My chinese friend in broken english, after we've slaved at the most wierdest of bugs for 16 hours straight...
"The more shit we eat, the less left for others"
Profound.
“... There is something awe-inspiring in loosing all inhibitions.”
Showing posts with label Ramblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ramblings. Show all posts
Monday, August 13, 2012
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Contradictions
I wonder how slightly pensive, idealistic, aimless, over analyzing talk can coexist with extremely focused and ruthlessly practical walk.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The unreal
You meet people everyday. New people. Old people. Unreal people. With coats and coats of paint, to hold the rust without and within. Adding a layer every year. Are twenty something layers virtually impenetrable? Cynicism. Ego. Pride. Hurt. Fear. Insecurity. Why can I see the layers. Old paint. New paint. But not the metal beneath? I want to pry. It keeps sinking deeper. And I keep up the conversation. My unrealness talking to your unrealness.
It tires me. And I go back to them, whom I knew before. The paints' still there, but there is the shared knowledge, of having seen the naked beam once. The talk is still unreal. But you borrow the reality from a distant past. And continue chipping away at the coats, slowly, hoping you can chip away one before a new one comes up.
And I seek the girders of steel. Immune to rust and unafraid of the blemishes. But to see that maybe you must be that.
It tires me. And I go back to them, whom I knew before. The paints' still there, but there is the shared knowledge, of having seen the naked beam once. The talk is still unreal. But you borrow the reality from a distant past. And continue chipping away at the coats, slowly, hoping you can chip away one before a new one comes up.
And I seek the girders of steel. Immune to rust and unafraid of the blemishes. But to see that maybe you must be that.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Beating blogs to death
As I was thinking and discussing with A (yeah another one)... the boringness of a blog is directly proportional to the inability of the author to open up. And I don't mean the boringness of reading it (that is a different matter altogether), I meant the the boringness of writing it. If blogs cater to some voyeuristic/exhibitionist tendencies of human nature, there should at least be enough gore and juice to make it interesting. Completely abstract and cliched posts really don't cut it. A blog is more like a sitcom, it becomes fun when you get immersed in the story, start knowing the characters.
That brings me to the second question. Do I really want to wash my laundry in public? Probably not. Is it a good idea to let the grumpy guy or the sweet girl in the next cubicle know whats going on in the dirty little corner of my mind? Hmm. So I would rather be anonymous. A faceless exhibitionist? Writing as if nobody is reading? That contradicts the exhibitionist part, doesn't it.. oh well.
I am sure every blogger beats this to death. Its actually reading a friends' (let's call him PS, we shall refer to all characters by some screen name henceforth. I'll try to come up with interesting ones...) recent "first post" that made me ramble on.
Oh btw, I gets a kick out of messing with dem' grammer, like call myself "we".
That brings me to the second question. Do I really want to wash my laundry in public? Probably not. Is it a good idea to let the grumpy guy or the sweet girl in the next cubicle know whats going on in the dirty little corner of my mind? Hmm. So I would rather be anonymous. A faceless exhibitionist? Writing as if nobody is reading? That contradicts the exhibitionist part, doesn't it.. oh well.
I am sure every blogger beats this to death. Its actually reading a friends' (let's call him PS, we shall refer to all characters by some screen name henceforth. I'll try to come up with interesting ones...) recent "first post" that made me ramble on.
Oh btw, I gets a kick out of messing with dem' grammer, like call myself "we".
Monday, August 17, 2009
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
What is forever?
Eventually all my past gets reduced to a snapshot. A snapshot somewhere in my mind. It does not necessarily have a past or a future. It's just there. The mind's way of compressing and archiving old times I guess.
I remember a 3 year old, sitting by the canal. The canal right in front of my house, trying to get his car collection to float on water. (No points for guessing who the 3yr old kid was). Apparently, the cars were metal and I saw nothing of them after that. But I don't remember that, people tell me about it but I don't remember it... only that scene, a 3 yr old by the canal, from the entire first 4 years of my life.
And there are more. The shrivelled old woman, what was her name.. amma? walking me to the skating rink. She was our maid. I was 7 then I think, but the picture is vivid, very vivid.
My grandfather and me holding his little finger (that was his way of holding hands). Is that all I remeber of him? Possibly.
The empty water tank on the top of the building, and three kids inside, feasting on the raw mangoes they had just plucked(I think stolen is a better word) of the tree. How old was I then, 10?
The not quite so little kid, peering through the telescope. His first sight of the orion nebula.
There are no photographs that capture these moments. They probably aren't even true. I cannot have seen these things. They are in the third person! Its like the mind moved aside and captured the scene. The scenes in themselves probably happened though.
The thing is these moments are generic. They are just everyday things. So how does the mind choose which of these to preserve. Is it completely random? Or is there some design?
Which moments of my life now will stay with me.. forever? And which won't?
I remember a 3 year old, sitting by the canal. The canal right in front of my house, trying to get his car collection to float on water. (No points for guessing who the 3yr old kid was). Apparently, the cars were metal and I saw nothing of them after that. But I don't remember that, people tell me about it but I don't remember it... only that scene, a 3 yr old by the canal, from the entire first 4 years of my life.
And there are more. The shrivelled old woman, what was her name.. amma? walking me to the skating rink. She was our maid. I was 7 then I think, but the picture is vivid, very vivid.
My grandfather and me holding his little finger (that was his way of holding hands). Is that all I remeber of him? Possibly.
The empty water tank on the top of the building, and three kids inside, feasting on the raw mangoes they had just plucked(I think stolen is a better word) of the tree. How old was I then, 10?
The not quite so little kid, peering through the telescope. His first sight of the orion nebula.
There are no photographs that capture these moments. They probably aren't even true. I cannot have seen these things. They are in the third person! Its like the mind moved aside and captured the scene. The scenes in themselves probably happened though.
The thing is these moments are generic. They are just everyday things. So how does the mind choose which of these to preserve. Is it completely random? Or is there some design?
Which moments of my life now will stay with me.. forever? And which won't?
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
A solitary expedition
Not too long ago...
The first day of winter, if there is anything like that. There was work to be done, a lecture to attend. But I knew I wouldn't do it. I would not stop by the turn that led up to my class. No not today. I would just keep walking. Past the university... into nowhere. The light snow flakes nestled on the cheeks, dissolving into that occasional tear. The trees were still bright, clinging to spring as long as they could. For them as well as for me, it was time to move on. It's in my nature to resist. But I grow with acceptance and it overwhelms me. The beauty of solitude and starkness. Of the lake perfectly still, rustled only by a gust of the chilly wind. Of the white sheep dog that comes running at me from nowhere, and plays with me, as if we've known each other forever. I am thankful for what I have. I learn to appreciate it. And yes, accept what I can't have.
The first day of winter, if there is anything like that. There was work to be done, a lecture to attend. But I knew I wouldn't do it. I would not stop by the turn that led up to my class. No not today. I would just keep walking. Past the university... into nowhere. The light snow flakes nestled on the cheeks, dissolving into that occasional tear. The trees were still bright, clinging to spring as long as they could. For them as well as for me, it was time to move on. It's in my nature to resist. But I grow with acceptance and it overwhelms me. The beauty of solitude and starkness. Of the lake perfectly still, rustled only by a gust of the chilly wind. Of the white sheep dog that comes running at me from nowhere, and plays with me, as if we've known each other forever. I am thankful for what I have. I learn to appreciate it. And yes, accept what I can't have.
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