Filed under: Miscellaneous, Personal Experiences, Thoughts

Time Off

Never have I found words this evasive and beyond my grasp as I do these days. I have been struggling lately to write down my thoughts, to communicate them, and to simply vent some of the pressure that I’ve been feeling, only to find myself vacuous when I intend to do so. I’ve been doing a lot of sitting, reading, observing, and contemplating. I didn’t feel like leaving my place much. I watched four or five new movies, and replayed a couple of old ones… I made several checklists each day. I’ve crossed out most of them – things that I could do from this chair right here… I’ve listened to music, and I’ve watched the sun set on the old houses on the hill across my house every day; sometimes, from where I sit, the view from my window seems more like an odd portrait I’ve seen in some book or some movie. It’s as if I had hung this big picture on my wall; a picture whose shades and colors change as the day progresses into night. It’s funny how the reflection of the sunlight off those houses affects my mood. But then again, perhaps it is my mood that affects the way I view the picture, much like Dorian’s inner soul manifests itself on his portrait… I tried to plan the exciting times I have ahead of me. I haphazardly jumped from one thought to the other, wondering and worrying about how each of them would affect me or fit into the large scheme of events that I deem ideal for me and my ‘future’. I scribbled away on my board. Occasionally, I would throw a ball against the wall in front of my desk, catch it, and throw it back over and over, until I am unaware that I am doing it… I’ve admitted things to myself and to others, and I’ve sent out some of the most foolish e-mails in the history of e-mailing… I dreamt, and I planned, and I felt like something is coming soon to change the way things are. It could be good, and it could be bad, but the status quo is soon to be disturbed, that’s for sure.

Thoughts. Endless thoughts. What are they now? Which ones troubled me? Which ones filled me with joy and enthusiasm? I can’t remember. It feels like I exerted more effort this week, at home, on this chair, than I have in the last two years at work. Time off? No such thing. I will always be consumed, it seems, by my thoughts and worries, by my joys and aspirations, by my plans and work, and by trying to figure out what the hell it is that I am supposed to be doing and why.

This takes me back, yet again and again, to the fact that life is the funniest and most mysterious thing of all. It has no meaning and no purpose. I was born, and I shall die, at some time in the future, whether I struggle or take it easy. My entire existence is a blink of an eye, a result of chance and the continuation of processes that have persisted for millions of years. Yet here I am, trying with all my might to change it; to create meaning. A few German language courses have led me to a month in Germany – a reason to be smiling for quite some time, some say. Maybe some chances there? Perhaps just a great vacation with some more learning? Two years in a tedious and ridiculous job have worn me down to the extent that I now want nothing but to be accepted at a top university to continue my ‘studies’ and catch up with my ‘Plan A’ of always excelling and being part of the elite; to contribute and produce and satisfy my intellectual needs. Is my despair here now reason enough to pursue that? Perhaps not. And the effort needed to get back on that track is certainly discouraging. But it seems like the only move I have at my disposal at the moment; to open new doors, and to carve new paths for the flow of ‘life’ to follow. Am I really changing my life? Will I ever be happy with any of those things? I don’t know. All I know is that it doesn’t really matter.

I don’t feel like writing anymore.

Filed under: Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Experiences, Philosophy, Thoughts , Life, Meaning, Philosophy, Thoughts, Work

Hidden Beauty

“Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it.”
Confucius

I’ve been asked to ponder the idea of hidden beauty. Here’s some of what crossed my mind.

Her hidden rebellion, shining from within. Her love for life and music in the true senses of the word. Her awkwardness, intelligence, true kindness, and passion. This carefully-hidden beauty lies in her words and thoughts, and I am filled with the true joy of a happy kid whenever it shines in my face…

A silent compartment set above our heads. Some inscriptions contrast the light color of the marble; a name, a couple of dates, a picture, and a verse that was selected from half a dozen available ones, and that we thought represented him best. A burnt candle and a dead flower have been waiting since the last visit, and an old lady at the end of the dusty path that contains tens of similar resting places seems to have been watering her son’s plants and waiting for something to happen since forever. I drag the small steps we found there so my mother can reach up and touch the stone. I move my eyes between his picture and the tens of used matchsticks around us, and I wonder what I should do. I don’t want to promise ‘him’ the same things I always do when I find myself speechless there. It feels more stupid each time, yet it makes me feel a bit better. I look around me and see plants and flowers and silent people staring at their own lost ones. Even butterflies and happy singing birds come here. It truly is a resting place, but for the living. The hidden beauty of the silence, the comfort of promises made to dead ears, the recollection of memories and the telling of old and new stories. Dead flowers are replaced, candles lit, and incense burnt, and I start to see that these things are done for the sake of the living, not the dead. The randomness and stupidity of life is only surpassed by the meaninglessness of death, and this is the only place that so calmly and beautifully presents both to you. The dead are long gone, and the stupid living ones hang on to their remains for a fake sense of meaning, secretly wishing that soon they will be the ones sleeping, and someone else with burdens and memories will be lighting candles for them…

