Reader

I think of you often, reader.
In the dark, in the dark...
You know my power. But power is not strength. I trust you understand the difference.
Here I am, smashed between these walls. How is it that I always find myself here?
There are few people more stubborn than I am. And yet, I am easily swayed by seemingly fanciful notions. I could fall in love with a smile...
But it is almost impossible to fall in love with a person, in their entirety. People are oceans, planets. Undiscovered in their depths. Beautifully infinite. They are fascinating to observe and study. But as of late, I have become afraid at how rarely I am surprised anymore. The blandness ensues.
The world consists of numbers and patterns. It's the manner of their sequencing that creates this 'individualism' among us.
Nature has her ways. She is quietly devious. Beautiful and annihilating. And she makes it seem as if it were entirely your idea.
For all that we are, or could be, we are oblivious to what is of great import.
It's why we seek happiness.

Am I beautiful, dear? Beautiful on the inside?
I suppose no one is, because the inside is where we hide our wrongs.
But I am never wrong.
Am I beautiful?

Reader, your beauty exceeds this world.

O wretched mortals! Open your eyes!

LOLREADTHIS

Everyone knows I'm a misanthrope of note, right? It's not without reason. Now I know I'm much too young to be wise, but here are a few protips for living, as it were. Consider this part 1. I'll write more when I've learned more.

1. If you cannot love the life you're living, do not pretend to love the life you're living.

This may read easily, but I know it's not. The world expects us all to be sunshine and daisies, because 'there's always someone worse off.' That isn't exactly comforting, is it? You're being guilted into optimism. Forced optimism, friends, does not make you a better person. It does not change your circumstances. All it does is act as a rose-tint to your specs. You aren't blind. You can see what's ahead of you, because only you have a front view of your life. Adjust the fucking sails yourself, instead of relying on dying children in Africa to act as a comparable measure to your own life.

2. The overwhelming majority of people never think; and those who think never become the overwhelming majority. Choose your side.

This may seem disgracefully sad at first, but it's nature at work. Think about it, every creature that lives in a colony or clan has some degree of structure. A hierarchy. A vanguard. An echelon (Yes, I totally used 'echelon' for the 30STM fans). Ahem. Point being, not everyone can be the Queen Bee. Those entrusted with a higher functioning have never been amongst the plebeians. 

3. If you cannot choose, then just exist; be a mushroom or a plant.

It's human nature to be indecisive. If you're unsure about what your options are, then create your own. Be productive, but don't hinder those who have already chosen. Just exist. If this seems daunting to you because you've never strayed onto a path of your own creation before, read Sylvia Plath's 'Mushrooms'. You have so much potential. Practice the art of becoming.

4. If you have no interest in their answers, then do not ask questions.

If you've met me, you'd know that I don't speak unless I'm replying to someone I care to talk to, or am speaking about something that interests me. The world has become grievously polluted by noise. I make reference here to the dearth of real music in our times and the infiltration of mindless garbage salvaged from the Limited Lyrics Warehouse. Sadly, not many people choose their words with caution anymore. I've been subjected to the most mundane of conversations before, and ended them abruptly for lack of interest in their answers. Stop confusing friendliness with familiarity. "I've got nothing to say, and I'm saying it."

5. Nothing is as far away as a minute ago. 

I've done a post on time, before. We've established that it is relative. Today I had a most engaging conversation with Dmetri about how there is no 'now'. It's one thing to understand the concept of the present, but we can never anticipate it. We were not meant to truly react to immediacy. The 'now' we speak of passes by as we speak of it. Time traipses by ever so gracefully. Beautiful, no? Regret for wasted time is more wasted time. 

6. There are no facts; only interpretations.

This seems like some sort of noetic notion, but it's interestingly viable. There is no ultimate decider; just us. This implies that there is leeway for broader horizons, as it were. Expansion of thought occurs when interpretations are acknowledged, if not accepted. 

For all this and more to come, I regret that it takes a lifetime to learn how to live.

Lost Soul

I lay upon the damp sand that seemed to be clawing at me, and fine sprays of the ocean misted before my eyes in protest. I glanced up at the majestic stars, while a crisp breeze surrounded me. The beauty of this moment almost makes me forget what happened today. Almost. Perspective is a luxury when your head is constantly buzzing with a swarm of demons.

