waiting for my real life to begin. finally a song that woke me up. what's really special about it, is precisely how simple it is. featured in some pivotal episode of scrubs. just discovered that the dude responsible for this is an unfortunate vestige of the very unfortunate men at work. but that shall not deter me (much) from falling in love with this song, every time i listen to it.
i'm not a fan of hope. or of corny motivational numbers. but there's something in the honesty of this song, you can feel his despair, and yet he's checking his machine. he knows that call's sure to come in.
there are days when i find such optimism nauseating, sure.
but today, this works.
any minute now, my ship is coming in
i'll keep checking the horizon
i'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
come crashing down down down, on me
and you say, be still my love
open up your heart
let the light shine in
but don't you understand i already have a plan
i'm waiting for my real life to begin
when i awoke today, suddenly nothing happened
but in my dreams, i slew the dragon
and down this beaten path, and up this cobbled lane
i'm walking in my old footsteps, once again
and you say, just be here now
forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin
let me throw one more dice
i know that i can win
i'm waiting for my real life to begin
any minute now, my ship is coming in
i’ll keep checking the horizon
and i'll check my machine, there's sure to be that call
it's gonna happen soon, soon, soon
it's just that times are lean
and you say, be still my love
open up your heart, let the light shine in
don't you understand i already have a plan
i'm waiting for my real life to begin
Sunday, August 19, 2007
at the railway station
mothers grow up, because children leave.
lovers cry, because forever isn't.
some are waiting, and some've given up.
some indifferent, and some who still try.
vacation lights up a pair of eyes,
a vacant look in another, headed for the unknown.
the stench - it's not the filth.
it's the mishmash of emotions that is unloaded here.
emotions that haven't been worded.
imagine all those consciences, those inner voices
screaming within, begging to be let out.
the lump in the throat thickens
as the train fades into the distance
leaving only the regret that the right things weren't said.
that tomorrow may never come.
to say them.
lovers cry, because forever isn't.
some are waiting, and some've given up.
some indifferent, and some who still try.
vacation lights up a pair of eyes,
a vacant look in another, headed for the unknown.
the stench - it's not the filth.
it's the mishmash of emotions that is unloaded here.
emotions that haven't been worded.
imagine all those consciences, those inner voices
screaming within, begging to be let out.
the lump in the throat thickens
as the train fades into the distance
leaving only the regret that the right things weren't said.
that tomorrow may never come.
to say them.
Friday, August 17, 2007
a wedding invitation
she picks up the invitation card lying on the dinner table. takes it out of the envelope. handmade paper, light saffron in colour, with the names of the bride and groom delicately etched in brush strokes of magenta lined with silver. names of members of both families , fill one side of the card entirely. the parents (with their designations) humbly beseech her presence at this auspicious occasion. the venue is a new 4-star hotel in the suburbs. the menu vegetarian.
she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and allows her mind to drift, as her fingers play with the thin golden thread that bordered the card.
she's known them for years, though not intimately. they are friends of the family. she knows she has to oblige her mother and turn up at the happy event. she doesn't mind these things as much nowadays.
there was a time when it annoyed her a great deal. the same conversations with the same people. the same goddamn questions. why can't everybody just get over it?!
she imagines those goose bumps on her arm, the way she used to get, many years ago, whenever she'd get agitated. she used to be fiesty. they called her a rebel-kid right from her early teens. as she grew older, her rebellions found direction and purpose. she couldn't stand being cornered or caged. wild and untamed, that's how she saw herself. she refused to let anyone control her.
that was till she met him. and he changed her life. no, that's not right. he didn't change her. she allowed change to happen. she welcomed it. she came to realise that her independence of so many years meant nothing if she had no one to share her life with. that depending and to be depended upon were good things - to breathe every waking breath for someone else, was to really live, and not just exist. they weren't lovers like that, but if love could've manifested itself in their circumstances, that's exactly how it would've been.
