What do you do, when there's something you want, but every instinct in your body tells you it's wrong? And not just your own body, but even the people around you?
That's the thing about short-term gratification. Goddamn it, it's good. And it's so good, you don't want to think about consequences. You don't want to think about what it means and philosophical questions like that. I'm going to get hurt afterwards? Who cares? Give me what I want, and give it to me now.
And so comes the state of mind where you are reeling from one extreme to the other. First you tell yourself, are you stupid? You know you can't do this. How are you even considering it?
And then the other extreme goes, are you stupid? You've got a great opportunity here. How can you pass up this chance, and when the hell are you going to get it again?
And forget about having an objective viewpoint. In situations like this, everything is clouded by what you want. You can justify almost anything if you want it enough, and forget about who you are, what you might look like to other people, and what consequences you'll face later.
So what the hell are you supposed to do? Maybe one side is clearly more “right” than the other... but isn't life all about squeezing the drops out of every second?
"Calm the mind, the longing never ends... not while you're human" - Cynic
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Monday, December 05, 2011
Old Friends Die Hard
This time last year, I was in the process of losing a very dear, and very old friend. Of course, at the time, I didn't know it was happening. But I realise now that the outcome was inevitable, and circumstances were such that the “break-up” was unavoidable.
It hurts to lose someone as close to you as that, it really does. I have a tendency, I've noticed, to give myself completely to one person – to love them unconditionally and to favour them above all others – openly and unashamedly. It's almost as if I'm giving my life to their hands – my fears, my hopes, my dreams, everything – and saying, “Here. I trust you – you will guard me.”
And when someone becomes as an integrated part of your life as he did – playing a significant role in the way I think, feel, and who I am in general – the loss of that kind of friendship is a real shock. More so than a romantic relationship, because at least then – you know there are more reasons to break things off. In a frienship, things are much more simple, so a break would occur only out of something really quite serious.
We were both at bad points in our lives at the time, but I think neither of us knew it. We ended up taking it out on each other in a passive aggressive way. And it sucks, it sucks because we couldn't be there for each other, we didn't understand what was happening. And it sucks beyond belief that if I see him now, we will acknowledge each other; coldly – and then look the other way.
But such is the nature of life, right? The stronger you love someobody, the harder it is when you lose them. And it's so bitter, to know that somebody you would've done anything for is now gone. You can't do anything but learn your lessons from it and move on, but still make sure you honour the part they've played in your life.
It hurts to lose someone as close to you as that, it really does. I have a tendency, I've noticed, to give myself completely to one person – to love them unconditionally and to favour them above all others – openly and unashamedly. It's almost as if I'm giving my life to their hands – my fears, my hopes, my dreams, everything – and saying, “Here. I trust you – you will guard me.”
And when someone becomes as an integrated part of your life as he did – playing a significant role in the way I think, feel, and who I am in general – the loss of that kind of friendship is a real shock. More so than a romantic relationship, because at least then – you know there are more reasons to break things off. In a frienship, things are much more simple, so a break would occur only out of something really quite serious.
We were both at bad points in our lives at the time, but I think neither of us knew it. We ended up taking it out on each other in a passive aggressive way. And it sucks, it sucks because we couldn't be there for each other, we didn't understand what was happening. And it sucks beyond belief that if I see him now, we will acknowledge each other; coldly – and then look the other way.
But such is the nature of life, right? The stronger you love someobody, the harder it is when you lose them. And it's so bitter, to know that somebody you would've done anything for is now gone. You can't do anything but learn your lessons from it and move on, but still make sure you honour the part they've played in your life.
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Divergence of Art
Very rarely do I not have my iPod in the car. On these occasions, I'm either updating it, charging it, or, quite simply, I've forgotten it. And then I have to resort to listening to some radio.
And every time I do this, I realise it would be better to sit in silence than listen to the stuff they're currently playing. It's either a rap song with a female chorus, or some love song, or a song about being tough and overcoming challenges... the bottom line is, it's all generic, it's all manufactured, it's all fake, and it's all got the same formula. Even if you forget the music, there are hardly any voices that are worth listening to. Basically, every song is the carbon copy of the next.
The paradox is, at the same time, there's some really inspiring music going on behind the scenes, by bands that get unjustly little coverage. Even in the spheres of rock and metal, music is becoming dangerously bland. But find a niche, some band that you are introduced to by a friend, invariably, and suddenly a whole world opens. Call it progressive, call it post-rock, experimental, avant-garde – even spiritual sometimes, these bands really are pushing the boundaries of music and doing things that haven't ever been done before. And it's inspirational.
Music, like all art, is a reflection of society. Just like baroque, classical and romantic eras of art, not just music but painting and architecture, were indicators of where the society of those times were. And the same can be said for today's culture: on one hand, we have the generic, mass-manufactured clothes, food, and therefore also music, but on the other- in a striking contrast that is almost alarming, we have the freedom to think, to talk, to experiment – the lines are not as clear as they used to be. And so art and music reflect that, becoming much more surreal, more abstract, more open to interpretation. This dichotomy reflects who we are as people, and the dramatic difference between the two.
And so, as I'd inevitably switch off the radio and think about this curiousity, I am relieved to know that at least the dichotomy exists. At the same time, maybe it can't not exist – maybe there will always be people who go against the flow and try new things. And this is the kind of music, and all other forms of art, that inspires you, changes your life even. It opens your eyes, wakes you up, makes you think. It's not a melody that you forget in a year or two, or hollow words that don't mean a thing and were just written to rhyme – this becomes an extension of your self, and your memories, and takes part in shaping who you are. And you can never go back on something like that – even if you change, it will always be a part of your past.
And every time I do this, I realise it would be better to sit in silence than listen to the stuff they're currently playing. It's either a rap song with a female chorus, or some love song, or a song about being tough and overcoming challenges... the bottom line is, it's all generic, it's all manufactured, it's all fake, and it's all got the same formula. Even if you forget the music, there are hardly any voices that are worth listening to. Basically, every song is the carbon copy of the next.
The paradox is, at the same time, there's some really inspiring music going on behind the scenes, by bands that get unjustly little coverage. Even in the spheres of rock and metal, music is becoming dangerously bland. But find a niche, some band that you are introduced to by a friend, invariably, and suddenly a whole world opens. Call it progressive, call it post-rock, experimental, avant-garde – even spiritual sometimes, these bands really are pushing the boundaries of music and doing things that haven't ever been done before. And it's inspirational.
Music, like all art, is a reflection of society. Just like baroque, classical and romantic eras of art, not just music but painting and architecture, were indicators of where the society of those times were. And the same can be said for today's culture: on one hand, we have the generic, mass-manufactured clothes, food, and therefore also music, but on the other- in a striking contrast that is almost alarming, we have the freedom to think, to talk, to experiment – the lines are not as clear as they used to be. And so art and music reflect that, becoming much more surreal, more abstract, more open to interpretation. This dichotomy reflects who we are as people, and the dramatic difference between the two.
And so, as I'd inevitably switch off the radio and think about this curiousity, I am relieved to know that at least the dichotomy exists. At the same time, maybe it can't not exist – maybe there will always be people who go against the flow and try new things. And this is the kind of music, and all other forms of art, that inspires you, changes your life even. It opens your eyes, wakes you up, makes you think. It's not a melody that you forget in a year or two, or hollow words that don't mean a thing and were just written to rhyme – this becomes an extension of your self, and your memories, and takes part in shaping who you are. And you can never go back on something like that – even if you change, it will always be a part of your past.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Opioid
I fell in love.