What had happened was no fault of mine, despite what it looked like. But I shouldn’t take myself back. These godly waves – I imagine them capturing my painful thoughts and drowning them swiftly, silently, saintly. I was in a self-induced trance, and at that moment, I understood the appeal for hallucinogens. Apathy is deliciously dreamy.

Introspection. The pain was not gone, and neither were the tears. The misery fed on me, and felt like acid scorching my skin. It had become apparent to me, only too late – the evil in people, and the careless manner in which you become disregarded if you have nothing left to give. I could sum the psyche of an entire species in a word: self. But I had made it my aim to be different – and look how far that’s got me.

I gather my strength in an effort to lift myself up – both literally and metaphorically. This used to be my happy place, where no one could find me. Or hurt me. And I didn’t have to be shared. The serenity and stillness calmed my sorrowful heart. Bliss. The waves began to ease, forming picturesque art.

It stunned me at first – only because I knew it was real. So light, so carefree, my body floated like a ragdoll. It disappeared, and then resurfaced. There was no going back, because the deed was done. The image seemed hauntingly beautiful, and framed by the incandescent moon. I accepted it only because I knew it was inevitable. I was dead.

Is this what death looked like? A painless, albeit disturbing, out-of-body experience?

I had in death what I had in life: self. I was all I had. Not someone to love me, protect me, tell me it will all get better. I just had what I knew I could rely on: self.

The beauty was returning. My soul still tossed on the sand, and I began to notice it again. I watched as the crimson rays of the mighty sun tinged the water with rainbow hues. The birth of a new day.

I could see this in context of my life. Because sometimes, our minds see what our hearts wish were true.

My modified version of an essay originally penned by my closest friend, Senrika Eshwarduth.

Secrets

Egoism dictates human relations. A world where fashion overturns morality. Here success is written in blood-red colours designed by the thirst for control. Gather the faithless and propose a toast to the epoch of indifference. An all too ordinary story, with an aftertaste so bitter, morphed to the whims of a conforming world, because conformity is society. I'm losing myself, I'm sinking in deeper. I'm caught in the World Wound Web, a time represented by the black void - an excuse without content - stuck in the abyss of existence, with a content void of excuse. A coerced coexistence. An all too ordinary story; my story, with an aftertaste so bitter, I'm sinking deeper down - I'm caught, I'm caged, I'm gone.

Secrets are lies.

Beyond the inky calligraphy of trees, the city lies scribbled below. We are its people. Humanness is our escape from perfection. It's why we hide what we know; what we hide is a lie. If we don't know it, we won't hurt. If we don't hurt, we won't cry. If we don't cry, we don't live. Secrets are essential.

Their power lies in their being unknown. Like the bullets of a gun, they have that potential to destroy us. Secrets are lies. What do I lie about - my feelings or my life? Are they not the same thing? What if I lie so much that I start believing in them? The believing becomes remembering...

Why do we remember the things we remember?

It's the knowledge of knowing that holds my intrigue. There are no facts; only interpretations. Raw, unprecedented truth. In our ignorance, we confuse ourselves with the entity called power. There is an art to subconscious illusion. Humanness becomes us; we've become a palpable mass of want. Secrets are lies.

Why do we lie?

It's the baroque ecstasy, the grotesque compulsion of our conquests that are, frankly, disgusting. We have intentions behind our actions. Sometimes we do it to hide our fear, in order to protect others. He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.

How dire the suffering?

The only paradise is the lost one. Lies transform us. Desire blooms into obsession, envy into malice, greed into rage. The only purpose lies truly serve is to crush us into an embarrassed nothingness. We secretly enjoy the picture of fallen splendour. There is a moment when all hope disappears, all pride is gone, all faith, all desire. We want to own that moment.

Lies, innocent lies. They are the honey of poisoned flowers. They do not accept criticism. Keeping secrets is like screaming for help that is impossible to give. We never let it out in error. We do everything for a reason. Secrets are lies.

Do not speak again.

