aloque

There is one thing in life that is ever elusive to me. I happen to think that, in it, lies the key to my satisfaction, happiness and true ability to stay in and enjoy a moment with consistency. There are many good moments in an hour, a day, a week to overshadow the bad, but the bad are long lived, and always tend to resurface. The solution is as simple to say as it is hard to find. Balance. That is the ingredient to a happy life. And striking the right balance is hard enough to justify the end result.

I have always gravitated towards the extremes of all things in my life. Interest in something usually leads to all out passion that burns hard and fast without stability, leaving no space for anything else until it fizzles out, a damp squib that promised to be so much more. Similarly, disinterest in one thing will lead to a malaise spreading to other spheres of my life, making me withdrawn and manic.

I have never learnt to compartmentalise my feelings. Never learnt to accept happiness and grief with equal nonchalance, victory and defeat with similar detachment. Never found the right balance between work and relaxation. I will either work myself to the bone or sit my ass at home languishing, forgetting my responsibilities. I have never found the equilibrium between my self imposed loneliness and my desire to have a social life. I have never found a meeting ground for my bloated ego and my insecurities, ever growing, in parallel directions. Its one or the other in extremes, like my little brain is incapable of handling both at once, in moderation.

I know the things that work for me, that make me happy. The problem lies in that that I cannot find a balance between them. I always have one or more things in disproportion when they are all equally important, equally unhappy to be ignored. I always hope for that perfect day when everything lines up precisely.

A moment in time when a light descends

as a magic spell over all that is pretense.

A moment in time that holds a promise

of a dawn over a disappearing mist.

Why hide your fallacies when all fear ends?

A moment in time when pain is forgotten

from every thorny path you ever tread upon.

A moment in time that holds a promise

of a flower bud in wait for Spring's first kiss.

What is a thorn on a rose reddened ocean?

A moment healing every tear that streams

a cold stream for every shattered dream.

A moment in time that holds a promise

of the first stroke of a passionate artist.

What is a broken dream when Hope is supreme?

A moment when all love that is lost in vain

makes amends through a vengeance shamed.

A moment in time that holds a promise

of a first time lover, eyes closed in bliss.

What love is lost when you reach out to regain?

Another piece of verse written years ago that I relive frequently....

This has been an amazing day, one for the soul. Nothing spectacular happened, but thats just it. The human being's happiness is mostly not in the spectacular.

One of the best kinds of compliments a person can receive is one with an element of surprise, from a person I respect who recognises somthing in me that I haven't ever thought of myself as being. After all, I have been sticking to my theory that the best compliments are those that I'm already sure of. At least I'd know that I wasn't being taken for a ride. Maybe, I didn't give people enough credit. Maybe, I didn't trust them enough. I was comfortable and that is where I wanted to be. But, today was so different. Receiving praise for something I have done without any pre determination, just being myself is a very nice feeling.

And that happened twice today. First thing this morning and last thing tonight. If there is someone scripting my life, and days like these make me almost believe there is, all I have to say is good job, dude.

Someone asked me if writing for an audience is bad. Well, not really. Many people make a good living off that. There are also many people that try to do that their entire life, unsuccessfully. Yet their regret remains that they weren't appreciated and not that they did not make enough money. There is absolutely nothing wrong with writing for an audience. But, there is something wrong in imposing expectations on the audience. Then there are bound to be disappointments. There are bound to be compromises in my own work. In an ideal world writing and appreciation should remain separate things, with appreciation following the writing, and the appreciatio should then be only a confirmation of self worth and not a definition of it. I mean, I cannot think of myself differently every time I post and receive comments that I like or do not.

That begs the question, who then is the audience that I want to impress? Is it FA, queen of the charts, who will not comment unless she can start off a witty repartee or make the comments a debate? Is it PMoW who has decided to form his opinions and stick to them at too early an age? Is it sweet Aran, who has nothing to say if it is not nice? Is it AR who says nothing at all in his morbid style most of the time? Is it DRP, whose brashness is inadequate cover for a mind that is capable of thought? Is it Mr. N who is a better writer than his endless conversations with the FH team might lead anyone to think? Is it the Princess, who I idolise as someone who follows her heart? Is it for the hundreds of others who read me but were uninspired to say anything at all? Is it me, bereft of any self esteem, not knowing what to think of what I wrote unless someone else tells me? Once that train of thought has left the station, the answer becomes a foregone conclusion. It has to be me. Now is the hard part. Writing and not caring about the consequences. It will happen sooner rather than later.

I really like helping people confront their fears. Being strong for someone else is easier than being strong for myself, and doing that in turn has always helped me be stronger when dealing with my own issues. There is a high in getting someone to get over the fears they thought they couldn't. Just as there is in facing up to my own shortcomings.

This day has been about that. This is the first I have felt comfortable about having taken Aloque off the public blogs. This is the first that I have seen myself for what I was, and felt strong enough to deal with it.

This is something I wrote about 8 years ago, but it has helped me each time I was afraid. Just put things into perspective...

I could feel the creepy chill

run up and down my spine

as I stood at the doorway to hell

the weakness of my mind.

He stood there in silent coldness,

face covered in mystic hood

and a silvery scythe in hand.

I ached to see beyond the darkness

but I saw only what he would

let my senses assess.

Life breaker, soul taker

devil's lover, great leveller,

Grim reaper.

Stepping back, ruled by fear,

I saw him grow in awesome stature

and I closed my eyes in desperation

to avoid the unbearable apparition,

as I waited for his scythe

to make that final strike.

The last bit of courage in

my surrendering soul

rebelled against instinct

and grew wings of its own,

coaxing me to open my eyes

take a deep breath, face that device.