And so what if I did? So what if it's with someone I barely knew?
So what if we didn't go on any dates, didn't exchange presents, didn't tell anyone?
And what if all our conversations were in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling? And all I know of is your pain. What you feel- it's on your skin and in your eyes.
I know what you want. I can't give it to you; and you will never find it elsewhere. The harder you try, the quicker it will slip through your fingers.
And so what if I did? So what if it's with someone I barely knew?
So what if we didn't go on any dates, didn't exchange presents, didn't tell anyone?
And what if all our conversations were in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling? And all I know of is your pain. What you feel- it's on your skin and in your eyes.
I know what you want. I can't give it to you; and you will never find it elsewhere. The harder you try, the quicker it will slip through your fingers.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
You Already Did
I can make the stars dance for me. And as I look up at the night sky, if I concentrate hard enough, I can hear the music playing.
I am laying on the moist sand of my beloved beach. My ears are filled with the sounds of roaring waves as they crash onto the shore. Not far, if I cared to look, I'd see the tall, elegant buildings of my city. There, life bubbles on as beautiful people make the most of their night by eating, drinking, smoking, laughing. But for now, my body belongs here.
I can feel the coldness of the water just below my neck. My clothes are just wet enough, and I'm starting to get cold, but I don't care. As I clench my fist, I can feel the rough, coarse sand running through my fingers. My hair is all spread out around me, some of it in wet strands. I turn to face the sea and smile. Deep breath, and my lungs fill with the heavy, salty air. I close my eyes.
I am aware.
The next wave comes closer than the last.
I welcome the sensation as my body gets covered in water. If I were to lift up my head, my hair would feel heavy now.
But still I lay here. I would say I'm going nowhere, but I know it is all really only just beginning.
You've taken this path, and I'm going to follow you.
I am laying on the moist sand of my beloved beach. My ears are filled with the sounds of roaring waves as they crash onto the shore. Not far, if I cared to look, I'd see the tall, elegant buildings of my city. There, life bubbles on as beautiful people make the most of their night by eating, drinking, smoking, laughing. But for now, my body belongs here.
I can feel the coldness of the water just below my neck. My clothes are just wet enough, and I'm starting to get cold, but I don't care. As I clench my fist, I can feel the rough, coarse sand running through my fingers. My hair is all spread out around me, some of it in wet strands. I turn to face the sea and smile. Deep breath, and my lungs fill with the heavy, salty air. I close my eyes.
I am aware.
The next wave comes closer than the last.
I welcome the sensation as my body gets covered in water. If I were to lift up my head, my hair would feel heavy now.
But still I lay here. I would say I'm going nowhere, but I know it is all really only just beginning.
You've taken this path, and I'm going to follow you.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Feeling the love
I've really been feeling the love lately. Things, since around a couple of months ago, just seemed to be going up and up and up. Perfect days, perfect nights, perfect weekends- perfect people.
From the family, my base, my foundation, nothing but love and support. Some of us are together, some are not, yet the ties are strong. They are my first port of call, the people I know who will hold me up no matter what. If I learnt nothing, it's that, and over the years of trials and tribulations, I've learnt that the love holding a family together is so fierce that sometimes it burns, but these burns are part of it all.
From my closest, oldest friends, the people I grew up with. The people I was openly an idiot with, I laughed with, I cried with, built so many memories with. We are scattered all over the world, yet our friendships are strong. They are the people I am completely and utterly myself with; no secrets, nothing held back. And they know my love for them is unshakeable.
From my newer mates, the people I am inspired by. Those who show me a different side of life, a different side of myself. I am always learning and growing, and as these people come in and out of my life on an intricately woven path, I am forever grateful no matter the circumstances. Some stay, some go- but all have my gratitude.
From my brief acquaintances, people I've met over the years for perhaps a few hours during some event. Those who made me laugh, made me dance, made me talk. Our paths cross, our lives come together for the briefest of times, yet the impact is so strong they will never be forgotten. We share a space and time together, a link that has its life and then leaves, but something is always left behind.
This is my letter of love and gratitude to all who know they've been in my life and have added something to it. It is my assurance that I take none of it for granted, and that as I walk the streets on my own with a ridiculous smile on my face, it's because I'm thinking of you. I am on a cloud, and as I enjoy this journey and acknowledge that it will not last forever, I'm taking the time to relish this rare moment where everything just seems to be coming together.
From the family, my base, my foundation, nothing but love and support. Some of us are together, some are not, yet the ties are strong. They are my first port of call, the people I know who will hold me up no matter what. If I learnt nothing, it's that, and over the years of trials and tribulations, I've learnt that the love holding a family together is so fierce that sometimes it burns, but these burns are part of it all.
From my closest, oldest friends, the people I grew up with. The people I was openly an idiot with, I laughed with, I cried with, built so many memories with. We are scattered all over the world, yet our friendships are strong. They are the people I am completely and utterly myself with; no secrets, nothing held back. And they know my love for them is unshakeable.
From my newer mates, the people I am inspired by. Those who show me a different side of life, a different side of myself. I am always learning and growing, and as these people come in and out of my life on an intricately woven path, I am forever grateful no matter the circumstances. Some stay, some go- but all have my gratitude.
From my brief acquaintances, people I've met over the years for perhaps a few hours during some event. Those who made me laugh, made me dance, made me talk. Our paths cross, our lives come together for the briefest of times, yet the impact is so strong they will never be forgotten. We share a space and time together, a link that has its life and then leaves, but something is always left behind.
This is my letter of love and gratitude to all who know they've been in my life and have added something to it. It is my assurance that I take none of it for granted, and that as I walk the streets on my own with a ridiculous smile on my face, it's because I'm thinking of you. I am on a cloud, and as I enjoy this journey and acknowledge that it will not last forever, I'm taking the time to relish this rare moment where everything just seems to be coming together.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
London Love Affair
My love affair with London continues.
Not many understand why I have this emotional attachment to this city. But the weather, they groan. The people- so uptight! Racist even.
I loved this city before I started studying in it. I knew, I knew from a young age that the United Kingdom would be the destination for me- I wanted to be as close to London as I could.
And the last two years have been nothing if not a rollercoaster ride. I lived with my boyfriend of the time here, broke up with him here. I danced in the clubs, I roamed the streets. I drank in celebration and I drank in misery. I made friends. I also lost friends. I shared my bed, and I shared others'.
I also studied at a world-class institution, an experience I would trade for nothing in the world. I met the most amazing, intelligent and interesting people. The kind of people you would stay up all night talking to over dinner and wine. The kind of people who wake you up in the middle of the night because they're having a drunken debate on some philosophical subtlety outside your window- and you don't mind. The kind of people who only add to my insatiable curiousity, something I regard a wonderful thing.
London is nothing without its streets. You haven't experienced life until you've made the walk along the river, across Millenium Bridge in the middle of the night. You don't find out what music and creativity is about until you've walked the raw pulse of Camden. You won't know the magical feeling of seeing the vast, stony, elegant political and business centre of Westminster at 3 in the morning, when it's empty and you feel that the world belongs to you.
