Too much unpleasantness in life has deterred me from writing; I missed the entire October writing prompts, some of which I really liked, and would like to get back to it. have hence decided to slip them in wherever possible … (including today) :
Describe what it feels like to hear a beautiful piece of music or see a stunning piece of art.
What are heartstrings?
Are they capable of being ripped apart?
Can they braid themselves into little knots, and in a near-asphyxiation situation, release themselves so brashly that the heart falls into an unknown vortex?
What are tears?
Do they determine when they roll out of your eyes, and streak across your face, in a morbidly-hilarious manner?
Will they cleanse the soul, or wrench it into an irreparable mess?
I’m not going to find the answers, until the music stops, and rationality returns.
No, I did not get to go. I did not get an invitation to visit this most Northern industrial city in the world. But I saw this , by Elena Chernyshova. And now I am so moved, I’d decided I had to share this – in part due to my personal fascination for the country’s history, and also for those who would read this space for the same reasons. I work at whatever I’m at, unsure if I’ll ever get there. But honestly, I doubt I could do that, ever.
Most of us probably wouldn’t have a chance to visit, much less to make a positive impact to many of these places in the world. I am thankful the the Internet, despite having complained about our over reliance on it briefly a few posts back.
So for those of you who are interested, watch the short interview with Elena Chernyshova. And hear her out, you almost never get the daylight there. The narrow corridors between buildings – that which we would avoid usually – were the very things that kept them away from the strong winds.
It’s amazing. It’s simply too amazing for words.
The notification says “Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!” and I realised it’s been three years.
It got me thinking about why I’d started writing on WordPress.
I’d needed an outlet to write, to think, and to reminiscence; I’d wished to learn about the blogosphere and the good folks that expressed themselves most eloquently in words and most creatively in pictures; I’d strived to learn about the functionalities of a content management system to effective like WordPress; more importantly, I needed a change in life.
Three years have gone by – I’ve learnt a little about the blogging environment, though I have not been most active. I had a chance to browse through some of the most amazing writers online – these hidden talents that so many have missed out while they were spending 60% of their hours purely on updating their statuses instead of discovering the wonderful world here.
But the one thing hasn’t changed – life hasn’t gotten any better since I’d started out. It has gotten worse, despite trying all things possible to make improvements. But that apart, I appreciate the convenience that WordPress has offered to us, and I am grateful for all the things I’ve encountered online. Thank you guys, for being such an inspiration, and for coming by despite the infrequent updates here. Here’s hoping that some day not too soon from now, things will change for the better…
Didn’t think anyone could be addicted to digital? Think again.
The general population is hooked on their phones. It’s almost like a typical extension from their wrists, stuck on the palms, with the thumb swiping up and down, up and down.
The self-obsessed nature of Man results in his eyes naturally fixating itself on their high-tech hands, those big, brown eyes darting up and down, up and down.
And they don’t realise that you might be asking to pass through that narrow corridor on a train; or that you might be yelling out your lungs because they’ve got their foot on yours.
Can’t leave the table without your phone?
Can’t walk to the washroom without your mobile?
There’s always worse.
There’s always those who compulsively check for emails and text messages, even at the loo.
There are those who make so many friends online, only to feel more depressed when they are alone.
That’s internet addiction.
I sometimes wonder if we remember those days when we grew up without Wikipedia – when ‘research’ truly meant walking into a library and begging to borrow more than the limit; when we bought countless lined notebooks to make summaries of our findings. I also wonder if we recall those days when taking the public transport meant staring out of the rain-spotted windows, thinking of how to waddle through the puddles; or painstakingly trying to read under the weak lighting of the bus.
I wish I could walk away from that wretched smartphone – that two wretched smartphones – and the laptop; ok, that three laptops. Maybe I’ll try to break that wifi connection later. But that might drive me to anxiety…
Dreams, you damned things.
How you twist reality from desires.
Those who have passed on, appear strong and happy, conversing and relating to our daily lives in those illusions.
Those who harm us, vanish from sight and disappear in that state.
Yet when you wake, tears fall to soak the pillows.
Those who are gone, are gone forever.
Dreams, you damned things.
I feel like I’ve abandoned my blog(s) for quite some time, and really, it’s a result of how stuff has gone on a downhill beyond repair.
I chanced upon an article today, about a 182 year old tortoise who has by now, lost his sense of smell and is blinded by cataracts. How does it feel to watch the world go by? How has it been, walking across the globe, observing the deterioration of morality and advancement of technology? Have you seen the landscape evolve, and has it caused you to lose your sense of belonging? Did you ever feel that nobody understands your thoughts? What is life as you know it?
At 182, this tortoise still lives to keep me thinking about life…
Finish this sentence: “My closest friend is…”
“My closest friend is… wait. What’s a friend again?
Is it that jolly fellow who laughs with you when you’re filling your belly with that cheap happy hour beer? Or is it the empathetic girl who nods and pats your back when you mope and tell her about the hard times you’re through?
Oh! Maybe it’s the guy in a sleek business suit two sizes smaller than he really is, who says he knows all your schoolmates and business connections, and would love to ‘catch up soon’ every time you meet him?
I’ve got it, I’ve got it. It’s that over-supportive lad who tells you “just do it, the world is your oyster!” each time you contemplate a career move, major purchase, or anything that would change your life.
Did you listen to him the last time he told you it was great to join the competitor firm because you could get a huge pay raise? Right, I think he forgot to tell you about the politics there. I’m sure he knows you hate that decision, but he wouldn’t have time to hear you out. You’ll have to find the empathetic girl who would listen. But you’ll have to repeat your entire miserable life from scratch – she can’t remember a thing! Or you could find your drinking buddy – he’ll be there as long as you pay for the alcohol, and promise not to talk about anything unhappy.
Sorry, I’ve digressed, what’s the question again?
My closest friend is…”
I gave up and stepped away from the mirror.
Even my reflection hates the lies that fill my world.