Teling me it wasn't Death,

just my fear in all its depth.

I took a hesitant step forward,

watched his hood fly,

as he faltered

and I saw fear in unexpecting eyes.

Those small wings grew some more,

I felt courage begin to soar,

as I ran screaming towards my fear,

and laughed as he disappeared.

I don't remember a night's sleep without dreams. They have always been a big  part of me, an evidence of an active subconscious that surfaced to play in my mind, only to retreat at the first rays of light that filtered in. They have always remained just out of reach, fragments of them reluctantly coming back through the day. But I have always known what the mood of the dream was by how I am waking up. I do not remember having nightmares, ever. Maybe a nude embarrasment or two but nothing to make to toss and turn and break out into a sweat. What I love about the experience (and it is one) is when I wake up and remember exactly what happened in the dream. So close, it seems to be to actuality, that the emotions that went with the event that never happened are more than real.

Guess I never thought I would save her, see he wake up from that deep sleep she was never going to wake up from,  never thought I would talk to him again and hear his voice like he was never gone.  

And eating right is an important thing. No idiot, i do not mean chewing on salads like a sorry goat but eating food you like in the manner you like it. That is the important thing. Another important thing that might equal the preceding important thing in importance is the satisfaction factor that the particular meal induces in you. Man has a short memory for meals because he simply has so many, and the last part of the last meal is scientifically proven to be the one that is remebered for the longest time. Therefore an adequte meal is to be ended on a note that is worthy of remembrance.

 I call that the 'Royal bite'. The criteria for an effective royal bite are

 1) The tastiest morsel of food is to be saved for the last bite.(for eg: the largest chicken piece in the chicken curry or the part of the burger that has the highest meat/mayo proportion)

2) The size of the last bite should be at least two times the size of a regular bite.

3) It should render you incapable of speaking for at least 15 seconds.

The satisfaction factor is further intensified by what is called the 'Wash down'.

Drinks accompanying meals are to be had in three instalments, each serving a different purpose and each indispensible to the final satiety rating fo the meal.

The first instalment - the thirst quencher - is to make you ready to enjoy the meal with a tongue whose taste buds, now moist, can conduct electrical impulses to the brain at a faster rate, thus intensifying the experience of the first few mouthfuls.

second instalment - the sips of rejuvenation - actually a series of mini instalments that serve one purpose, and therefore can be considered as one. They wash off the food particles from the taste buds making them ready to receive some more stimulation. That explains why the same food tastes different before and after a sip of liquid.

third instalment - the wash down - Is a purely psychological phenomenon that makes the satiety meter go bonkers. It is to follow the royal bite with a huge gulp of liquid (after secretly rinsing particles of food stuck in the far recesses of the mouth) and feel it go down your throat and let out a huge sigh as you feel the senses dulling and you start to dread the drive back home from the restaurant.

After having practised these fine principles for many years and having many satisfying, immediate slumber inducing meals that make even the dying arteries in my body cry for more, I have come across a group of people I have affectionaly termed 'the food imbeciles'.  These people will ignore every principle of satisfaction there is and also a few principles of social boundaries and personal space. That, in some people's broad minded worlds may be a forgivable offense. But, then they go on and pick at the food in my plate, selectively choosing the morsel I had been saving for the royal bite for the last ten minutes, I can only damn them into an existence wherein they will suffer from excessive flatulence and never belch a satisfied belch again.

 The sight of a royal bite disappearing before its time induces a sadness in me that I can only describe as profound and it is something that I can never be desensitized to. Then the imbecile will reach for the drink and glug a little too much so that there is not enough left for an effective wash down. The only thing that will keep me from bursting into a river of tears is the shock that such mind boggling stupidity exists in our midst.

Some days are just cruel. Of all the choices life gave me, there are very few that I have made for myself. Consciously or unconsciously, there have always been other considerations that went into the final decision. Parents, friends, even strangers have influenced me to make the choices that I have. Somehow that is the way the world is. It fools you into a false sense of security, a state wherein you believe that you are in control, but it always shows you that there is something more than yourself to consider.

But the human spirit is enduring to say the very least. I would rather be in denial than to admit that I am being controlled. I would rather believe that every thought that originates from within me is original, and not just a repetition of history.

Days like these make me question whether life is worth the endless race that it has become. When all that is supposedly sacred has no value, when my life has taken an irreversible turn that, suddenly, after lulling me into a steady state, turns into a dead end, I question myself, is there a living that is entirely mine? Can I indeed be happy with the compromises I make to make my life easier? Am I not better off alone than to simply remain neutral to the hole that is being ripped into my belief in humanity? Why am I such a coward? Isn't being silent in the presence of evil the same as compliance?

I started off blogging without really knowing what it was about. I let it take me where ever it did without question, blindly following. I don't know when the offspring took control of the creator, but it surely did. It consumed more of my day than anything else, and my thoughts were occupied with the next post. It took one of my favourite people out here to go private to make me question my own motives, and I hit upon the truth I had been trying to avoid. I enjoyed the attention I was getting. I liked being up there in the top. I was writing for popularity. I remember a time when all I wrote was in a few different diaries that I kept misplacing, and upon eventually finding them again in a burst of reorganisation, laughed at myself, or marvel at how different I was when I wrote it. I remember writing for myself, not for an audience. The words didn't have to be perfect. I didn't have to rhyme. I didn't have to try to be, but just had to be.

I guess the next thing to ask is why I continue writing here instead of going back to a diary. I have met a few people here that I have a great deal of respect for, and I do want them to read me, do want to hear their views, want them to disagree, make me think in ways that I could not when alone. Another reason is that I have felt like I belonged here, and that is a lot more than I can say for a lot of places. I want to do this on my terms and for the right reasons.