Sid

You introduced me to this song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STeNeyT8UhA

It was the first time you spoke about love.

You said you were madly in love with her and wanted to be with her. You had no idea what she felt about you. All you wanted was fly down to her place, even if it was at the middle of the night. Well, you said, if it was the middle of the night, you would wait quietly beside her bed till she woke-up in the morning. Then tell her what she meant to you.

It was that day that I got a glimpse of you.

You let people be. Even if that meant your own feelings and needs taking a back seat.

A rare quality.

Hope you still are the same. 

The Vodka in My Refrigerator !

Living alone can be a daunting and liberating experience. Although it hasnt been a very long time that I have started to live alone, so much so that I can call myself an expert, but every now and then I hit upon some realities of the experience. And the rewards too.

My mother keeps asking me every now and then, "what is it like to live alone ?" A regular question, to which I dont have the right answer. Sometimes I sound genuinely happy when I tell her that it is great. Then there are times when I struggle to keep that happy tone in my voice, lest she gets worried. I think she senses realizes that, but I give her credit that she lets me be. She is intrigued that I chose to live without room-mates and was worried for the longest time. But I think she has realized that I am doing pretty okay. 

Living alone means you have to reach out to the world. Unless you want to, no one can bother you or be-friend you. I have always had room-mates and apartment-mates. Some of my longest-lasting friendships have been with people I have lived with in my student days. I have never struggled to make friendships because I guess I have never picked and chosen. I have made friends very organically. Now, I face the challenge of being alone in a big city, and trying to make friends who I can hang-out with. I try to consciously avoid too much socializing with my work people, because unfortunately conversation mostly hovers around work. After putting-in 60 hours of work in the week, I cannot stand office talk of any kind. So much so that I'd rather go home and watch a movie or read a book, than going out with my colleagues. Doesnt mean they aren't great. Some of them are real fun, and it definitely taken two people to make a conversation interesting. So I guess 50% responsibility lies with me, to talk to someone and have an interesting conversation. And I find myself less keen to even try. There was a time when I was a sucker for an interesting conversation. Now I am happy to sit back and not talk at all. Cant figure out the reason. And honestly, there is no reason. Thats just me, for now.

There are times when I feel the need of a room-mate. What if my cable guy come to fix my cable or the electrician comes to fix my gas. Living with a room mate might have meant we try to work our schedules around these necessities and each one of us share equal responsibility. Now living alone means you still have to work your schedule around such  emergencies, without having anyone to share the burden with !

I have also formed a bond with my furniture. Sounds weird. But it is true. Someone had told me this when he was living alone. He recently moved-in with an apartment mate because he was done talking to his furniture and forming a relationship with them. I now know what he meant. I say good bye to my house and its contents every day and tell them that I will see them in the evening. I kinda enjoy that.

That same person also asked me how I feel when I see my friends with their family, especially having babies. I like kids. I baby-sat some of my friend's kids in grad school. I love kids but as long as I dont have to deal with them 24X7, which is what motherhood is about. There are no breaks or down time. When your baby wakes-up at 2am, just when you were entering into that deep slumber mode, wailing and wanting to be fed, an understanding and helping husband, a great house-help or even a God-send mother is of no use. YOU have to get up and feed your baby. Either the maternity gene has skipped me, or is yet to wake-up in me. Either way, I love babies (notice how often I am saying that, just to convince myself, perhaps !). 

But before a baby, comes the baby's father, meaning my husband. Meaning I would have to find someone to marry me. Means I need to find someone I would like to be with, for a long time. Yes sure, one can go the surrogate way, but I'd really like to raise a child with another person. More hands to help. I dont mind adopting, and have always given a serious thought about it, rather than having my own one. I am not crazy about my own genes. But no matter who the baby is, I'd like to have someone who feels an equal responsibility towards that kid. Which brings me to the thorny issue of the side of my life that..wells to put it mildly, has been the most difficult aspect of my life. 

I haven't written much about it, although there have been subtle hints. To be honest, I havent been able to write much about it. I am amazed that I give myself so many chances and yet, every single time, I fall flat on my face. I take a leap of faith, and unfailingly crash badly. Today, I find it a little bit easier to look back the past year and a half and not go into a cesspool of self-pity and tears. I realized it is a little easier to get over someone when you are in a new city. Although being alone in the city can make you miss that person all the more. But I think I have managed to do the earlier. There are no lingering memories of any specific place in the new city. I am almost afraid to go back to my own city because of this. 

