You’d think you know yourself and because of that knowledge, you assume you’re in control.
Spend extended periods of time alone, trying to live your dreams and taking responsibility for them and you’ll realize how wrong your assumptions are.
You know you based on the situation and the circumstance. You know you when you’re home, at work, at school, with friends, at a restaurant. They tend to play out as we have perceived them to be from our social cues, be it television, music, culture etc. Once you come across a new, unfamiliar scenario, you can lose you because you’ve lost your point of reference.
I study on a daily basis, trying to compress years of info into half-a-dozen months.
Most the energy I muster gets dwindled into settling down. My mind spends more time in the past and future than in the present.
Eight hours a day, no more than four hours of quality study takes place. Half my time is lost in conflict; where I should’ve been and what I should’ve been saying, how things are supposed to be.
Usually, the nostalgic conciliation of the past gives me the illusion that I’m in control now and can be too in the future.
I enjoy it sometimes. Especially when the lie is humungous.
We all feel cheated, like we’ve been treated unfairly in some way by mother nature so we create a seclusive imagination to help us deal with this depressing present.
But I also know that I must accept mine first and correlate it with time.
The seconds ticking away determine what I become.
The world, for me, is ‘right now’ and a science textbook. A ‘this moment’, one day at a time, and my dream.
A vain day-dream is nothing more than a lucid drawing on the shore. A regular schedule is concrete.
Once you chose your path, appreciate the bitterness of it’s now as a sacrifice for the after. Because after all, the after will be a product of the culmination of nows’.
And there’s no other way- there are no shortcuts. Just an accumulation of unpleasant presents.
Aj’s my cousin, Ali (the guy in the pic)
During a phase of my adolescent years, I used to enjoy seeing things from his POV to the point, and where in my opinion, I was obsessed about making it my own.
He was a wonderful storyteller and had a colourful perspective on life, which is, discernibly, a reflection of his attitude and character.
He had a good childhood at home until pubescence and, as life is sometimes, things spiraled out of control.
It gave him the opportunity to realize, very early on, that life can be lived in only two ways: responsibly or be delegated; independently, detached from the scenario and rooted from the self or dependently, with a shield named ‘blame’ and guided by expectations and false hope. The latter was my pattern.
He was mature and responsible and his circumstance labored him to stretch his stride.
I resent the fact that I used to take his presence in my life for granted. To the extent that I enjoyed his company, I never before shared his pain, the reality which he resisted constantly everyday.
In retrospect, I remember that I hardly went out of my way for him. Partly because he was so damn good in pretending to be all-right that I would usually compete with his style and ways.
Most people who live through broken homes lose rectitude and I've seen it and listened to them and can't help but admire him afterwards.
He is raw energy and always fun to be around in spite of crying in his sleep or having to find shelter some place random in the middle of the night or live through most of his life with empty pockets. He has the power to lift us up; to stir our imagination.
To care.
He gave no matter how much it took from him.
And it's most unfortunate that people who meet him never know that they've met someone who has an excellent story to tell about life’s bitter nows’.
A concoction of many painful realities woven to compose one beautiful consciousness.
He was lucky in a sense because he had no choice. For those of us who live a comfortable life, I feel truly sorry for you.
You have no scars. You’ve made no progress.
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