she sighs, and looks out the window. as if she can see those days clearly in the wind and moonlight.
for the good times, and the better times, yours forever, xoxoxo.
she doesn't blame him. she knows that he tried harder than she ever did, to make things work.
we're really not making sense any more.. i don't think i can do this any more..
she can't remember who ended it. who ran away and hid. who couldn't face a world littered with memories of their love. it's all such a blur, really.
she turns to the envelope in her other hand. where her name is written neatly in ink. the '& family' struck off as aesthetically possible. she laughs to herself, takes another look at the card, and leaves it where she found it.
she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and allows her mind to drift, as her fingers play with the thin golden thread that bordered the card.
she's known them for years, though not intimately. they are friends of the family. she knows she has to oblige her mother and turn up at the happy event. she doesn't mind these things as much nowadays.
there was a time when it annoyed her a great deal. the same conversations with the same people. the same goddamn questions. why can't everybody just get over it?!
she imagines those goose bumps on her arm, the way she used to get, many years ago, whenever she'd get agitated. she used to be fiesty. they called her a rebel-kid right from her early teens. as she grew older, her rebellions found direction and purpose. she couldn't stand being cornered or caged. wild and untamed, that's how she saw herself. she refused to let anyone control her.
that was till she met him. and he changed her life. no, that's not right. he didn't change her. she allowed change to happen. she welcomed it. she came to realise that her independence of so many years meant nothing if she had no one to share her life with. that depending and to be depended upon were good things - to breathe every waking breath for someone else, was to really live, and not just exist. they weren't lovers like that, but if love could've manifested itself in their circumstances, that's exactly how it would've been.
she sighs, and looks out the window. as if she can see those days clearly in the wind and moonlight.
for the good times, and the better times, yours forever, xoxoxo.
she doesn't blame him. she knows that he tried harder than she ever did, to make things work.
we're really not making sense any more.. i don't think i can do this any more..
she can't remember who ended it. who ran away and hid. who couldn't face a world littered with memories of their love. it's all such a blur, really.
she turns to the envelope in her other hand. where her name is written neatly in ink. the '& family' struck off as aesthetically possible. she laughs to herself, takes another look at the card, and leaves it where she found it.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
of kryptonite, CSB's and illusions..
there are those who think they need to be correct all the time.
there are those who believe they have to have the last word.
there are those who are starved of affection, and must be loved by all.
and then there are those think they can do it all.
it is one of those tragic pathological cases. the host turns against the parasite. as it is accustomed to. except that the battle results in dangerously heavy losses for the host. but the host is accustomed to fight. and it will, irregardless of ability or will. it just has to.
it must be an ego trip. disguised behind a stupid grin of goodwill.
i do it the best, and i do it the fastest. ergo, let me position my neck beneath the axe. oh don't bother, i'll jerk upwards, and save you the effort.
there's a piercing scream inside my head that says 'STOP!'.
what comes out is 'Uh, yeah, am on it..'
but what is peculiar to my case is that i nod along only because that entails lesser pontification on issues i couldn't give a rat's ass about. and worse, with people that make me cringe.
still, i believe i have arrived at the infamous breaking point.
maybe this is the first sign of mutating into the Corporate Slime-Ball (CSB). wherein you can cook up some cock-and-bull story to justify any random standpoint, only to ensure that you can go home on time.
another few hundred farmyard animal stories later, you're so good at it, that they call you a complete genius (to your face and behind your back, a lazy MF who'll say anything to not work.) . And you wisely use the time thus saved, in networking with the powers that be.
is this disillusionment?
what was the illusion i walked into?
do good things and good things will happen.
be sincere, and hard work will pay off.
do that which benefits the most people.. greater good for the greater number etc.
yes, i am freed from this illusion.
come to think of it, i have never had any reason to believe in this illusion either. except for maybe some fairy tales and other kiddie stories. grown up stories often had the hope of this illusion. but if it did break, it was so delicately sentimentalised that you'd still believe.