I believed in the phrase, "Love is good, wherever you find it". When you choose to love someone (who loves someone else, and has made that really clear to you), this can be considered a mark or strength or a sign of weakness. I dont know which one it was for me. I knew everything when I walked into it. I give him enough credit to be honest with me on that part. Yet, I couldn't help myself but love him for what he was - twisted, broken, childish, hurt, angry. And the greatest of all, he made me feel needed. Perhaps, that was a balm to soothe my soul that was hurt. The hurt I was carrying from my past relationship, at being left at a time when I needed someone to have a little faith. Perhaps I wanted to find salvation for my past mis-deeds, and I tried to do that by letting someone make me stay in his life purely because his love had left him and he needed someone. Someone to be with, hang-out with, talk to at 3am. Someone who would not demand much, but be happy to stay beside him and support him. I was all that, purely because deep down, I found myself hurting less when he told me he needed me, even though he would always love someone else. He said that he wanted to stay with me, but that his heart would always belong to someone else. 

I struggled with that for a long time. I tried to walk away, because that is what any self-respecting person would do. But I went back every time because I wanted to be needed. I could take the liberty of saying that sometimes I felt loved too. Those were precious moments. 

Today, someone would ask why did I walk away after all this time. I might as well gone on like that. But then, every now and then a victim of a violent relationship either walks away or decides to fight back. I had nothing to fight back for. Reality was always in front of me. I might also be stretching it a bit by bringing-in the violent relationship bit. Violence doesnt always mean a physical violence. It could also mean that someone hurts you knowingly, and then when you try to find the courage to walk away, uses your weakness against you to make you stay back. My greatest weakness was that I had a deep-seated desire to be needed, and that was used against me. I couldn't make a scene and scream or shout at him. I was quietly hurting and he knew that. Yet he chose to do nothing. That bit, I am really sad about. And that is probably why I finally turned away. I could not find it in me to see him even as a friend. A friend would not do that to another friend. We are all humans and we have our follies. But we do not hurt others knowingly. We do not repeatedly hurt them or jerk them around. We could do that once, or twice. By mistake. But when it becomes a repetitive behavior, then there is something wrong. I dont think he is a bad person. Having lost his father at a very early and impressionable age, and then going from the most popular guy in school to being suspended from school, having a grieving young mother and a family that was crumbling around him, he has had to deal with a lot and has always had a view that life has been unfair to him by taking his father away so early. I saw that grieving person in him many times and I felt like protecting him from the world, telling him that I would let no one hurt him. But one can only do so much and he is afterall a grown-up person. And I could not protect him at my own cost.

The only thing that has sustained me in my previous broken relationships is, to think that the person who has left me is probably happier now. I cannot imagine someone staying with me and being unhappy about it. It is a personal insult and demeaning.

I am not in love with him anymore, and I am still in that place where there are good days and bad days. The bad days are when I see myself as a loser, someone who has always been left off. The good days, well, are the days when I dont feel like a loser. There is a certain point in life when you feel, "alright, there aint any silver lining in what happened with me. It was just life that happened, so get over it and move on."

My folks are visiting me in two weeks, so I need to finish the vodka in my refrigerator. And sorta parent-proof my house. How does one do that ? Have to figure that out. 

I feel broken many times, but then a friend of mine sent a very wise quote by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and John Kessler:

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to.”


Sounds good enough to me, for now.

Business School and other things - 1

Almost two years since i started my therapy:

I am going to get a degree in finance and an I-banking job. I may yet not have found what I want to do with the rest of my life, but this feels like something that will work out for a while. Maybe more than a while.

I entered some business competitions, won some, lost more. Met some seriously smarta** folks.

I realized what my friends who put themselves through B-school said repeatedly: friendships at B-schools do not last long. I have made many acquaintances, but have made very very very few friends.

I had to get an e-reader. FINALLY. Haven't stopped buying physical books though. I hope I don't. ever.

I lost a dear member of my family who had been a part of my life for the last twenty years. I hope she finally finds her peace.

I am still holding on to the hope that some people who shunned me, will come around and give me another chance.