And yes, it rains. Sometimes it rains for days on end, making you doubt the existence of the sun. And yes, it is faceless, anonymous. And yes, it can be elitist.
But even that not only do I not mind, but I love. It doesn't matter- nothing matters. Because you can be who you want to be and screw everyone else. Walk in the rain, ride the deep tunnels of the Tube. Soon enough, you might feel like the city belongs to you.
Not many understand why I have this emotional attachment to this city. But the weather, they groan. The people- so uptight! Racist even.
I loved this city before I started studying in it. I knew, I knew from a young age that the United Kingdom would be the destination for me- I wanted to be as close to London as I could.
And the last two years have been nothing if not a rollercoaster ride. I lived with my boyfriend of the time here, broke up with him here. I danced in the clubs, I roamed the streets. I drank in celebration and I drank in misery. I made friends. I also lost friends. I shared my bed, and I shared others'.
I also studied at a world-class institution, an experience I would trade for nothing in the world. I met the most amazing, intelligent and interesting people. The kind of people you would stay up all night talking to over dinner and wine. The kind of people who wake you up in the middle of the night because they're having a drunken debate on some philosophical subtlety outside your window- and you don't mind. The kind of people who only add to my insatiable curiousity, something I regard a wonderful thing.
London is nothing without its streets. You haven't experienced life until you've made the walk along the river, across Millenium Bridge in the middle of the night. You don't find out what music and creativity is about until you've walked the raw pulse of Camden. You won't know the magical feeling of seeing the vast, stony, elegant political and business centre of Westminster at 3 in the morning, when it's empty and you feel that the world belongs to you.
And yes, it rains. Sometimes it rains for days on end, making you doubt the existence of the sun. And yes, it is faceless, anonymous. And yes, it can be elitist.
But even that not only do I not mind, but I love. It doesn't matter- nothing matters. Because you can be who you want to be and screw everyone else. Walk in the rain, ride the deep tunnels of the Tube. Soon enough, you might feel like the city belongs to you.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Passenger
Roll the windows down, this cool night air is curious...
You stop the car by the side of the road. To the left of us, a two lane road; one for each direction. To the right, a thick forest of trees. I'm looking out towards the side. If I concentrate hard enough, I can pretend that the car isn't here, I am alone and none of this is really happening.
The night air is cold and crisp, feeling sharp against my skin. Maybe too pure for my liking. I take out my last cigarette and breathe in the intense smell of tobacco before I put it to my mouth. The lighter give its usual hot, dancing flame- a sight I've been mesmerized by on many occasions- and the usual crackle of burnt paper followed by a thick plume of smoke is comforting.
“So now what?”
I let out an internal sigh. I just want to shut everything off. Let the night do the talking, let me think. Why must we have answers to everything, why can't we just let things happen and leave them be?
Let the whole world look in, who cares who sees anything-
I throw the cigarette away and let out my last breath of smoke. Turn around and look at you, for the first time since we got in this car.
Your eyes are inquisitive. In a sudden, intense rush I realize how much I hate you.
Before I have time to think, before my heart has time to take its next beat, I'm leaning over to kiss you. I don't care about you and I don't care about anything. But I need this to calm me.
It doesn't take long for me to leave my seat and have my back towards the wheel. I know what you're thinking but I'm infinitely aware of my surroundings. I want to leave, for you to lose me in the forest. So I could look up at the stars and see something that's wrong, and to hear the night talk to me.
But I need to stay, just like always.
I'm your passenger.
(This story was partially inspired by the Deftones song The Passenger found here: Youtube link)
You stop the car by the side of the road. To the left of us, a two lane road; one for each direction. To the right, a thick forest of trees. I'm looking out towards the side. If I concentrate hard enough, I can pretend that the car isn't here, I am alone and none of this is really happening.
The night air is cold and crisp, feeling sharp against my skin. Maybe too pure for my liking. I take out my last cigarette and breathe in the intense smell of tobacco before I put it to my mouth. The lighter give its usual hot, dancing flame- a sight I've been mesmerized by on many occasions- and the usual crackle of burnt paper followed by a thick plume of smoke is comforting.
“So now what?”
I let out an internal sigh. I just want to shut everything off. Let the night do the talking, let me think. Why must we have answers to everything, why can't we just let things happen and leave them be?
Let the whole world look in, who cares who sees anything-
I throw the cigarette away and let out my last breath of smoke. Turn around and look at you, for the first time since we got in this car.
Your eyes are inquisitive. In a sudden, intense rush I realize how much I hate you.
Before I have time to think, before my heart has time to take its next beat, I'm leaning over to kiss you. I don't care about you and I don't care about anything. But I need this to calm me.
It doesn't take long for me to leave my seat and have my back towards the wheel. I know what you're thinking but I'm infinitely aware of my surroundings. I want to leave, for you to lose me in the forest. So I could look up at the stars and see something that's wrong, and to hear the night talk to me.
But I need to stay, just like always.
I'm your passenger.
(This story was partially inspired by the Deftones song The Passenger found here: Youtube link)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Needle, Sugar, Blood
I can feel the needle etching into my skin. The ink, the art, a part of me- forever.
Deep breath in. I lie on my tummy on the table. The buzzing sound, the loud music together with the quiet concentration of elaborate work on my back. I'm sweating. It hurts. But the pain, I can handle.
This is going to be who I am inside, on the outside. I need it there. I am incomplete without it. I have to let it out, and it has to define me. Otherwise it will be all for nothing.
It was that summer we found out. You are sick. And scared. My God, the fear- it was all you must have felt.
--
The sugar has always been a part of it.
We are all excessive, indulgent. We love our food, our wine. Laughter, conversations. Adrenalin. A rush so intense I'm dizzy, I can feel it in my veins. Gives me that high, that breath-taking giddiness.
There's no point being alive if you can't feel it.
And that long, long summer, you couldn't live. You weren't allowed to live. No decision was yours.
--
Our metaphorical blood runs stronger than in our veins. Your blood is my blood, and it is neither here nor there.
We are all one. I look in your eyes and I see him.
You need to know that. Know that there is no danger of falling off. We will be there; and I will be the one steering.
Deep breath in. I lie on my tummy on the table. The buzzing sound, the loud music together with the quiet concentration of elaborate work on my back. I'm sweating. It hurts. But the pain, I can handle.
This is going to be who I am inside, on the outside. I need it there. I am incomplete without it. I have to let it out, and it has to define me. Otherwise it will be all for nothing.
It was that summer we found out. You are sick. And scared. My God, the fear- it was all you must have felt.
--
The sugar has always been a part of it.
We are all excessive, indulgent. We love our food, our wine. Laughter, conversations. Adrenalin. A rush so intense I'm dizzy, I can feel it in my veins. Gives me that high, that breath-taking giddiness.
There's no point being alive if you can't feel it.
And that long, long summer, you couldn't live. You weren't allowed to live. No decision was yours.
--
Our metaphorical blood runs stronger than in our veins. Your blood is my blood, and it is neither here nor there.
We are all one. I look in your eyes and I see him.
You need to know that. Know that there is no danger of falling off. We will be there; and I will be the one steering.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Frozen
I would smash my watch, and make time stop.
It's a picture perfect scene. I hug my knees and lay down my head. I breathe in the salty smell of the sea and smile. A breeze in my hair. Nature keeps going, but you are frozen.
