rain clouds, but then I realized how deeply attached I had become to the show. Whenever I watch Frasier, I always feel like I'm part of the Crane household, I feel like I know each of them so well, I've seen them through all their adventures and misadventures, fortunes and misfortunes, through their good times and the bad ones, too. But, somehow, the final episode...how I wish I had never watched it! If I hadn't watched it, I probably would've never thought something so wonderfully entertaining could ever come to an end, I could probably bask in the warm sunshine of their comic goodness forever. There was never a dull moment in their little world, everything about all their lives had something so refreshingly new and yet they were all so ordinary, so real, yet so unreal. More than the fact that Frasier was moving away to San Francisco, it was the reaction of all of his dear ones that made me feel so sad. Well, as life teaches us to move on, somehow, all those precious moments of splendor we encounter with all those close to our hearts or maybe even not-so-close to our hearts always remain ingrained in our memories as sweet definitions of good times.

Sometimes, the best moments of our lives are the ones we spend leaning against the window allowing ourselves to be immersed in the waters of reminiscence, to dive into the clear waters to dig out the beautiful pearl-like memories that remain clutched tight in the oysters of our hearts, while the sun sets in the distance, leaving behind a sky that has been painted pink, orange and soon purple and midnight blue with our dreams, memories and amazement at how life miraculously comes full circle when it does.

If Only Fridays Would Never End

I was just listening to 'You Can Still Be Free' by Savage Garden, the same song I used to love to listen to while I was still in Doha. It brings back so many memories- memories that transport me to an alternate realm of my life, probably one which I've lived in, but which feels alien to me at the moment.

It's the most inexplicably pleasant feeling to be sitting down and typing out my thoughts, and occasionally glancing out at the dark evening world outside my window. Friday night- some people leaving for the weekend, some others in pretty outfits climbing into vehicles to go about their weekend clubbing routine...the excitement of the weekend lingering all around us in the form of small invisible bubbles that pop and it's as if for each one that pops, googols more are formed by some wonderful magical force. Outside, I see loads of taxicabs waiting for people, with their orange lights burning bright with excitement too.

My ideal Friday afternoon...now that's something I have to devote some of my thoughts to. I think it would be perfect to just sit down in a small Parisian restaurant and have lunch with friends, or simply read a book in a small cafe somewhere in Europe, or probably....and now here's a list which will simply go on until where Eternity comes to an end. If I could freeze Time on Friday afternoons, I would spare no effort in doing so. Fridays are unique days, there's nothing that can compare to a Friday afternoon and evening. Once each Friday goes by, the weekend just goes by as if it was never even there, to begin with.

To me, living through a week is like going up on a roller coaster. As it takes us higher, we hold our breath and await that sudden release. Moving through a week is similar just because we live through the week going about our daily routines but inside us is this great anticipation of the weekend. At least, that's the story of my life. I live for the weekends, they just paint my life a brilliant neon pink. The aura of a Friday night is something that's just too precious, just so mysteriously wonderful. If only Fridays would never end!

Unique Or What?

Just a thought (you could probably treat it as a question if you like): We all have idols, they could be family members, celebrities or world leaders. Does it mean that we want to be like them or maybe BE THEM? Is this a matter of losing out on some part of our individuality through this? I'm partial to the fact that, yes, we do idolize people, but I'm thinking that some of us probably want to be like our idols for all the goodness we see in them, and that's probably why we admire these people in the first place, not really be exactly like them.

But, when it comes to being an individual again, there are people who want to be like their idols and adopt all their ways of life whether they may be desirable or the otherwise. What can be said for such people? Aren't they missing out on something we call individuality? Being themselves, being a prominent one in the pack.

