There I am, as always, trying to get over what I can't get over- my tendency of being carried away to an impractical extent. And I don't see it as any ordinary weakness. The tides rise on and off, but I can't parallel how it gets off; I'm left behind with unimaginable impacts. I envy the resilience people have. I envy how such phases are evanescent for them while my convalescence seems like a forever phenomenon. Enough of thinking over and over again. Go there, do that, I command. So I step up believing I can be strong and as jolly as the world seems to be. And there, I get to hear a couple of words and I'm already away. Despite my instincts of how true one is or isn't, giving in happens to be my favorite mistake. And before my dream takes me to another interconnected world, I wet my pillow because its not the first time I've been through this and unfortunaltely, not the last time, no matter how badly I want to make it the last time.
But is it really that bad?
Repeating mistakes is like being who you are; surrendering to some inseparable flaws in you comes so naturally that resolutions hardly work.
Even I thought I would and I could get over it - my apparently little world of shortcomings which actually, without my conscious knowledge, is widening its territory exponentially. A personal deceit, I like to call it, because it's within you - the system that's letting your weaknesses out and yet so deceivingly out of your reign. And because you resolve to get rid of it after every ordeal it entangles you in but another brand new day starts and that smug part of you ends up being your own enemy again. The worst of it all is that you cannot inoculate yourself from the sharp pique of your self-inflicted injury.
Self against self.
It seems like nothing can hurt more. But, isn't it equally true that nothing can be more natural?
I mean it's a different story that I get hurt, I cry, I hate me for being so weak but it's not the end of the world. I make mistakes, it's natural. I try getting over them,it's effort and when I fail, it's natural again. Trying again has to be natural too. And picking up a favorite mistake, it's interesting. So yeah, my frequency of my favorite mistake may be awful but it's never in vain. A tleast I get to think, I get to talk to myself, get to realize without my natural mistakes, I can't be me.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Need no alarm to wake me up. A programmed waking up. Good morning, I don't remember to wish wish myself. I don't see how that's gonna change my day. The aftermaths of my heavy thoughts of yesterday still ringing in my head. Life now n life ahead, thats all I can think about. Life then well I always carry it in my head. A new day with some old thoughts, here I go.
Every column in newspaper reads almost the same. Political freaks taking over the headlines. Like I care. But somehow, today I do. The dangers of red have come into action and they call it "peaceful" To Hell with your peace, if peace means absence of weapons we're talking about completely different things. My ephemeral agitation over the political crisis makes me babble against every move they take. Done with newspaper, done with babbling. I cant see how can I help it right now. So back to my own life with my own pieces of news.
I want it to be a fruitful day unlike yesterday, I keep saying to myself. And picture this, seated on my study table I have my face rested on my palms staring at the walls. But they won't produce me fruits,no. I know it as well as you do. But then again, knowing and doing are completely different things. Enough with staring and stumbling upon stupid thoughts. Chemistry, it is, Chemistry for now. Yeah. Good job, whichever side of me it is that took to taking authority over the situation. I love conversions. So I take the chemistry journey read and reread the same lines out of concentration. Chemistry, chemistry, chemistry.
In the end of the day, my exercise book is not all about chemistry though. I turn over the pages to find a poem in between reactions, a few stupid lines I'd meant to txt a friend, squeezed in the edge of a page, a few contemptuous expressions against myself every here and there.
My thoughts over my actual priorities again. Not a fruitful day, I declare. Tomorrow, as I wake up I'll have my analysis over my disgruntlements diluted. A new day with not new thoughts but new commitments, I want it to be,I promise myself. But I can see my stubborn thinking taking distorted shapes in what you call a dream, with promises of aftermaths again. Frustrated, I forget to wish myself Good night again.