We are alone on the beach, under a dark sky of stars. The lonely moon has never seemed bigger and all I can hear is the crashing of the waves.
I take a look at you. You're staring out at the sea. Relaxed, content. You have the softest eyes I've ever seen. Even in moments like these, when you know the outcome can't be good, you seem to take it all in stride. It's disconcerting, the fact that I don't know how to provoke a reaction.
You've asked a question I don't want to answer.
And I know I'm a coward. I know I've been holding on to something that can't continue. And I know that no matter the answer I give, you're going to smile, and you're going to be okay with it. Be a comfort. But there comes a point when comfort isn't so comfortable anymore.
I can't deal with it, and so I'm going to run away from it.
I stand up, take one last look at you, still frozen in time. I turn my back and walk away. I have an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness, but it's better than the alternative.
It's a picture perfect scene. I hug my knees and lay down my head. I breathe in the salty smell of the sea and smile. A breeze in my hair. Nature keeps going, but you are frozen.
We are alone on the beach, under a dark sky of stars. The lonely moon has never seemed bigger and all I can hear is the crashing of the waves.
I take a look at you. You're staring out at the sea. Relaxed, content. You have the softest eyes I've ever seen. Even in moments like these, when you know the outcome can't be good, you seem to take it all in stride. It's disconcerting, the fact that I don't know how to provoke a reaction.
You've asked a question I don't want to answer.
And I know I'm a coward. I know I've been holding on to something that can't continue. And I know that no matter the answer I give, you're going to smile, and you're going to be okay with it. Be a comfort. But there comes a point when comfort isn't so comfortable anymore.
I can't deal with it, and so I'm going to run away from it.
I stand up, take one last look at you, still frozen in time. I turn my back and walk away. I have an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness, but it's better than the alternative.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Rider
It seems to me that there are few athletes that aren't at least a little superstitious. You read about it in autobiographies, you hear stories- there is at least a little OCD involved. I think that's hardly surprising, as the preparation leading up to the sport is a ritual in itself. No matter what it is you do, you have a routine to get yourself ready. You get your kit on, you do your warm up. The care you put into your specialized outfit, because you know how important it is to your performance, creates a certain connection. Just the amount of effort required to keep everything in shape, whether they are pointe shoes that need breaking in, to ice-skating boots with the sharpening of the blade, even football boots- knowing full well that soon, these very things you hold in your hands will cause you pain. Blood, sores, bruises- they all part of the process of a sport we love and give ourselves to.
For me, back in Dubai about 3 years ago, Fridays meant horse-riding. And horse-riding meant a long, long drive to the place where I would do it, which was in the middle of the desert. Back then I still didn't have my license, and my mum would be doing the driving. Thinking about Dubai inevitably leads to thinking about long, open, 7-lane highways, surrounded by sand. I would be the one in charge of the music, and I remember that Echoes and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd were the two I played the most. They suited the mood.
The place I went really was like a little oasis. It was a patch of green- albeit quite a large patch- but it was still quite far away from the city and so just inside the sandlands. I did horse-riding for a while, I think it was 3 years. But there's a certain period that sticks out most in my memory, which involved a series of lessons with a specific horse.
Usually I'd do group lessons, and I almost never got the same horse more than twice in a row. The reason is that they wanted us to be able to experience all sorts of horses with different abilities and personalities. And believe me, they have personalities. After a while, you'd know which horse is good at what, which gets nervous when, and basically how to handle each one in its own unique way, to get the best out of it.
For some reason that seems to escape my mind, I did a bunch of private lessons. I also kept getting the same horse- an old, ambling guy by the name of Jasper. Jasper's HUGE- which means he isn't very nimble and not so smooth. The timing of the class was such that sunset would occur right near the end of it. The field next to us, at that time, was usually empty too- which meant that in a massive expanse of sand, it was just me, Jasper and my trainer at the time, Jason.
It was near enough damned perfect. Like something out of movie.
Jasper and I worked hard. You never know how difficult a sport is until you try it, and these professionals you see on TV really do make it look easy. I've done a lot of different sports in my life, and I can honestly say- nothing was as physically demanding as horse-riding. Every single muscle- the legs, the inner thighs, the back, the arms- they all get used. Not to mention it's a lot of cardio.
As I mentioned before, Jasper wasn't exactly the most graceful horse in the stable. He wasn't clumsy, of course- but he needed refinement. Jason had me working on getting him to do certain steps that specific horses are trained for that are considered “dance”. Ours was really simple- I had to get him to move sideways by crossing his legs as opposed to physically just going in that direction.
It was difficult, because Jasper wasn't the right kind of horse for these kind of exercises. We did laps and laps of shapes, circles, weaving in and out- going wider, narrower, round and round my trainer. Week after week, something noticeably changed.
You will hear every rider say this- but eventually you start developing a relationship with the horse. You start feeling the subtleties, start being able to know what to expect. It wasn't just that I was learning to control him; he could tell what I needed as well. For a short, rare period of time, it was like we were in sync and every tiny movement I made was being fully interpreted, and so on. I didn't work him; we worked together.
One thing I never stopped appreciating over the whole time I did horse-riding was the fact that I was basically sitting on a beast; an animal that was by far stronger than me. If it wanted to, it could basically kill me. That feeling and that realization is absolutely exhilarating, and few other sports can compare, because few other sports involve animals. The fact that you have a living, breathing and absolutely gorgeous creature responding to subtle movements in your hands and legs is really quite something. And there are times when you really feel the dangers- at some point or another, no matter how good they are, every rider will experience some sort of accident. I've had my experiences, and I have yet to feel that kind of powerful adrenalin rush elsewhere.
Sometimes our lessons involved going out in the open, as opposed to practicing within a confined space. That was much more dangerous as obviously the horses could go as far as they wanted if you lost control. Again, it was just me and my coach. This time it was a woman, and she wanted me to try a gallop for the first time.
The various speeds we trained at were a simple walk, a slightly faster trot, a canter, and the fastest being a gallop. Each speed has it's own command and you don't have to go through them all. For example, one of the toughest exercises was to get the horse from a walk right into a canter. The reason I'd never tried a gallop before was that the closed spaces were far too small for that.
I remember feeling scared, and not knowing what to expect. That has never stopped me before; I'd done jumps that absolutely terrified me and not all ended well. But I knew I had to do it. And I did- and it was the most surreal experiences. The word “fast” doesn't really describe it; it was just a whirl. All I remember is everything around passing by in a blur, but the amazing thing was how smooth it all felt, how effortless.
I miss these experiences; I even miss the long drive there and back. What it was my mum and I discussed on the way there and back I can't imagine. It was good times though; the sun, the sand, the friends, even that specific smell- it's irreplaceable.
For me, back in Dubai about 3 years ago, Fridays meant horse-riding. And horse-riding meant a long, long drive to the place where I would do it, which was in the middle of the desert. Back then I still didn't have my license, and my mum would be doing the driving. Thinking about Dubai inevitably leads to thinking about long, open, 7-lane highways, surrounded by sand. I would be the one in charge of the music, and I remember that Echoes and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd were the two I played the most. They suited the mood.
The place I went really was like a little oasis. It was a patch of green- albeit quite a large patch- but it was still quite far away from the city and so just inside the sandlands. I did horse-riding for a while, I think it was 3 years. But there's a certain period that sticks out most in my memory, which involved a series of lessons with a specific horse.