I gave relationship another shot and failed. no regrets, but it was never worth the trouble. Yet, I am happy I tried.

Two years later, it still hurts. Almost like it was just yesterday.

New beginnings are over-rated.

have to write about:

mohsin hamid - moth smoke.

the city's pride march

PeeBee

mad men

six feet under

My Checklist Manifesto

# i need to be more patient. listen to him when he pines after her. he needs my support, encouragement. i   know i dont owe it to him, but i have to give it to him.

# he loves her. the love has never been yours. yes, temporarily, i thought i had it for a while. but i was always a phase. through me, he realized what he really wanted.

# he wants it to be a lie, so that he can get her love back. so basically it will be relegated to a figment of memory. my memory. he has the luxury to delete it, because it was never much to him. maybe that is what is best for me too. maybe. i'll try to reconcile with that later.

# he did whatever he did for his own good. people always do what is best for them. so why should he be any different.

# there are some bridges one should never cross, no matter how attractive the other side looks.

# some differences can ever be erased. it will always be there, waiting to creep-up. either recognize those differences and work hard to remove them, or come to terms with it and move on.

# i wish i could give a protective hug around him to tell him that it is going to be okay. that we will fix it. i wish i could tell him that i wanted to protect him from any harm or hurt.

# i have to let go, i don't have a choice. i have to pick-up the pieces and move on, as always. build a life alone, travel, read and work.

# i should have known better than screw it up. it is going to hurt like hell, bring more sleepless nights and tough mornings. so this is my salvation, pay it forward.

...koi mangda mera si sama / some asked for my time

koi hunda surat te fida / some were fascinated with my face

koi mangda meri si vafa / some demanded my fidelity

na koi mangda merian bala / none wanted my demons...

- Rabbi Shergill

I saw an old face. I knew that face. It was just for a second, but I recognized the smile. Just a slight curve of the lips, crinkle beside the eyes . By some rare chance, I saw it in my own shadow.

---

2012

The year world as we knew it was supposed to end. The year i think i finally came out of my rut and gave myself a second shot. i never realized how screwed-up i was. never even stopped to think that not only did i hurt others, but i had hurt myself so badly that i had lost the ability to really differentiate between anything darn thing. i had lost the ability to think for my own good, so i kept getting deeper into the murky water and the swirl of my own tornado.

I never really tried to get out of it, choosing to languish in the cold comfort of a world i had created for myself since the last four years. i became excellent at the art of pretense and ignoring the truth. i thought i could fix everything by myself. after all being 29 and not being in control of my own life ? not only is that embarrassing, but it is something i never saw the need to accept and hence it was just good to think that everything is okay or going to be.

I was so out of my depth, it wasn't even funny. i did not want any help, i didnt want the truth to be out and i thought "time" will fix everything. funny, how at 29, you can be more stupid than at 21. but my reality was more like sand. the more i tried to hold on to it, the more it slipped away.

In these years i lost my career, lost the trust of my loved ones, lost my self respect and finally, finally this year, lost the one person who had made me see life so differently. the one person whose presence i always took for granted, the one i had grown to love and the one person who i loved more than i ever realized. and the saddest part was i realized how much i loved this person once i lost this person. i had thought that this person would stand by me in-spite of my deeds. when i "came out" to this person, it was akin to coming out to my parents about my misdeeds. i was coming out with the most important (and worst) because i wanted all of them to know the truth, selfishly wanted their support in my rehab. there was never ever a guarantee that they would be okay with it, or even accept it.

This is where life hit me with one of its hardest truth. a relationship is strong only for so much. never stretch it beyond that, because once it breaks, there is no way to repair it. a part of me is almost glad that this relationship broke. had this person decided to accept me with my past, i would always wonder and never know the reason real reason (for this person's choice). when someone comes out to you with their horrible truth, do you still stay with the person because you are glad this person has been finally honest with you, or do you feel obligated to stay back or is it because you choose to look beyond the past deeds and look at a future together ? i am glad that i do not have to second guess.

But it breaks my heart that not only did i lose a person i love, but that i will never be forgiven. i will never find the peace that i yearn for, the atonement that i try to make, the tattered fabric that i so desperately try to sow back together. i felt as if i have everything to say and yet when i sat down to doing it, there was nothing left to be said.

