You know what's the biggest fun about being alive? It is to know human beings...to get to know, how they think, how their characters change, what they really are and what they pretend to be. The next best thing is freedom. So many people die all the time even while taking breath, because they are not free. What is being alive without being free? What is life that has been compromised?
And here comes in my next and most important point, perhaps the actual topic of today's post. Does remaining free mean being selfish? Is compromise a good thing? Are human beings ever black or white? Can I meet someone and call them good, and maintain my opinion for life long? What if I start seeing shades of gray in them, what if the gray keeps becoming progressively black? Then what about the reasons that had helped me form the "good" opinion? Can that positive really coexist with so much negative, and belong to one and the same person?
And then I analyze myself. What a strange girl I am. If I analyze my walk back home from St John's hospital bus stop yesterday and today, I was in two so different poles of thought? What am I? Good or bad? What do I want in life? To spread happiness or to spread sorrow? To be selfish or to be selfless?
As I had imagined, I have already started repenting on my decision to stay back for another 3 months. I again feel like a boat rocking dangerously in the stormy river. Why has God made me so perfectly poised? If someone is too innocent and fails to understand sarcasm, I find them stupid, if someone is too sarcastic and fails to understand innocence, I find them selfish. In fact I can probably tolerate the former goof up, but I absolutely hate when someone would misinterpret and distort the meaning of words spoken in absolute innocence.
I can't quite explain the mixed feeling. Something chokes me. At the same time I look into the mirror and find myself beautiful. I am scared to remember one particular Suchitra Bhattacharya short story I had read some time back - and had wondered, is this ever possible? And today with all my nastiness and wrath, I tell myself, why wouldn't it be possible? Why should kind people suffer at the hand of unkind ones? And then I think, who am I to judge what can be called as kindness, given the fact that it is not a consistent feature in a particular individual? And I really truly long for my Boo, I just want to cling on to him and cry to my heart's content. For only he would have understood what I am going through. For once I purposely want to listen to his scolding - why do you have to analyze people, why do you have to come to a conclusion, and why do you suffer so much when your ideas are proved wrong? Am I a live ticking bomb these days? Otherwise why do so many familiar faces avoid me in the office? Are they scared about when I might go off? I can't backtrack now on my commitment, I shall do whatever little that is possible and then quietly walk away - I cannot take so much stress. It is not that I hate my work, on the contrary I love it. I can't take the people around me and their whims, and at times I can't take my own idiosyncrasies. Why is my world so different from the real world?
And then from my bus window, I see the double amputee beggar dragging himself on the broken footpath of Bangalore. You can't give up na?
And here comes in my next and most important point, perhaps the actual topic of today's post. Does remaining free mean being selfish? Is compromise a good thing? Are human beings ever black or white? Can I meet someone and call them good, and maintain my opinion for life long? What if I start seeing shades of gray in them, what if the gray keeps becoming progressively black? Then what about the reasons that had helped me form the "good" opinion? Can that positive really coexist with so much negative, and belong to one and the same person?
And then I analyze myself. What a strange girl I am. If I analyze my walk back home from St John's hospital bus stop yesterday and today, I was in two so different poles of thought? What am I? Good or bad? What do I want in life? To spread happiness or to spread sorrow? To be selfish or to be selfless?
As I had imagined, I have already started repenting on my decision to stay back for another 3 months. I again feel like a boat rocking dangerously in the stormy river. Why has God made me so perfectly poised? If someone is too innocent and fails to understand sarcasm, I find them stupid, if someone is too sarcastic and fails to understand innocence, I find them selfish. In fact I can probably tolerate the former goof up, but I absolutely hate when someone would misinterpret and distort the meaning of words spoken in absolute innocence.
I can't quite explain the mixed feeling. Something chokes me. At the same time I look into the mirror and find myself beautiful. I am scared to remember one particular Suchitra Bhattacharya short story I had read some time back - and had wondered, is this ever possible? And today with all my nastiness and wrath, I tell myself, why wouldn't it be possible? Why should kind people suffer at the hand of unkind ones? And then I think, who am I to judge what can be called as kindness, given the fact that it is not a consistent feature in a particular individual? And I really truly long for my Boo, I just want to cling on to him and cry to my heart's content. For only he would have understood what I am going through. For once I purposely want to listen to his scolding - why do you have to analyze people, why do you have to come to a conclusion, and why do you suffer so much when your ideas are proved wrong? Am I a live ticking bomb these days? Otherwise why do so many familiar faces avoid me in the office? Are they scared about when I might go off? I can't backtrack now on my commitment, I shall do whatever little that is possible and then quietly walk away - I cannot take so much stress. It is not that I hate my work, on the contrary I love it. I can't take the people around me and their whims, and at times I can't take my own idiosyncrasies. Why is my world so different from the real world?
And then from my bus window, I see the double amputee beggar dragging himself on the broken footpath of Bangalore. You can't give up na?
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