Usually I'd do group lessons, and I almost never got the same horse more than twice in a row. The reason is that they wanted us to be able to experience all sorts of horses with different abilities and personalities. And believe me, they have personalities. After a while, you'd know which horse is good at what, which gets nervous when, and basically how to handle each one in its own unique way, to get the best out of it.
For some reason that seems to escape my mind, I did a bunch of private lessons. I also kept getting the same horse- an old, ambling guy by the name of Jasper. Jasper's HUGE- which means he isn't very nimble and not so smooth. The timing of the class was such that sunset would occur right near the end of it. The field next to us, at that time, was usually empty too- which meant that in a massive expanse of sand, it was just me, Jasper and my trainer at the time, Jason.
It was near enough damned perfect. Like something out of movie.
Jasper and I worked hard. You never know how difficult a sport is until you try it, and these professionals you see on TV really do make it look easy. I've done a lot of different sports in my life, and I can honestly say- nothing was as physically demanding as horse-riding. Every single muscle- the legs, the inner thighs, the back, the arms- they all get used. Not to mention it's a lot of cardio.
As I mentioned before, Jasper wasn't exactly the most graceful horse in the stable. He wasn't clumsy, of course- but he needed refinement. Jason had me working on getting him to do certain steps that specific horses are trained for that are considered “dance”. Ours was really simple- I had to get him to move sideways by crossing his legs as opposed to physically just going in that direction.
It was difficult, because Jasper wasn't the right kind of horse for these kind of exercises. We did laps and laps of shapes, circles, weaving in and out- going wider, narrower, round and round my trainer. Week after week, something noticeably changed.
You will hear every rider say this- but eventually you start developing a relationship with the horse. You start feeling the subtleties, start being able to know what to expect. It wasn't just that I was learning to control him; he could tell what I needed as well. For a short, rare period of time, it was like we were in sync and every tiny movement I made was being fully interpreted, and so on. I didn't work him; we worked together.
One thing I never stopped appreciating over the whole time I did horse-riding was the fact that I was basically sitting on a beast; an animal that was by far stronger than me. If it wanted to, it could basically kill me. That feeling and that realization is absolutely exhilarating, and few other sports can compare, because few other sports involve animals. The fact that you have a living, breathing and absolutely gorgeous creature responding to subtle movements in your hands and legs is really quite something. And there are times when you really feel the dangers- at some point or another, no matter how good they are, every rider will experience some sort of accident. I've had my experiences, and I have yet to feel that kind of powerful adrenalin rush elsewhere.
Sometimes our lessons involved going out in the open, as opposed to practicing within a confined space. That was much more dangerous as obviously the horses could go as far as they wanted if you lost control. Again, it was just me and my coach. This time it was a woman, and she wanted me to try a gallop for the first time.
The various speeds we trained at were a simple walk, a slightly faster trot, a canter, and the fastest being a gallop. Each speed has it's own command and you don't have to go through them all. For example, one of the toughest exercises was to get the horse from a walk right into a canter. The reason I'd never tried a gallop before was that the closed spaces were far too small for that.
I remember feeling scared, and not knowing what to expect. That has never stopped me before; I'd done jumps that absolutely terrified me and not all ended well. But I knew I had to do it. And I did- and it was the most surreal experiences. The word “fast” doesn't really describe it; it was just a whirl. All I remember is everything around passing by in a blur, but the amazing thing was how smooth it all felt, how effortless.
I miss these experiences; I even miss the long drive there and back. What it was my mum and I discussed on the way there and back I can't imagine. It was good times though; the sun, the sand, the friends, even that specific smell- it's irreplaceable.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Lifeline
I'm reaching out, about to catch you. The room is hot, filled with people. The music is loud and sweaty bodies are jumping in unison around me. I'm pushed and pulled from one side to the other. Where are you? I see you out of the corner of my eye, but as I turn, you're gone. God, it's so hot. But there's no-one else here I know. The flashing lights, the grabbing hands. It's becoming too much. I need you...
--
I wake up in a burning hot room. I throw off my duvet and shakily try to get myself together. I'm sweating.
I switch on a dim bulb and throw open the window. In the bathroom, the cool water is my only source of comfort. My reflection is not. I hate the person I've become. I used to be strong. I used to know who I am. But I'm pathetic.
And I'm a liar, a first-class liar.
I'm trapped. The closer I get to admitting it, day by day, the more suffocated I feel. The walls seem to be edging together. A wave of nausea takes over and I know it- that's it. Something has to change.
I pick up my phone. I go through the list of the names... I know these people. But they are not my people. I'm starting to panic. There has to be someone...
--
You're waiting for me. We barely know each other at all.
Smoke curls out of your cigarette as you let out your breath. Your eyes have a hint of amber in them. There's something we have in common.
You listen to me as I talk. About superficial things at first. Shaky, trying to find my ground. You know that's not why I'm here, or why you are either.
As the story finally unwinds, your stony exterior softens- but only slightly. I've made you uncomfortable. But now I know you care, and as you open your mouth for the first time to tell me what you think, I know that I will do as you say. You are going to pull me through.
--
Sometimes it feels like the decisions we make, the ones that affect the rest of our lives, aren't really choices. Sometimes it feels like every tiny detail of our past is what led up to them. In that case, do we really have control over anything?
I've become a floater. The anchor that kept me grounded is gone. Anchor, shackles- is there a difference? I don't know.
I throw down my smoke into the grass and step on it. Look up at the sky and smile. So blue, I have never seen it like this. A few puffy clouds and the sun in beating down on me.
I start to run through the park. I start off slow, but soon I gain momentum. Faster and faster, the trees racing past me, the lawns greener than green. I see the music and take off...
I run along the clouds, and they belong to me.
--
I wake up in a burning hot room. I throw off my duvet and shakily try to get myself together. I'm sweating.
I switch on a dim bulb and throw open the window. In the bathroom, the cool water is my only source of comfort. My reflection is not. I hate the person I've become. I used to be strong. I used to know who I am. But I'm pathetic.
And I'm a liar, a first-class liar.
I'm trapped. The closer I get to admitting it, day by day, the more suffocated I feel. The walls seem to be edging together. A wave of nausea takes over and I know it- that's it. Something has to change.
I pick up my phone. I go through the list of the names... I know these people. But they are not my people. I'm starting to panic. There has to be someone...
--
You're waiting for me. We barely know each other at all.
Smoke curls out of your cigarette as you let out your breath. Your eyes have a hint of amber in them. There's something we have in common.
You listen to me as I talk. About superficial things at first. Shaky, trying to find my ground. You know that's not why I'm here, or why you are either.
As the story finally unwinds, your stony exterior softens- but only slightly. I've made you uncomfortable. But now I know you care, and as you open your mouth for the first time to tell me what you think, I know that I will do as you say. You are going to pull me through.
--
Sometimes it feels like the decisions we make, the ones that affect the rest of our lives, aren't really choices. Sometimes it feels like every tiny detail of our past is what led up to them. In that case, do we really have control over anything?
I've become a floater. The anchor that kept me grounded is gone. Anchor, shackles- is there a difference? I don't know.
I throw down my smoke into the grass and step on it. Look up at the sky and smile. So blue, I have never seen it like this. A few puffy clouds and the sun in beating down on me.