Probably this is life's way of telling me that i need to cut from my past. completely, surgically, and absolutely. maybe it is telling me that i have done my time, paid my dues and tried to make amends. perhaps there is nothing else i need to do but let it be and let it go.

That is why, this year, 2013, i cant wait for the year to unfold. i am turning 30 and i am almost starting all over again. my peers around me are going places, getting married, having babies, buying houses and what not. and here i am, growing-up all over again, just learning to be a better person. i have a long way to go, many hurdles to cross and i am sure i am going to see the face of failure many more times.

But i also know i will deal with it and not run away or hide from life. i have a lot to achieve and a long uphill road. i might get lost a few times. there will be no one to show me the way. i still do not know the answer to "where do you see yourself 5 years from now". but i know i am going to be okay.

As Meredith Grey said:

“Sometimes reality has a way of sneaking up and biting us in the ass. And when the dam bursts, all you can do is swim. The world of pretend is a cage, not a cocoon. We can only lie to ourselves for so long. We are tired, we are scared, denying it doesn't change the truth. Sooner or later we have to put aside our denial and face the world. Head on, guns blazing. De Nile. It's not just a river in Egypt, it's a freakin' ocean. So how do you keep from drowning in it?”

Eight Minutes

Sometimes you have to find things to make sense, even if they may disappoint you. Not everything in this world makes sense. Some things might never stop hurting you. And some things you might never be able to let go.

If the sun were to explode and stop, you wouldn't know it for eight minutes, because that's how long it takes for the light to travel to us. For eight minutes, the world would still be bright and warm.

My eight minutes of you will be up in a couple of months when you leave and I finally realize that it truly is over. Until then, I live with hope. This is my 135th day of hoping against all odds and all the clear writings on the wall. Although I try really hard to not, but no harm done if it makes me feel a bit better, right ? Even if I know there is possibly enormous disappointment at the end of the tunnel, this is the only way I know. This is the only way I stretch my eight minutes with you. 

"You Cant Repeat the Past"

Why is it that one still yearns for the past ? Is it because the past holds the the beauty and innocence that was an easy part of us ? Is it because sometimes the present is awful and unbearable enough for us to take some much needed comfort and strength from the past ? Is it because there was a sense of  hope and faith in the hardest of the times, that is long gone now, replaced by cynicism and disillusionment, that is needed to survive and shield oneself from the world ?

All of us have a little bit of Jay Gatsby in us. Fitzgerald captured the true essence and allure of the past when he described Gatsby as someone who wanted to recreate his love for Daisy, a woman who no longer is the same girl who Gatsby idolized, worshiped and fell in love with.

"Can’t repeat the past?" he cried incredulously. "Why of course you can!" He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. "I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before," he said, nodding determinedly. "She’ll see." He talked a lot about the past and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was."

Rare is the occasion when you catch a glimpse of a smile on the shadow of your face. You know that you are alive. It is truly a rare moment.

You know you have hit middle age when your memories become more important that your dreams. - DH, S-8

The ghosts of people who had been a part of her life, were gazing upon her as she passed. They watched her as they watch every one, always hoping that the living could put aside their raging sorrow, bitterness and regret. These ghosts watch, wanting people to remember that even the most desperate life is sometimes oh so wonderful. - DH, S-8

Observations - 5

I get a total of 1 hour of non-work time on the laptop. Each day. And I spend that again in front of my other laptop. Hah.

For the last one week, I have watched Valentine's Day and Love Actually in a loop. No, I am not mooning and pining and lovesick. I am just not in the mood of anything cerebral. I finished A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry), The Remains of the Day (Ishiguro), Best Short Stories of Maxim Gorky and a part of Fali S Nariman's autobiography, Before Memory Fades. I admit, I read some author's works not because I know anything about them, but for the sheer need to show-off to my own self that I am reading literary fiction.

I think I have found my new love. Benedict Cumberbatch of Sherlock. Well, not typically my idea of a heartbreaker, but he looks incredibly good with dark hair instead of the horrible shock of blonde hair. The sharp and well-cut clothes only help in creating the aura that Sherlock's character is. Refreshing takes on some of ACD's most famous stories of the detective and creating new extensions, having text messages on screen rather than a cut-away shot of the hand holding the phone, Sherlock speaking as though trying to keep-up with his racing mind, the friendly (mistaken by others as gay) relationship between Sherlock and Watson (that has been the subject of much speculation but never been depicted on the screen out-rightly). Taking the cake is the writer's depiction of Moriarty, the child-like "consultant criminal" who looks at the London Tower and sticks his tongue out. It isnt hard to feel his malevolence when he says, "I will burn the heart out of you".