Whether you reach a desired result or not, whether you succeed or horribly fail, work is the most beautiful deed there is. Yes, work. No matter how old and how clichéd that sounds, work holds the most beautiful of pictures in its harsh and tiresome pages. It is work that makes me what I am, and it is work that I choose to do, and through which I change myself and things around me. The centuries of hard work hold with them the secrets of our current knowledge and strength, and the hidden beauty of the journey eventually surfaces and masks the tears and sweat…

Another friend, another character, and, most importantly, another artist in the making has entered my life. Lots of shades colour her character, but perhaps the most beautiful are the ones she tries to hide. Her eyes scream with who she is and what she turned out to be, no matter how much she tries to hide it. The hidden beauty is that of her tired anger and sadness that she never lets out or shares, while making sure the people around her see how beautiful their lives are. How ironic that an artistic person like her, one who tries wherever she goes to capture beauty in the things no one notices, would find it hard to discuss such a topic. I guess all she had to do to be inspired was to see and feel what we see and feel when we catch her staring into the distance, so occupied with something, and with the saddest, most serious, and most beautiful look that anyone can manage to draw on his or her face, with no effort whatsoever…

Filed under: Arts, Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Experiences, Philosophy, Thoughts , Beauty, Thoughts

Thoughts of Boredom

Simple Pleasure:
There I am, lying on my bed, fighting sleep, and thinking of the many things I have to do. Then suddenly I get an idea. Things click. I know how I’m going to be spending my night. I jump excitedly to my desk, clear the clutter, sit in front of the computer, arrange the papers and/or books I want to go through, and start planning and working. The pleasure: when I set Barber’s Adagio for Strings to play and loop, look at the time (usually after midnight), and go to the kitchen to make coffee. On the way out, I erase the white board so that it would be ready when I come back.

Observation:
If someone does something that tremendously bothers you, and you tell them, and they still do it, then they will never stop doing it no matter how annoyed you get. They simply don’t think it’s wrong. So you either stop getting annoyed by it, or you just stress yourself out each time it happens. Of course you can always stop dealing with them altogether.

Simple Pleasure:
Learning a new language, and understanding the spirit of it, and then comparing it to another language you know to observe the differences and similarities.

Resolution:
I have to stop complaining and talking about my exams before taking them, no matter how worried I am or how much I can’t help it. It is annoying, and I ace most exams.

Simple Pleasure:
Wine in the evening with music, and whiskey at night with friends.

Observation:
The person who points out to you how ridiculous it is to be annoyed by something is usually the person who gets just as annoyed, if not more, by the same thing.

Simple Pleasure:
Finishing a book.

Resolution:
I will keep my problems to myself.

Simple Pleasure:
Music when thinking, music when working, and music when driving. Different genres for each.

Newly-discovered Simple Pleasure:
To watch satellites and spaceships passing by when they happen to be visible to the naked eye at night.

Resolution:
To have the ability to play the violin well enough to play Adagio for Strings and some other pieces sometime before I die. 

Filed under: Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Experiences, Thoughts , Boredom, Life, Thoughts

Benzaiten

To the friend who taught me to fear no question. To the friend who showed me how to love the little things. To the friend who gave new and exploding meanings to all the aspects of life around me. To the friend who, for as long as I’ve known, managed, simply through being herself, to color knowledge, science, arts, music, humanity, the world, and the beyond; she gave each a beautiful color of its own, and still managed to blend them brilliantly together, giving birth to the rainbow that sings her name, and draws a smile on the faces of all who catch sight of it. To the friend who tolerated my silliness and urged me to become better when she absolutely didn’t have to. To the friend who makes me smile, and whose purity and strength I so admire: the Universe has been blessed with you as the daughter and perfect manifestation of its prettiest elements for yet another year. May it spread petals of joy along your path for the years to come, and carve its eternity in your heart, just as you managed to carve your image in our minds for as long as we shall live. I hope life is as generous and true to you as you are to its essence.

Filed under: Miscellaneous, Personal Experiences , Birthday, Friend

Forword

col·lage  (kō-läzh’, kə-)
n.
1-
a- An artistic composition of materials and objects pasted over a surface, often with unifying lines and color.
b- A work, such as a literary piece, composed of both borrowed and original material.
2- The art of creating such compositions.
3- An assemblage of diverse elements: a collage of conflicting memories.

American Heritage Dictionary
www.dictionary.com

Welcome to my blog, a collection of thoughts, encounters, ideas, and interesting reads. Enjoy.

Filed under: Miscellaneous