I start to run through the park. I start off slow, but soon I gain momentum. Faster and faster, the trees racing past me, the lawns greener than green. I see the music and take off...
I run along the clouds, and they belong to me.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
2010
It has been an intense year. Sometimes intensely up, sometimes intensely down.
It feels like the year where most has happened to me- the biggest changes, the biggest realizations. I have made decisions that have now placed me on the path I'm treading, but where it leads to I don't know.
As always, it is hard for me think of a year in non-academic terms. It's usually September- June, and then that big irrelevant gap in the middle. I guess that says a lot about what I think is important, and lately I have come to realise just how much emphasis I put on education, and how much I genuinely enjoy being part of academic life.
The previous new year was met in the middle of my time at LSE. Yesterday, my brother told me that the way you meet the new year is the way you will be spending it, and it seems that last time it was true. I had met so many new people over the year, but not many lasted. I kept a few close by. So far, 2011 predicts the opposite with the many, old familiar faces, and I do hope it will be true.
There is not a month I can think of from the previous year that does not bring up intense memories and emotions. From new experiences to exhaustion, understanding to embarrassments, joys, family illnesses, depression- it's all in there, both good and bad. But as always, there are no regrets. Everything I've been through is a result of the past and the decisions I've made, and I would not change any of them. I am who I am, and to change the past would be to change who I was.
The strongest feeling now for me is that things are changing. I'm on the very cusp, that point in my life that will determine a lot of the future. It feels like the right moment to make conscious changes, as well as acknowledge those that were not. Everything that has happened has led up to this- the decision to allow change. Change in friendships as I let go of those that have no meaning anymore, change in relationships as I wipe a clean slate, change in family as I strengthen the ties with those who matter most. Changes as I try to let things flow on their own, to let the pieces fall instead of attempt to catch them all and place them my way.
Most of all, it will mean acceptance. And that will be the hardest thing to do.
It feels like the year where most has happened to me- the biggest changes, the biggest realizations. I have made decisions that have now placed me on the path I'm treading, but where it leads to I don't know.
As always, it is hard for me think of a year in non-academic terms. It's usually September- June, and then that big irrelevant gap in the middle. I guess that says a lot about what I think is important, and lately I have come to realise just how much emphasis I put on education, and how much I genuinely enjoy being part of academic life.
The previous new year was met in the middle of my time at LSE. Yesterday, my brother told me that the way you meet the new year is the way you will be spending it, and it seems that last time it was true. I had met so many new people over the year, but not many lasted. I kept a few close by. So far, 2011 predicts the opposite with the many, old familiar faces, and I do hope it will be true.
There is not a month I can think of from the previous year that does not bring up intense memories and emotions. From new experiences to exhaustion, understanding to embarrassments, joys, family illnesses, depression- it's all in there, both good and bad. But as always, there are no regrets. Everything I've been through is a result of the past and the decisions I've made, and I would not change any of them. I am who I am, and to change the past would be to change who I was.
The strongest feeling now for me is that things are changing. I'm on the very cusp, that point in my life that will determine a lot of the future. It feels like the right moment to make conscious changes, as well as acknowledge those that were not. Everything that has happened has led up to this- the decision to allow change. Change in friendships as I let go of those that have no meaning anymore, change in relationships as I wipe a clean slate, change in family as I strengthen the ties with those who matter most. Changes as I try to let things flow on their own, to let the pieces fall instead of attempt to catch them all and place them my way.
Most of all, it will mean acceptance. And that will be the hardest thing to do.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Invisible Strings
We are burdened by the rules of society.
And it's a shame. It's sad that we cannot be who we want to be, that we can't say how we feel, that we can't simply do what we want to do.
These rules of “morality” are what cause so much pain. We are internally tormented by the conflicts between what we want and what is expected of us by others. We have so many people to please – our parents, our partners, our colleagues, even strangers- that our needs practically come in last.
What would it mean, to live in a “free” society? I don't think I'm talking about anarchy. Laws and regulations have their uses. But what about social freedom? Freedom to talk, to make, to criticize, to love, to feel.
No matter what people say, we are meant to have partners. Someone to share our lives with. The question is, are we meant to share them with one person forever? Surely relationships, just like anything else, eventually run of steam, eventually reach the end of the line.
And that doesn't have to be a bad thing. I honestly believe that the most I've learnt about myself was through other people. Why lose out on opportunities to learn, to grow?
The thought that we have one life, just one chance, has been weighing on my mind for a long time. It makes me want to take chances, take risks, do as much as I can. If I want it, I'll go for it.
That's not to say that all relationships must end after a certain period of time. Who am I to dictate anything? There are many couples that stay together, happily, for years and years until the end of their lives. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that- the point here is, we should maximize our happiness. When we feel that things are not working... we should not be afraid to let it go.
We must be confident. We must know who we are. We must believe that everything will be okay, that we have to change for no one, and be under nobody's rule. We must believe that everybody has the right to do what they want, as long as nobody is getting hurt. Otherwise, what is the point of it all? What is the point of living life by a bunch of rules, sacrificing, avoiding certain things just because they are considered wrong by the society?
This doesn't mean we have to be harsh, or exploit people. But being honest about how we feel, and just talking, can come such a long way. There is nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what is on our minds. Absolutely nothing.
And it's a shame. It's sad that we cannot be who we want to be, that we can't say how we feel, that we can't simply do what we want to do.
These rules of “morality” are what cause so much pain. We are internally tormented by the conflicts between what we want and what is expected of us by others. We have so many people to please – our parents, our partners, our colleagues, even strangers- that our needs practically come in last.
What would it mean, to live in a “free” society? I don't think I'm talking about anarchy. Laws and regulations have their uses. But what about social freedom? Freedom to talk, to make, to criticize, to love, to feel.
No matter what people say, we are meant to have partners. Someone to share our lives with. The question is, are we meant to share them with one person forever? Surely relationships, just like anything else, eventually run of steam, eventually reach the end of the line.
And that doesn't have to be a bad thing. I honestly believe that the most I've learnt about myself was through other people. Why lose out on opportunities to learn, to grow?
The thought that we have one life, just one chance, has been weighing on my mind for a long time. It makes me want to take chances, take risks, do as much as I can. If I want it, I'll go for it.
That's not to say that all relationships must end after a certain period of time. Who am I to dictate anything? There are many couples that stay together, happily, for years and years until the end of their lives. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that- the point here is, we should maximize our happiness. When we feel that things are not working... we should not be afraid to let it go.
We must be confident. We must know who we are. We must believe that everything will be okay, that we have to change for no one, and be under nobody's rule. We must believe that everybody has the right to do what they want, as long as nobody is getting hurt. Otherwise, what is the point of it all? What is the point of living life by a bunch of rules, sacrificing, avoiding certain things just because they are considered wrong by the society?
This doesn't mean we have to be harsh, or exploit people. But being honest about how we feel, and just talking, can come such a long way. There is nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what is on our minds. Absolutely nothing.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Poison
One of the hardest things we can do as humans is admit to ourselves about how we really feel. But sometimes even admitting it is not enough; not enough to find a purpose and not enough to get onto the right path again.
For some reason we need a constant reminder of why we should be happy. And what does that mean anyway? Everything is relative after all... we can be grateful for what we have, the opportunities we have been given, but it doesn't mean we will be happy. And that is the curse of being human, of being conscious and aware.