I have been going to a lot of movies, alone. A friend said once there is a theory that tries to observe why women find it hard(er) to go for movies alone than men. Is it because women care more for appearances than men and going to movies alone makes one look a bit (or quite) pathetic, lonely and sort-of, the quintessential middle-aged-spinster-in-dire-need-of-(male)company ? But isnt it one of those cool, being the 21st century woman-ly thing to do ? (there ought to be a sarcasm font). The truth is, I usually dont have time over the weekends and I hang-out with people who don't wait for each other to catch a movie. So, I have learned the hard way that either catch the movie at your own convenient time or miss it altogether. Tough call eh ?

Someone said that not having a place to come back to, after a hard day's work could be quite depressing. True that. What if the only place in the world that you could call home becomes an alienated place to you ? What if that place no longer feels home ? And worse still, what if you realize that you do not care anymore ? I'd say it is time to pack the bag and the baggage and move -on. Literally and otherwise.


Again, I wonder why I write this blog. Is it because of the need to show-off my writing skills (if any) ? Maybe. I would like some unknown person to come across my writings and maybe be able to connect with this part of my life that I write about. Writing helps me to order the chaotic mess of my thoughts and helps me to  remember small details of some days that might have gotten overshadowed in the rush. Most importantly, as the poet and cultural critic Matthew Arnold said, in his piece, Absence:

And we forget because we must, and not because we will.  

****
In my moments of despair, I try to recollect a conversation where you said that I am "gentle". I have come to believe in a smart piece of saying which goes, "The kindest word in all the world is the unkind word, unsaid." Call it a wisdom that comes with age, late realization or a desperate attempt to hold on to your memory.

To the Little One: From her mother and the rest of the family.

Ironically you were named after the goddess of strength. Day after day your mother would look at you and wonder if it was possible that science had erred for the better. Surely, there were scores of cases where babies fought against the odds and went-on to survive and grow-up and have a normal life. Could she dare to dream the same for you, her tiny little one ? Before going to sleep, the last sight she would have was that of you, sleeping peacefully in your cot and she would tick-off another day. Another day you had survived. Or lived ? She willed herself to not dream about the distant future where she would teach you to read and write, bequeath her huge collection of books to you, arrange your birthday parties and have heart-to-heart mother-daughter conversations. She bargained with God that she would not ask anything for herself, if only God would let you live. Surely that wasn't too much for a mother to ask for ?

During her moments of despair, she would look with at you with a single-minded concentration, as if trying to memorize every little detail of your being and consign them to her memory. She knew she would need them. Photographs weren't enough. She would whisper words of encouragement in your ears, and clasp your tiny hands in hers, as if those words and the physical connection would somehow magically transform into strength that you so needed. She would hold you to her heart and hoped that you would know how much you were loved and needed in her life.

As you began to lose the fight for your life, your mother talked to you about her own childhood and growing-up, the work she did, the aspirations she had, knowing that there was so much to tell you and so little time. She wanted you to leave the world with some memories, if it were at all possible for a two-year old to have any.  Even on the last day, she held back her tears, remembering that you would always looked around to jump into someone else's lap the moment your mother would cry, as if you could not stand her crying. As she held your hand for one last time, her lips moved in a silent prayer. Perhaps she prayed for you, for one last time, for a safe journey into the other world. Or perhaps she finally prayed for herself, for the strength she would need to fight her grief.

****

As I write this, I know you will have gone far far away from us. You have been a brave baby, you have fought hard and shown strength and resilience that we adults can only imagine and hope to have. Perhaps the source of your name was not so ironical after-all. But it was just not enough. When I was first told that you were going to come into this world, and the due-date was near my birthday, I wanted your mother to have you on the same day that I was born, so that you and I could celebrate the day together. But I guess you were in a bit of a hurry to arrive and you did, a full 48 hours in advance. You were the 21st-century baby of our family and I felt a little more older and wiser as I held you in my arms. For the record, I could foresee your mother being the strict parent, so I made full plans of spoiling you rotten.