A * NeW - nOuVeLLe - NuEvO - nEu * YEAR

A new year is at our threshold, in fact, it has entered it and we've already written a few lines into this clean, fresh slate which we erased on the final night of the year gone by. Two days into this year, and the human race has already achieved so much in so many walks of life. But, in terms of personal growth and achievements, it's for each of us to introspect and take care of those. We are, after all, sole sailors in the ships of our lives, which traverse vast oceans that are at times a picture of paradise and other times, just plain mighty mean whirlpools of vice generously buttered with a thick layer of the proverbial gray clouds (from the saying 'Every gray cloud has a silver lining').

Whoa, 6 years into the new millennium. It's so hard for me to believe we're actually living the future. Looking back over all the 18.10 years of my life, it's a great feeling to actually be living so long, knocking on wood. It's been such a journey. There's so much to learn, so much I have learnt, so much I'm learning with each passing day. I haven't really made any resolutions for this year, except mayhaps to learn more than I did earlier, which of course I will anyway, it's an involuntary process, I don't/can't control it.

A sense of wonder creeps into my brain cavity when I think about how Time flies by, I'm sure that we all do think about Time at some point of our lives, well, some of us more than others (hint! hint!). No matter how many times I talk/write about Time flying by, it just isn't enough, somehow, I'm beginning to realize that lately (for the past 3-4 years), I've gotten into the skin of an obsessive-compulsive patient. Everything I think about just occupies my mind and doesn't leave even if/when I want it to, some things just stick, and some things have just exited the doorway of my mind and I don't even realize it until I wake up one day or sometimes even never realize it. Getting back on track, Time...yes, it's truly a wonderous, magical I-don't-have-words-for-it sort of 'thing'. It's such an important component of the clock of my life, it's like the Life energy that runs through it, but parallel to me, constantly knocking me on my head to remind me of its presence. It is the imaginary friend I never had. It is woven into the strands of my DNA and we are inseparable and obsessed with each other.

As my obsession once again takes me over, I cannot help but look back at 2005 which seemed like one of the shortest years of my life, it seemed like it consisted of just a few days, all of which are nothing but grains in the sands of Time now, but are sharp engravings in the artwork of my mind, they will never leave me and I don't want them to, too.

Now, it's time to gaze into the crystal ball and try to look into the deep, murky waters of the future and see what the world is going to look like, whether Life is going to make sense or not - all at the same time next year. Personally, 2005, I think was a year I crossed over into a new life - a life of complete independence, which I began appreciating only towards the end of the year. The beginning of the year was one which helped me build a bridge of lovely friendships which will last me more than one lifetime. There's so much to 2005 that I can't really write about, but will just linger around me like molecules of some sweet garden scent.

One important lesson I've learnt over time is that each day must be lived one day at a time. I guess I learnt this a long time ago, but I guess, it's the perfect time to accept this challenge and try to live life just the way it's supposed to be lived. Correct me if I'm wrong!

....carT00n FEvER....