out of this illusion, and into another? that there is perhaps a world beyond this one?
one desperately needs illusions. we'll learn to get over them eventually. but till that time arrives, there has to be another lie that one can cling to.
i need a new illusion.
there are those who believe they have to have the last word.
there are those who are starved of affection, and must be loved by all.
and then there are those think they can do it all.
it is one of those tragic pathological cases. the host turns against the parasite. as it is accustomed to. except that the battle results in dangerously heavy losses for the host. but the host is accustomed to fight. and it will, irregardless of ability or will. it just has to.
it must be an ego trip. disguised behind a stupid grin of goodwill.
i do it the best, and i do it the fastest. ergo, let me position my neck beneath the axe. oh don't bother, i'll jerk upwards, and save you the effort.
there's a piercing scream inside my head that says 'STOP!'.
what comes out is 'Uh, yeah, am on it..'
but what is peculiar to my case is that i nod along only because that entails lesser pontification on issues i couldn't give a rat's ass about. and worse, with people that make me cringe.
still, i believe i have arrived at the infamous breaking point.
maybe this is the first sign of mutating into the Corporate Slime-Ball (CSB). wherein you can cook up some cock-and-bull story to justify any random standpoint, only to ensure that you can go home on time.
another few hundred farmyard animal stories later, you're so good at it, that they call you a complete genius (to your face and behind your back, a lazy MF who'll say anything to not work.) . And you wisely use the time thus saved, in networking with the powers that be.
is this disillusionment?
what was the illusion i walked into?
do good things and good things will happen.
be sincere, and hard work will pay off.
do that which benefits the most people.. greater good for the greater number etc.
yes, i am freed from this illusion.
come to think of it, i have never had any reason to believe in this illusion either. except for maybe some fairy tales and other kiddie stories. grown up stories often had the hope of this illusion. but if it did break, it was so delicately sentimentalised that you'd still believe.
out of this illusion, and into another? that there is perhaps a world beyond this one?
one desperately needs illusions. we'll learn to get over them eventually. but till that time arrives, there has to be another lie that one can cling to.
i need a new illusion.
really, this isn't about you.
independence day. hah.
even you're a bloody slave.
slave to this version of yourself that you seem so comfortable with.
you appear as the lord and master.
you and your prosperous fiefdom, the serfs with dollar dreams in their eyes.
stop, before your head explodes with pride. or atleast before i put a bullet through it.
there's nothing to celebrate. your hollow two-bit existence is known for what it's worth.
your secrets, like your promises, mean nothing. cheap entertainment, that's all.
your damning roots, your uneducated conversations, the filth between your teeth.
how blind do you think we are? or are you so far gone in your quest for the holy grail, that public opinion is irrelevant? as long as the public is beneath your stature/standing.
is it your intelligence that you've presumed makes you worthy of the pedestal you've hoisted yourself on? or is it your way with words that does the trick?
the condescending smile, the furrow on your brow, the ill-timed reactions, the aggressive cat and the kiss-ass dog that you are. do you see yourself the way we do? ever?
the truly agonising part is that, to the unaffected onlooker, you'd seem like the young and brilliant mind, trapped in an unattractive but tolerable human shell; challenged, but bravely overcoming a life-long stutter.
i bet you read self-help books to sleep every night.
i bet you've never known the joy of being truly respected.
i bet your friends are good looking geeks with a sharp and sophisticated sense of humour(and without a hyena-esque laughter).
i bet you have no friends.
it's not a lifetime of misery that i wish upon you. there are several ruined lifetimes you need to atone for.
there really is nothing i'd want to wish upon you. Except, oblivion.
even you're a bloody slave.
slave to this version of yourself that you seem so comfortable with.
you appear as the lord and master.
you and your prosperous fiefdom, the serfs with dollar dreams in their eyes.
stop, before your head explodes with pride. or atleast before i put a bullet through it.
