Hmm

There is a lot in life I associate with dogs. I could say my first friend was a dog. The kinds that don't mind when you pull their ears and wake them up... just because you are bored. (Only to pay it back on the Sunday morning when you don't have to wake up early for school.)

My first brush with death was a dog. He went out one day and never made it back... too much enthusiasm for his own good. Not unlike Marley of Marley & Me. Why do I rant about this now? I just finished watching that movie. There are these words at the end,
"A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water log stick will do just fine. A dog doesn't care if your rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?"

Someone once called me someone's dog. Whatever the context, if only I could be that pure...

Enlightenment!

Being happy is not that hard. All you need is something to do... and appreciate the something you do.

Contradictions

I wonder how slightly pensive, idealistic, aimless, over analyzing talk can coexist with extremely focused and ruthlessly practical walk.

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.