Almost exactly a year ago, I lost something that had huge meaning in my life. It had a profound impact on me, knocked me off balance. Since then I feel like I've been living a surreal life, memories are hazy, sometimes I don't even believe it was me. I have been regaining my footing, but I acknowledge now that where I am heading off to is not where I used to be.
Don't get me wrong. Yes, the loss was sad, and sad is not even really the right word to describe it. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, and the pain changed me. But I don't regret it. And this is where things are important... no matter what happens, you have to understand and accept the part you played in it. You must admit that things happen for a reason. You cannot blame yourself.
Things weren't right for a long time, and there was no way to fix them. But this is what happens when we hold on to things that are broken. They become toxic, they start to poison your life, but you hold on. You hold on because of the sentimental value, because of its meaning. These are the things that separate us from machines, from animals. Empty, rotten energies become the centre of our lives, and we cannot give them up until they are wrenched from us. We are forced to let them go, desperate and pathetic, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
So how honest can we be with ourselves? Can we admit that we are hurt, or that we feel empty? Or would we rather fill the gaps in, with other temporary things? I think we are master liars- but to ourselves. We deceive ourselves into believing we are who we want to be, that even the idea of being honest with the self seems quite ridiculous. I think that even in moments when we think we are being bitterly honest, admitting to ourselves we are nothing more than we really are, we are still fulfilling an image in our heads of ourselves- the “honest” person.
We are ever-changing beings, so fickle, so unclear. Extreme emotional situations especially can easily deter us from our paths... “there's someone in my head, but it's not me”.
For some reason we need a constant reminder of why we should be happy. And what does that mean anyway? Everything is relative after all... we can be grateful for what we have, the opportunities we have been given, but it doesn't mean we will be happy. And that is the curse of being human, of being conscious and aware.
Almost exactly a year ago, I lost something that had huge meaning in my life. It had a profound impact on me, knocked me off balance. Since then I feel like I've been living a surreal life, memories are hazy, sometimes I don't even believe it was me. I have been regaining my footing, but I acknowledge now that where I am heading off to is not where I used to be.
Don't get me wrong. Yes, the loss was sad, and sad is not even really the right word to describe it. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, and the pain changed me. But I don't regret it. And this is where things are important... no matter what happens, you have to understand and accept the part you played in it. You must admit that things happen for a reason. You cannot blame yourself.
Things weren't right for a long time, and there was no way to fix them. But this is what happens when we hold on to things that are broken. They become toxic, they start to poison your life, but you hold on. You hold on because of the sentimental value, because of its meaning. These are the things that separate us from machines, from animals. Empty, rotten energies become the centre of our lives, and we cannot give them up until they are wrenched from us. We are forced to let them go, desperate and pathetic, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
So how honest can we be with ourselves? Can we admit that we are hurt, or that we feel empty? Or would we rather fill the gaps in, with other temporary things? I think we are master liars- but to ourselves. We deceive ourselves into believing we are who we want to be, that even the idea of being honest with the self seems quite ridiculous. I think that even in moments when we think we are being bitterly honest, admitting to ourselves we are nothing more than we really are, we are still fulfilling an image in our heads of ourselves- the “honest” person.
We are ever-changing beings, so fickle, so unclear. Extreme emotional situations especially can easily deter us from our paths... “there's someone in my head, but it's not me”.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Double
A lover first, a woman second.
--
There's something alluring about a first date. All dressed up, fancy restaurant. Stolen glances, secret smiles. Dim light, tall glass of red.
How to discriminate between love for a man and love for a woman?
Is it the long lashes, the perfectly manicured nails that look at you, or a meticulous tie and dimpled cheeks?
Is it the feline, ferocious sex appeal of a woman, or the overpowering dominance of a man?
--
And who is to say, who you should love?
--
There's something alluring about a first date. All dressed up, fancy restaurant. Stolen glances, secret smiles. Dim light, tall glass of red.
How to discriminate between love for a man and love for a woman?
Is it the long lashes, the perfectly manicured nails that look at you, or a meticulous tie and dimpled cheeks?
Is it the feline, ferocious sex appeal of a woman, or the overpowering dominance of a man?
--
And who is to say, who you should love?
Friday, June 18, 2010
Connect
What do you do when you want something you know you can't have? As glances meet and eyes connect, the link is undeniable. What human being can explain what happens when that link occurs? A jolt of understanding, yes, and vulnerability. Feeling naked. As I look up at you across the smoke-filled room, I am shocked to find you are looking right back at me. You don't flinch, you don't turn away. Hold your gaze like you know exactly how I'm feeling. Those few seconds pass by painfully slowly and everything else seems to swim by. You are a closed book.
A contradiction. You don't look like you're supposed to look. You don't talk like you're supposed to talk. The odd one out, the outsider. Everything ties back to you- you are the link. How did you take this role?
Everything I've built up breaks down near you. My confidence- shattered. You break me down and I fall apart. Am I everything I think I am? And then you come back, offer a helping hand. Maybe, just maybe. But you're good, right? Right?
It aches. A glimmer of hope, snatched away. I'm grasping at air, everything is just beyond my reach. Are you too high, or am I too low? I hate the doubts.
It doesn't matter. Maybe this is how it's meant to be. Maybe I could've been a fly in your web. Maybe I already am.
Or maybe, just maybe, you don't know what you're doing either.
A contradiction. You don't look like you're supposed to look. You don't talk like you're supposed to talk. The odd one out, the outsider. Everything ties back to you- you are the link. How did you take this role?
Everything I've built up breaks down near you. My confidence- shattered. You break me down and I fall apart. Am I everything I think I am? And then you come back, offer a helping hand. Maybe, just maybe. But you're good, right? Right?
It aches. A glimmer of hope, snatched away. I'm grasping at air, everything is just beyond my reach. Are you too high, or am I too low? I hate the doubts.
It doesn't matter. Maybe this is how it's meant to be. Maybe I could've been a fly in your web. Maybe I already am.
Or maybe, just maybe, you don't know what you're doing either.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Breathe
Breathe, breathe in the air.
Don't be afraid to care.
Leave, don't leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.
Long you live and high you fly
Smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
All you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.
Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.
For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.
-- Pink Floyd (Breathe)
Don't be afraid to care.
Leave, don't leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.
Long you live and high you fly
Smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
All you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.
Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.
For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.
-- Pink Floyd (Breathe)
Friday, March 19, 2010
In Transit
I have become a traveller. I invariably journey alone... in fact, I do not remember the last time I flew with a friend or family member. I like the solitude.
A lot of the time, my life feels like it's in transit. Nothing is either one way or another. This is reflected in almost every aspect of myself: I am the offspring of two quite opposing cultures, but I identify with neither one completely. This is why I constantly need to be on the move. I can't stay long enough to soak up a culture. I need to be in-between.
My favourite part of the journey is the ride to the airport. This time, I am aboard an underground train. It will take me slightly more than an hour to reach what is considered the busiest airport in the world. I have taken this train many, many times before. To me, it is the in-between of my two homes. One represents sun, money and family; the other represents freedom, knowledge and cold. I love both dearly, but I cannot live in one without the other for too long.