As I write this and think about you, I can only pray and hope that you think that your time in this world has been worthy, in-spite of the pain and suffering that you endured. We all take strength from thinking that you are in a better place now without any of the suffering that you went through. You leave us with a lifetime of happy memories, making the world we live, a bit more poignantly beautiful place.

The Last Memory

I saw you that day and realized what love might be like, even ten years from now. You were standing there, as usual, waiting. I crept-up from behind and tapped you on the other shoulder. It would be cliched to say that time stood still for those three hours. And in those three hours, I wanted to fit-in the time I lost with you. My mind was trying to form the things I wanted to say to you, putting them into words and then rejecting them, thinking it would sound silly. I did not want to interrupt you speak so that I could hear your voice.

It took me three years to come to this, the idea of loving you, which would not be overwhelming, all-consuming, trying or tiring. Instead, for the first time in a really long time, I felt relief. There was no hesitation, only a wonderful realization. Were you still waiting for me ? I did not know. But it felt right to love you, no matter what the consequences would be, no matter if I had missed the proverbial bus. I could not stop smiling thinking of this. Waiting at the bus-stop, for my bus which would take me home, I realized that you were home.

Loving you gave me courage and strength. I knew my usual moments of insecurity and doubt would soon rear its head, but I was ready to deal with them. Getting to know you was like getting to know my city. The city grew-up on me and I took time to fall in love with it. But once I did, there was no going back.

I know I haven't been honest about myself with you and for that, I only have my deep regrets and anger at myself. Talking about myself has never been a strong point of mine, especially not when it involves my misdeeds and my follies.

Yet, I did. Not because I needed to share it with someone and lessen my burden, but so that you could know me at my worst. I would do anything to undo that. Sadly that is the biggest lesson one learns, that you cannot undo your actions or take back your words.

Perhaps that day, those three hours are going to be my last memory of you, with the city I love. I regret not going back and telling you how much you mean to me.

As I roam about in this city and think about our conversations, of the places I said I would take you to, relive those three hours in the coffee shop, I realize that you have become inseparable from this city. Perhaps many many years later, it will be okay visiting that coffee shop again and it will be possible to think about Lost  Palaces of the North without thinking about you. Perhaps then I will not try to find you anymore.

Three years back, you were there and I was there.

Today, I am back there.

Life goes on.

"That was the best you could ever have, a short space of perfection. Leave it like that and move on."

My Brand of Reality

The more I find acceptance with people, the more I realize I am losing my steam. I find that I have not much to fight against and life seems to be going in the general direction of boredom, mediocrity and  pointlessness. I think it is because I have very little bargaining power as far as any other aspect of my life is concerned. I have been fighting for acceptance since quite a long time. It is one of the things that occupied most of my thoughts and being. It was almost fun to know that I am swimming against the tide and I have a long way to go. I channelized my anger and angst into thinking that I am smarter, better, superior than others. It made me rationalize that I am fighting for something and not treading the usual path. I am different. And it is the inability of people to accept differences that made me feel better about my choices.

On the other hand, it is not at all a comforting thought that I need angst to make myself interesting. And more importantly, perhaps people really do not care about who you really are. Rightly so because it is too taxing and time-consuming. As long as you are what they want you to be, it is fairly easy to live. It is a remarkably easy attitude to develop, mainly because one acquires so many layers in their personality that it is simple easy for others to accept what is shown to them. I am no different. I find it easier to shrug and accept what is shown to me and refuse to go beyond that. I take refuge in the notion of "letting people be and leaving them alone and accepting them as who they really are".

Ben Okri said, in the context of his writing being tagged as "magical-realism", "Everyone is looking out of the world through their emotion and history. Nobody has an absolute reality. Everyone's reality is different."

Maybe I will keep-up my all-important angst and fight. Till I realize there wasnt much to fight against. After all you cannot win against someone who does not realize there is a fight. Or maybe I will come across my moment of victory only to realize how insignificant it really is. As usual, I try to find some resolution through this writing and more often than not, it gets me nowhere.


:)

Sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in. Even if you know you will lose the battle and fall on your face.

But most of y’all don’t get the picture ‘less the flash is on. - Lil Wayne, 6'7"

I guess the advantage of not having a high opinion about myself is that it makes me the first person to laugh at my own foibles and failures.