It Would Be So Easy

... wouldn't it? 

Less Than We Think, More Than We Realize

A terrible thing, is a name. It gives power. It changes the rules.

The more names it has, the more lives it has. Each name gives it a new head, a new disguise.

The only crime is theft.

Theft of life.

Theft of land.

Theft of time.

Theft of history.

Theft of identity.

Theft of integrity.

Theft of innocence.

Theft of knowledge.

Theft of ... things.

We steal from ourselves, we steal from each other. And nobody gains anything, so, the world cries, how can it be theft if it vanishes into nothingness? Surely somebody must gain when another loses? So inured are we to selfishness and capitalism, that we can scarcely comprehend a world where nobody wins.

It comes in so many shapes and sizes, genders, colours, creeds, clothes, and constitutions. The race who knows we're all different, but refuses to believe we're not the same. The 'race' that nobody can win. The ideas and ideals that define us.

You can never create or destroy an idea in its entirety unless you embrace it at its roots, knowing what and where and how it is. Things, like us, that think for themselves, can destroy themselves, with as little as a single word at the critical time - but not so for things that have no distinct corporeal form. Ideas have so many names, and we, with our insatiable compulsion to categorize everything, we give every idea a new life in every definition.

The institutions that we use to hurt each other will never go away as long as we give them different names, as long as we give them power. Racism, sexism, 'colorism', casteism, all the '-isms' that you can imagine. If we are all one species, then all of them are different ways of saying "you are different from me, and therefore I am apart from you." Far too often, it is "therefore I am better than you." Each time, the same idea with a different face, a different name, a different excuse, and different rules.

So much complexity, simply because we know too much.

Oh My Darling, Quarantine

Children believe what they're told, generally. That's basically what they're there for ... at least at first. Questions come later, if you've done your job well. Answers aren't too important.

What do children believe who haven't been told what to believe? And those who believe but never question?

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe answers do matter.

Does the answer to the question "What's the matter?" matter?

A New Hope

So this is what having self esteem and validation feels like.

Positive feedback

People who tell you to 'get over it' and 'learn to love yourself' don't realize how much other people's words and feelings can matter when you've been alone and insecure all your life. When your self-love comes from your service to others, it's difficult to explain to people who don't think the same way, since so many of us have been molded to believe that "the first person you should care about is yourself".

And when I find a reason to be more secure in myself, the unseen difficulty is that I have to hold myself back from dumping all my years of inadequacy and loneliness on her so that, for once, just once, I can feel human.

But that's not exactly what this is about.

This is about simple pleasures, and consent, and confidence.

She gave me her consent to make her happy, and by God, I did make her happy. Her happiness and her trust makes me more content than anything else - now I have the solid confidence to say I know what makes me happy in life, and it is simultaneously the most and the least selfish thing in the world.

But maybe I'm needlessly abstract. That's what overthinking does to you.

It's nice to know I'm good with my hands. At least some part of me is good for something greater than myself.

Pain, Pain, Go Away

Title says it all, really, don't you think?

It strikes again. And just when I thought I might start to make something of myself ... I don't know if I can power through this. 

And as usual, yes, I know, other people have worse problems ... and yes, I know that doesn't invalidate my issues ... and yes, I am painfully aware this is useless mental griping.

At least if existential agony burned some calories I might have had something to show for it. As it is, with the brain using a full 25% of all the oxygen taken in by the body, I feel underwhelmed by the results.

Somebody tell me why I'm doing this, again?

The Strongest Among Us

Somebody who's strong can hurt others.

I keep myself weak so that the only thing I hurt is myself.

Self-importance

Some people are really fond of saying "If something is really important enough to you, you'll find a way to make it happen".

I know exactly how important it is. I lay awake at night thinking of the things that are important to me.

I don't think they are capable of understanding that I don't feel I am important enough.

Consent

When you choose to scale a mountain, you never ask how the mountain feels about it.
When you eat a sandwich, you never ask the bread or meat for its consent.
When you run a race, you never ask the finish line (or anyone else) if you can cross it.
When you fly in an aeroplane, you never ask gravity if it consents to being defied.
When you play an instrument, you never ask the instrument if it wants to be played.
When you watch TV, you never ask the TV before turning it on.
When you sleep, you never ask your bed if it is ready to be slept in.

.
.
.
.
.
.

But what about other people?
What about the only people that matter to me?
What about me?

How do they feel?
How will I feel if they do not feel as I feel? What right do I have to their feelings?
What possible justification can I give that would convince them to grant me their consent, even once?

To achieve the trust of fellow human being is so much more difficult than to conquer a goal. Because how they feel about it is so intrinsically important.

Attachment

I remember when I was a child, someone somewhere got me a Tamagotchi electronic pet.
I remember wanting to take care of it.
I remember that my aunt saw it and threw it away calling it "a devilish influence".
I remember crying.

I remember my brother deleting my entire music collection of about fifty songs in the late 90s. He will never appreciate how bad that hurt me.

I remember feeling the shock in my chest when I found out that Ellie died in 2013, even though I barely knew her.
She was a wonderful person.

I remember nearly getting my friend and I killed while taking an unauthorized U-turn on a major highway in Goa.

I remember Chenoa hugging me hard in 2015 and me wishing she would never let go.

I remember first seeing Hemangi when I arrived in Mumbai and subconsciously praying to see her again even though I don't pray.

I remember, I remember.

I remember, when I was growing up, never feeling comfortable sleeping unless I was holding on to at least two, maybe three, more pillows than I actually needed.

I wish I could forget.
I wish I could remember what I've already forgotten.

But most of all -

I wish ... I wish I know how to not care.

Just ... The Worst

Perspective is the most terrible curse of sentience.

Women's Day

For my birthday ...

Give me a chance to make you happy.

A Rock And A Hard Place

I had dinner with her.

The pain resumes in my chest yet again. I should never have even suggested a meal; to think I could deal with my malformed emotions is but a fevered madman's dream.

And I would die inside if I were to lose her friendship. But, to me, how could she ever remain a friend?

I wish we had never met. Would she agree?

Genuine Happiness

Why is it that all the things that make me feel less like dying involve making women feel more alive?

And why do I have to justify it?

Connection

If you read this, it's already too late. You're trapped in the same cruel simulation that drives all of our lives.

Why do I even bother? It's not like I've got a chance ... she said so herself. With everything she represents, how could I even hope to compete for her attention?

I believe what people tell me. That's what children are wired to do, after all, aren't they? Wired to learn and accept what they are told to be true.
You have to be taught to think constructively. You have to be taught to question, or at least to question with purpose.

Nobody taught me to think the thoughts that humans need to succeed. And yet I am shamed for my inability.

Without those thoughts, I am unworthy, incomplete, unfulfilled, unloved, and any number of other adjectives.

Even teddy bears need hugs, or so I've tried telling myself. The truth will set you free ... free from everything but the truth.