Playing God

Know ye not that ye are gods?

Medicine, electronic communication, space travel, genetic manipulation - these are the miracles about which we now tell children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that it is not God that has the answers. Ancient stories of immaculate conception, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant.

God has become obsolete.

There were days when a baby's sex was a surprise, a natural disaster was just that - natural, and death followed you. No longer. Sure, a lot of people believe in God, but a lot of people believed the world was flat, too. Wide acceptance of an idea is not proof of its validity.

If God is eulogised for being a Creator, what now can he claim? Is there really anything still shrouded in mystery, or that scientists are not on their way to proving?

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, as has been the case for years. The shadows of this history whisper in the dark, but yet again, have been outsmarted. There is little we cannot do: Prolong life? Easy. Grow embryos? No problem. Cure disease? Consider it done. Sometimes, divine revelation simply means adjusting your heart to hear what your brain already knows.

Our once complex universe, in all its glory, has newfound logical explanations. We murder to dissect. Sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies, DNA been decoded, and the Earth excavated for our purposes. In this context, how is it strange to believe in mathematical impossibility rather than a power greater than us?

We ARE the creators, yet we naively play the part of the created. In a play of dramatic irony, it is our very own faculty of knowledge and curiosity, generously bestowed upon us by this 'God', that has elevated us amongst the divine. It has given us the wisdom and freedom to prove our upper hand in this difficulty worth living for.

Granted, we may have reached a straining point - one where the quest for smaller chips and larger profits have compelled us to sacrifice the very things that give us our distinctive characteristic of humanness: ethics, morals, and values. But there is no God in this.

Are we, on this occasion, pushing the limits? Is science the infamous Tower of Babel - will our own creation become our downfall? If there is a God, perhaps we are merely a prototype, for what God offers his people power, but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? For surely, a God cannot be both omnipotent and benevolent.

Is this an indication that there is no God - that He is metaphorical? An image conjured for the weak, the poor, the lonely - those who are just searching for a truth that ideally happens to be greater than ourselves? Maybe people believe in God because they don't have any other explanation for things that happen. The time for paradigm shift is bearing down upon us. Science is bringing home the answers.

And then, perhaps, the only difference between God and us is that we have forgotten we are divine.

Trees Are Beautiful

Diamonds are rare; gold expensive, and yet, who would have thought that something as simple as a tree could be priceless? It tells us that there's much more to nature's bounty than we'd originally imagined. Only subtle intricacies separate us humans from the natural beauty of a tree.

They begin their journey as seedlings, a little bundle of potential. The babies grow, nurtured by their parent. With the aid of nature, they find their way to terra firma, into the increasingly dangerous world. There, she huddles, clutching firmly to the bosom of the earth.

Come wind, come rain; and so this seedling blossoms. Her graceful smile catches the eye of many. Surrounded by many like her; threatened by many who are not. Trapping rays of vibrancy and warmth; she learns, she adapts, and she grows.

An adolescent she becomes, and finds her foundation. Gently extending her tapering roots into the heart of the world, she chooses her environment carefully. She rises above those around her, brandishing her weapons of stability and potential. She extends her help with slender branches, and her purposeful leaves that reach to the heavens, as if saluting her creator. A rainbow adorns her in the form of flowers, screaming for attention.

When she finds satisfaction, the clock begins to tick toward her prime. She fills a new role now, that of an expectant mother. Soon she shall produce her heir. She envelops her seed in a warm fleshy cloak of sweetness,  nurturing her babies for as long as possible, until time comes to part ways. Such is the selflessness of a mother.

How familiar this story sounds, for it is the story of our lives. We are that simple seedling, and so do we have such potential to rise above the earth in honour of our devoted parents, to become the recipient of such praise and love. Just as the subject of our story finds her purpose, it, too, becomes our duty to give our characters of life direction.

To say that the complexity of the human in its entirety can still be compared in equal measures to the simplicity of the tree, is our assurance that humility leads to righteousness.

Thus, trees are simply beautiful.

Education and Experience

Examination is formidable, even to the best prepared; for the greatest fool may ask more than the wisest man can answer.