I was in the library today for 10½ hours straight. I have a paper to hand in, in a few days and I was in desperate need for some time to work on it, so I was doing that in the library and reading for 10 hours straight, a ½-hour break in the middle to grab a sandwich. Well, either all that reading has taken some sort of serious toll on me and I've gone balmy or I just want to rewind my life 13 years....I really want to watch cartoons. I just realize how much I miss watching them. My daily favourites were: Felix the Cat, Casper the Friendly Ghost, Tom & Jerry, Alvin and the Chipmunks, Woody Woodpecker, Sesame Street (ok, not exactly a cartoon, but who cares, I loved it anyway!), Kids' Songs (these kids singing these nice songs like 'Waltzing Matilda' and 'If You're Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands' and dancing around in cute clothes), the Looney Toons series, and cartloads more. Wherever I went, they used to play us kids cartoons and somehow, we just lost ourselves in those tiny frames of animation. I never really knew I loved cartoons so much until today. The cartoons of this day are nothing like what we used to have back in the 90's when I was a kid. My dad's colleague presented me with a VHS with some amazing cartoon movies like Disney's Cinderella and Bambi. When I watched Bambi for the first time and all the times after that, I never really understood where Bambi's mother went and why he was so weirded out when he saw this other full-grown male deer watching him from a distance. But, just a few years ago, when I happened to watch the movie again, I realized that the movie had something deeper to convey than just deer running around in the wild. Bambi's mother had actually been killed in the stampede and I could feel his pain when he realized that she was gone and his helplessness at the time he finally found his mother and couldn't do anything but stand and watch her die in pain. All the poignance depicted in that 'cartoon' film reduced me to tears. Looking back, I think that was some movie!!
Also, the sight of the male deer he got was actually the spirit of his dead father. It is strange how cartoons were so symbolic of so much more at that time and it was such a beautiful way to convey so much through all those lovely Disney movies which were just beginning to become a rage then. The cartoons these days are seriously nothing like what we had then.
I also had so many crayons and coloured pencils, and colouring books.
My friends also had so many and our favourite way of modern day 'hanging out' at each other's places would be drawing and painting, we would also ask someone to judge our drawings and tell us whose was better. There were so many of these jumbo-sized colouring books which were really thick and had so many pages, but when me and my friends used to colour those pictures, we used to be so mad when the pages used to tear. Now I know why, they were all made out of cheap, recycled paper. I also miss those lovely beanies and goodie kits they used to hand out to kids on flights. I really miss those. Even now, when I see any of the steward(esse)s handing out any of those goodies to kids, I seriously keep wondering why they don't notice me. I want one of them too!!
Boy, you kids, am I jealous or what!! You have all the lovely discounts, all the goodies, all the cartoons, all the....

...And Then The Special Days...

Have you ever had a day which seemed nothing like any other? Well, I've been having a string of such days for eons, but there have been sweet breaks in the rut. Every day is special, that's something I've known ever since I knew anything else. But, special in what way, I ask. Well, of course, special enough that I'm yet with life, I guess.

How would you define a special day?

I don't really have a concrete definition for a 'special day'. I.M.O., anything can make a day special, it just depends on each individual, I guess. To me, even the smallest things such as seeing a butterfly go flower-hopping can go a long way in making my day extremely precious. People, of course, do so much more to make my days extra awesome. Even the smallest gestures or words or anything humanly performed can make me feel so grateful. Being the person I am, I just can't help smiling thinking about all the wonderful things that go on. At times, random special moments from the past just bring a smile to my face and it just happens anywhere at all. There are so many times I can remember feeling a smile or a giggle coming on in between really not-exactly-hilarious classes. A mental smile or a giggle works for me. Reminiscing is something I do on a daily basis. So many random memories of the past just come to my mind as if they just have to.

Well, I've had some really wonderful surprises in my life, knocking on wood, and I'm extremely grateful for them. To us, doing small things for someone may seem very ordinary and normal, but we never know when and what exactly we do that makes them happy and hence, we leave our footprints in the beach of someone's life.

People are special. Cliched, I know. I'm a minutiae-person. To me, the details are what matter the most, such that, at times, I totally forget about the big picture. But, details are so important to me. What details? Well, details related to everything that has or can have details. Even the most insignificant word anyone might say can make or break something for me. So many things that make a difference to me and most people could be: having a wonderful conversation with someone, just bonding with someone you never thought you could even imagine talking to, receiving some special mail, hearing from people you've known and not been in touch for a long time, a simple phone call from someone when you're blue, reading something really inspirational that makes you reflect on life and everything around you, accomplishing something you previously thought unaccomplishable (and when it actually turns out to be quite an accomplishment)....and so many more such lovely happenings.

If only I could be this filter for the good stuff which just lets all the not-so-nice stuff drain away. I'm not sure why I'm rambling on about goodness and special days, but somehow, I think I have the answer and don't have it, too. But, I love the fact that the future is so unpredictable, somehow, we can create it or yet just leave it to Destiny to create it for us, we can do anything...it's karma, it's luck, it's all the glitter and colour in the universe, all the thoughts and emotions, all the people, all the flowers, leaves, trees, sunshine, joy...it's all pure magic.