I get on the train at the very centre of the city. The carriage is over-packed, but my first instinct is to immediately check who else seems to be going to the same place as me. There are businesswomen in suits, listening to their music; big, burly men dressed casually like they are on a lazy day out; students, on the way home from lectures, exhausted... and tourists, travelling in packs, always loud, always excited. As the first half hour passes, the crowd slowly trickles out. This usually happens by the time the train moves from being underground to overground. There is now enough space for me to sit down.
At this point in my journey, I always reflect on the other times I had taken it. I compare who I am today to who I was then. I go through some memories, remember how I felt, who I was thinking about, what I was looking forward to. I realise that every single time the answers to those questions would be different. And I am sure the pattern will continue. That is almost certain; who I am today will not be who I am tomorrow, or next month, or next year. I would like to say that it is just the surface that changes, but I fear that is not true. Sometimes, I know that my very core, my innermost beliefs have changed dramatically.
I observe the people around me. An old man near me has “PEK” written on his backpack... the handsome blonde one opposite doesn't seem to have much baggage, I wonder where he is going... a middle eastern young couple, students, stand close by. I always imagine these people on their planes, going off to their various locations, living their lives. For now, this temporary amount of time, our lives are interconnected and we will all come together at a point where we all disperse again. It seems like a beautiful idea. Life is so surreal in moments like these.
We eventually reach our destination. Here, it is all about wide spaces. Following rules, following directions. It's a miniature version of life outside, but at the same time, it's nothing like what goes on outside. This is its own world. Time, too, has an abnormal quality to it here. Everything seems to be swimming by in slow motion, yet the clock looks like it's racing.
I go through the motions that I've done so many times before. I'm in transit, again. In between. When it's time to board, I move to my little seat, look out my little window. I will be up in the air soon. And oh, there are things to look forward to. But for now, I don't mind being at a point where I am neither here, nor there. For this temporary amount of time, nothing from either worlds can get to me- no problems, no news, no people. I am unreachable.
A lot of the time, my life feels like it's in transit. Nothing is either one way or another. This is reflected in almost every aspect of myself: I am the offspring of two quite opposing cultures, but I identify with neither one completely. This is why I constantly need to be on the move. I can't stay long enough to soak up a culture. I need to be in-between.
My favourite part of the journey is the ride to the airport. This time, I am aboard an underground train. It will take me slightly more than an hour to reach what is considered the busiest airport in the world. I have taken this train many, many times before. To me, it is the in-between of my two homes. One represents sun, money and family; the other represents freedom, knowledge and cold. I love both dearly, but I cannot live in one without the other for too long.
I get on the train at the very centre of the city. The carriage is over-packed, but my first instinct is to immediately check who else seems to be going to the same place as me. There are businesswomen in suits, listening to their music; big, burly men dressed casually like they are on a lazy day out; students, on the way home from lectures, exhausted... and tourists, travelling in packs, always loud, always excited. As the first half hour passes, the crowd slowly trickles out. This usually happens by the time the train moves from being underground to overground. There is now enough space for me to sit down.
At this point in my journey, I always reflect on the other times I had taken it. I compare who I am today to who I was then. I go through some memories, remember how I felt, who I was thinking about, what I was looking forward to. I realise that every single time the answers to those questions would be different. And I am sure the pattern will continue. That is almost certain; who I am today will not be who I am tomorrow, or next month, or next year. I would like to say that it is just the surface that changes, but I fear that is not true. Sometimes, I know that my very core, my innermost beliefs have changed dramatically.
I observe the people around me. An old man near me has “PEK” written on his backpack... the handsome blonde one opposite doesn't seem to have much baggage, I wonder where he is going... a middle eastern young couple, students, stand close by. I always imagine these people on their planes, going off to their various locations, living their lives. For now, this temporary amount of time, our lives are interconnected and we will all come together at a point where we all disperse again. It seems like a beautiful idea. Life is so surreal in moments like these.
We eventually reach our destination. Here, it is all about wide spaces. Following rules, following directions. It's a miniature version of life outside, but at the same time, it's nothing like what goes on outside. This is its own world. Time, too, has an abnormal quality to it here. Everything seems to be swimming by in slow motion, yet the clock looks like it's racing.
I go through the motions that I've done so many times before. I'm in transit, again. In between. When it's time to board, I move to my little seat, look out my little window. I will be up in the air soon. And oh, there are things to look forward to. But for now, I don't mind being at a point where I am neither here, nor there. For this temporary amount of time, nothing from either worlds can get to me- no problems, no news, no people. I am unreachable.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Insignificance
Nothing makes you realise your insignificance like living in a busy, populated European city. As I sit here in my room listening to the strumming of a guitar, life seems so important. Life feels like it revolves around me, like the pain that I am feeling is enormous, that whatever decisions I make will be life-changing. And yes, to me, they are- to me, my life is what is most important.
I get to school as a faceless stranger, a human being in a sea of human beings. I cross 'the most famous bridge in the world', just as countless others have done, and admire the view of the city- just as countless others have done. I have to dodge tourists along the way, cursing them as if I am superior; completely ignoring the fact that not many years ago, I had the exact same status in the exact same place. I get onto an underground train, surrounded by people I don't know and people I will never see again. As the train rattles in its dark, deep tube, I reflect on how every one of these people has his or her own life. They have a job to go to, a family to hold together... but rarely do I see any emotions. The people on these trains switch off as soon as they sit down, almost like computers on hibernation. Once they reach their stop, off they are again, like ants going about their busy chores. And so do I. As I make my way out of the station and onto the street, I wait just like everybody else for the little man to turn green until I cross the road.
My lecture is in a theatre. Again, I am a faceless stranger among hundreds of students. My books are out and I am ready to listen... but it doesn't work. I'm finding it hard to control my feelings, and as soon as my lesson starts, I am lost in a sea of thoughts. It is almost like everything else disappears and I am in my own world. In this world, dark thoughts loom. Sometimes, all I know is despair as it feels like everything is slipping out of my hands. Everyone is moving on with their lives, but I feel so stuck. My life has always felt like it is contained between 4 walls. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out without explicit approval. My hope that being here will change things has failed... I have realised that the problem is not those around me, the problem is me.
I get to school as a faceless stranger, a human being in a sea of human beings. I cross 'the most famous bridge in the world', just as countless others have done, and admire the view of the city- just as countless others have done. I have to dodge tourists along the way, cursing them as if I am superior; completely ignoring the fact that not many years ago, I had the exact same status in the exact same place. I get onto an underground train, surrounded by people I don't know and people I will never see again. As the train rattles in its dark, deep tube, I reflect on how every one of these people has his or her own life. They have a job to go to, a family to hold together... but rarely do I see any emotions. The people on these trains switch off as soon as they sit down, almost like computers on hibernation. Once they reach their stop, off they are again, like ants going about their busy chores. And so do I. As I make my way out of the station and onto the street, I wait just like everybody else for the little man to turn green until I cross the road.
My lecture is in a theatre. Again, I am a faceless stranger among hundreds of students. My books are out and I am ready to listen... but it doesn't work. I'm finding it hard to control my feelings, and as soon as my lesson starts, I am lost in a sea of thoughts. It is almost like everything else disappears and I am in my own world. In this world, dark thoughts loom. Sometimes, all I know is despair as it feels like everything is slipping out of my hands. Everyone is moving on with their lives, but I feel so stuck. My life has always felt like it is contained between 4 walls. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out without explicit approval. My hope that being here will change things has failed... I have realised that the problem is not those around me, the problem is me.
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