there's nothing to celebrate. your hollow two-bit existence is known for what it's worth.
your secrets, like your promises, mean nothing. cheap entertainment, that's all.
your damning roots, your uneducated conversations, the filth between your teeth.
how blind do you think we are? or are you so far gone in your quest for the holy grail, that public opinion is irrelevant? as long as the public is beneath your stature/standing.
is it your intelligence that you've presumed makes you worthy of the pedestal you've hoisted yourself on? or is it your way with words that does the trick?
the condescending smile, the furrow on your brow, the ill-timed reactions, the aggressive cat and the kiss-ass dog that you are. do you see yourself the way we do? ever?
the truly agonising part is that, to the unaffected onlooker, you'd seem like the young and brilliant mind, trapped in an unattractive but tolerable human shell; challenged, but bravely overcoming a life-long stutter.
i bet you read self-help books to sleep every night.
i bet you've never known the joy of being truly respected.
i bet your friends are good looking geeks with a sharp and sophisticated sense of humour(and without a hyena-esque laughter).
i bet you have no friends.
it's not a lifetime of misery that i wish upon you. there are several ruined lifetimes you need to atone for.
there really is nothing i'd want to wish upon you. Except, oblivion.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
i met leonard cohen tonight.
i met leonard cohen tonight.
he was weeping his hallelujah
and i, unfeeling, let his words wash over me.
in his tears, i saw suzanne
and the angel with the broken harp.
i could travel with him and travel blind,
i had gone the distance in my mind anyway.
the notes and the words filled the air
around us - as if they'd be the last sounds we'd ever hear.
even the sisters shed a tear, in shame or love, i didn't know.
now i could smell the dirt on the skin
of heroes of the wars lying by the wayside, hope still not lost.
embarassed, he showed me janis' smile
as she turned her back on the crowd
and him, his heart breaking like mine.
some pretend to be brave,
and some others wounded.
he and i, we are sometimes alike.
words protect us from the eyes
that pry, accuse and judge.
they already have, and they always would've.
we spin the magic of metaphors,
and hide behind melodies
unheard in these parts, where harsh words
are all that remain.
we feel victorious, even as every muscle, every limb
quietly surrenders.
i left him with his tears, and carried his soul into my sleep.
the words are mine now. softly, the tears too.
he was weeping his hallelujah
and i, unfeeling, let his words wash over me.
in his tears, i saw suzanne
and the angel with the broken harp.
i could travel with him and travel blind,
i had gone the distance in my mind anyway.
the notes and the words filled the air
around us - as if they'd be the last sounds we'd ever hear.
even the sisters shed a tear, in shame or love, i didn't know.
now i could smell the dirt on the skin
of heroes of the wars lying by the wayside, hope still not lost.
embarassed, he showed me janis' smile
as she turned her back on the crowd
and him, his heart breaking like mine.
some pretend to be brave,
and some others wounded.
he and i, we are sometimes alike.
words protect us from the eyes
that pry, accuse and judge.
they already have, and they always would've.
we spin the magic of metaphors,
and hide behind melodies
unheard in these parts, where harsh words
are all that remain.
we feel victorious, even as every muscle, every limb
quietly surrenders.
i left him with his tears, and carried his soul into my sleep.
the words are mine now. softly, the tears too.
of superstitions and upside down desktops..
there's something to be said about the week that starts with your desktop screen turning upside down.
even for those with a less superstitious mind than mine.
ominous. that's one of my favourite words. i can use it in practically every sentence, considering everthing, when worked backwards can be a sign. i wouldn't blame the next mishap in my life on the sign. it just invites the smell of the possibility of an unfavourable occurrence , and hence one wisely prepares for the worst. simply based on the sign.
so hours later, when everything falls apart at work, i think to myself 'ah well! my desktop did that little jig, didn't it..' not that it makes the problems any less significant. but the disappointment is almost explained. justified, even.
it's not really superstition then, is it?