There is no school equal to a decent home, and no teachers equal to honest, virtuous parents. This is how we live - by experience, intuition and advice; all of which we subconsciously merge together to form an intricate and complicated mindset, that which is our own. For many a century, it was all man had to live by, to face his decisions in a world of unexplored possibilities. They are my models for the practical man. But one has to argue: experience is an expensive tutor.

The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet. Knowledgeable men are among the most revered today, both for their intellect and their uncanny ability to parade as walking encyclopaedias. These men, who have known little else but the realms of books, who are tutors in life lessons, are my models for the theoretical man, and have only these to allude to his eminence. But one might argue: education is merely a state-controlled manufactory of echoes.

Surely time is a test of trouble - for man has revolutionised himself from one extreme to another. But the observing eye would look for the point at which education and experience unite to form a culmination of sorts, which leads to successful decision-making. 

Life is the art of drawing without an eraser. And in saying so, education is not water to experience's oil, but rather like a sharpener to a pencil. For in decision-making, the human mind would first explore the hard drives, or memories, and then apply knowledge to reason and rationalise to make a logical choice. Thus in the same way, education, when co-joined with experience, literally makes for sharper choices. Like white wine is to chicken, they are meant to complement each other, for life itself is educational.

It is for this reason, none can be the better teacher, for true wisdom is obtained in the coming together of both these forces: practical education and formal education. 

This is, after all, the well-balanced recipe for calculated consequences.

I Can't Think Of A Title

Today's post is about investments. Okay, no. Moving on...

How exactly are the different stages of development deciphered?
Paul Dirac once commented, "A person who has not made his greatest contribution to science before the age of thirty will never do so." History is replete with stories of prodigies in both sciences and the arts. These people are renowned in society - but more for their exceptionalism than their ingeniousness.
But it is wise to acknowledge that the world as we know it was not borne of children.

On the road to great achievement, the late bloomer will resemble a failure: while the late bloomer is revising and despairing and changing course; what he or she produces will look like the kind of thing produced by the artist who will never bloom at all. These people are ridiculed at the first attempt, because this is what society does. Society wants instant gratification, always.

Prodigies are easy. They advertise their genius from the get-go. Late bloomers are hard. They require forbearance and a trusting audience. Whenever we find a late bloomer, we can't but wonder how many others like him or her we have thwarted because we prematurely judged their talents. But we also have to accept that there's nothing we can do about it. How can we ever know which of the 'failures' will end up blooming? There isn't an obvious pattern to this.

This begs the inclusion of an age old battle: Education or Experience?
Ingenuity and talent as opposed to wisdom and mastery.

The effects of ageing on cognition, achievement, and creativity is a subject worthy of more research, but perhaps it is also important to note that ordinary late-life contentment is worth more than extraordinary achievement.
Not everyone is destined to be a mathematician.

It's A Blacked Out Blur, But I'm Pretty Sure It Ruled

Is it ever wrong to miss someone?
Revelations in the early morning.

I've always told myself that my solipsism keeps me from feeling anything for another person. Feelings are not real; they're not tangible.
But here I am, writing about missing him. I do miss him. Stockholm's Syndrome, perhaps? I felt like a prisoner, and he felt like my captor. But I was his world, just as he was mine. Is that really such a bad thing?

'Never regret anything that once made you smile.' I'm doing just that - remembering why I smiled. Katya would smile.
I thought I'd be over this. In fact, I'd never have thought it would even come to this. Is this my 500 Days of Summer? Perhaps I will move on, but I could never forget.
To some degree, I find solace in the fact that I'm sharing these feelings with someone, somewhere. Maybe he still hurts because what are now memories to me are experiences he's still living. He hasn't forgotten the smiles, or the whys behind them. That magic is somewhere. But there won't be a repeat of this part of history. At least not now. Perhaps after his 500 Days. Maybe we're just waiting to miss each other enough to return. Maybe we need never return.

What is this love I'm trying so hard to define? Is that what should matter? What I need to define is happiness. If I know what makes me happy, I will know what I love.

My point is: I love remembering.
Because when the flood of mixed emotions that a moment encapsulates are over, only the good ones remain. We've been self-healing all along. It's just too soon to have realised it.