dig a little deeper, and it might surface that it's a really funny mechanism that the mind automatically resorts to. sheer childish blame-shifting meets the traditionally ingrained need to turn fatalistic on an otherwise sunny monday morning.
even for those with a less superstitious mind than mine.
ominous. that's one of my favourite words. i can use it in practically every sentence, considering everthing, when worked backwards can be a sign. i wouldn't blame the next mishap in my life on the sign. it just invites the smell of the possibility of an unfavourable occurrence , and hence one wisely prepares for the worst. simply based on the sign.
so hours later, when everything falls apart at work, i think to myself 'ah well! my desktop did that little jig, didn't it..' not that it makes the problems any less significant. but the disappointment is almost explained. justified, even.
it's not really superstition then, is it?
dig a little deeper, and it might surface that it's a really funny mechanism that the mind automatically resorts to. sheer childish blame-shifting meets the traditionally ingrained need to turn fatalistic on an otherwise sunny monday morning.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
the necessary and uncomfortable beginning...
it's a journey, really. for half-thought thinkers like us. we do not have very wise things to say, and the half-thoughts remain thus only because the level of interest is hard to sustain. that or something better comes up (usually on tv). so to disclose some of these half-thoughts in such a forum, would be the furthest such thoughts have ever travelled. and perhaps, the only glaring result of such an experiment would be only to ratify their status.. as half-thoughts.
it's hard to bare the mind and soul, without getting into specifics. but what are the relevant specifics anyway? what matters is in the moment. in this moment, it matters to me that i'm feeling too lazy to change the cd that's playing. one of my favourite pastimes (ie, when i am not feeling completely sloth-like) is to update my ipod. and that could be to go scrounging for new music(ie, music that i don't already have), or rummage through existing cd collection to dig up that one cd that i'd assumed my brother had whacked off me.
it's fleetwood mac tonight.
****snip-snip-ed on 15th Aug****
fleetwood mac, anyhow, doesn't get associated with any special memories/thoughts/half-thoughts. they've never been an ever-green favourite with me. but these words..
if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
the landslide will bring it down
.. these would rate high among the most haunting words ever written. it's practically eerie. and the voice and the music just make it eerie-er!
closer home of course, is...
i've been afraid of changing
cause i've built my life around you
... it's unfortunate when words like these make sense. the potential danger of settling. because uprooting what one is settled into, invites a world of change within oneself. it's almost the fear of this potential danger that gives me the courage to procrastinate the impending decisions of life. right now might be completely miserable, but atleast i have a hold on things. but if i rock the boat a little with the sliver of a hope that things will get better, things might just get worse. so why rock it? just live another moment, another hour, another day...
it's hard to bare the mind and soul, without getting into specifics. but what are the relevant specifics anyway? what matters is in the moment. in this moment, it matters to me that i'm feeling too lazy to change the cd that's playing. one of my favourite pastimes (ie, when i am not feeling completely sloth-like) is to update my ipod. and that could be to go scrounging for new music(ie, music that i don't already have), or rummage through existing cd collection to dig up that one cd that i'd assumed my brother had whacked off me.
it's fleetwood mac tonight.
fleetwood mac, anyhow, doesn't get associated with any special memories/thoughts/half-thoughts. they've never been an ever-green favourite with me. but these words..
if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
the landslide will bring it down
.. these would rate high among the most haunting words ever written. it's practically eerie. and the voice and the music just make it eerie-er!
closer home of course, is...
i've been afraid of changing
cause i've built my life around you
... it's unfortunate when words like these make sense. the potential danger of settling. because uprooting what one is settled into, invites a world of change within oneself. it's almost the fear of this potential danger that gives me the courage to procrastinate the impending decisions of life. right now might be completely miserable, but atleast i have a hold on things. but if i rock the boat a little with the sliver of a hope that things will get better, things might just get worse. so why rock it? just live another moment, another hour, another day...
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