Saturday, September 5, 2009
love, hating you
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” Neil Gaiman
Hating love..
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” Neil Gaiman
Thank you dear Lioness...
Thank you dear Lioness...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
being a girl
If you were a girl
You will be better
Because you will understand
How I feel
When You
Who's the world to me
Goes a little away from me
You take everything
That I ever had...
You will be better
Because you will understand
How I feel
When You
Who's the world to me
Goes a little away from me
You take everything
That I ever had...
To Sir With Love...
Dear Sir,
I hope that my writing letters to you will not make you confused. Writing letters to a teacher would look out of the ordinary these days. Even though this might look strange to others, I wish that you, as a human being, in love with life and literature, will take this as natural. First of all, let me plead you one thing, please don’t talk about this letter exchange with anyone else. It’s safe if no one gets to know this, because I have the impression that this will be a little intricate for them to understand and accept.
I hope that your son, your mother and you are doing fine. No big worries in my life these days either.
Millions of questions pop up in my mind. After reading my diary of the year 2004, I realized that it is much better to write all this in a letter to somebody that I look up to, rather than inking them safely on some blank pages, I will be able to learn something new from telling these views of mine to someone who knows me. After reading my diary of the year 2004, I realized that my way of thinking has not changed at all. It is weird and wonderful how the questions such as; the struggle in search of the meaning of the life, earning the living, meeting different kinds of people, leaving friends, search of new friends, looking back at myself; the things that I have done and said and turning back to my own self and fix the junk in my heart, stay permanently in my mind. It feels magnificent to look at the way that I treated all those forever questions during the course of these five years.
I still keep on turning in to myself constantly, seeking the answer to the same question; what do I expect from this life?
Understanding the meaning of this life is a thorny course of action. Sometimes I wish that I am just a school teacher, an administrative clerk or a jukie machine operator… Then I too will be happy like them from the simple shocks and surprises of this life. I will get involved with a man of banal taste, get married to him, and will fulfill my duties as a good house wife and a loving mother. I will be happy.
But I was born and brought up with a certain education, I am different from her. I am aware of myself, I cannot stop checking every corner in my mind, I want to find out if there is any trash hidden somewhere and sometimes I find a whole lot of junk in there. I try to identify each empty place and filled place. I want to find out why? How? And when?
I ask from myself whether I want to get attached to them or get detached from them. But all the time, it’s the same question and the same answers, over and over again.
There are no more shocks and surprises in life. Anything that is around me does not surprise me. I know them all too well. I know by heart how it begins, how it proceeds, and how it ends. If I get myself engaged in one of those, I let myself be a victim to pleasure and suffering with total awareness. But how can I stop myself? That is not easy. So I let myself jump in to the flames of the fire, at the beginning I enjoy the warmth of the fire, I see the beauty of the yellow, black and blue flames. Then little by little I could feel my flesh and bones melting and burning. Next, I feel the danger in loosing this life, so therefore I jump out of the fire. Afterward, I nurse my burnt skin and it takes quite a long time to cure myself. Once the wounds get healed, I start to crave for the fire again. The desire becomes so strong that makes me want to destroy my own life from the fire. But I try to please myself by putting my finger in to the flames, once it starts to hurt; I realize the depth and hollowness of my craving.
It is quite obvious that I should cultivate serenity in my character. Even though this stopping oneself is the most strenuous of all tasks of this life, even though I hate myself when I have to stop myself at some point, at the end of the day, that is all what I have to be proud of, that is the only reason that I love myself.
Ability to delay gratification is a master skill, a triumph of the reasoning brain over the impulsive one, a sign of emotional intelligence. I don’t remember the exact gatha, but this was the rough meaning given to that gatha in Dhammapada.
Its all understood, its all relative.
I hear the sound of the sea, the rising and falling sound of the waves…
Isn’t this what it is all about? Rising and falling…
(To be continued…)
I hope that my writing letters to you will not make you confused. Writing letters to a teacher would look out of the ordinary these days. Even though this might look strange to others, I wish that you, as a human being, in love with life and literature, will take this as natural. First of all, let me plead you one thing, please don’t talk about this letter exchange with anyone else. It’s safe if no one gets to know this, because I have the impression that this will be a little intricate for them to understand and accept.
I hope that your son, your mother and you are doing fine. No big worries in my life these days either.
Millions of questions pop up in my mind. After reading my diary of the year 2004, I realized that it is much better to write all this in a letter to somebody that I look up to, rather than inking them safely on some blank pages, I will be able to learn something new from telling these views of mine to someone who knows me. After reading my diary of the year 2004, I realized that my way of thinking has not changed at all. It is weird and wonderful how the questions such as; the struggle in search of the meaning of the life, earning the living, meeting different kinds of people, leaving friends, search of new friends, looking back at myself; the things that I have done and said and turning back to my own self and fix the junk in my heart, stay permanently in my mind. It feels magnificent to look at the way that I treated all those forever questions during the course of these five years.
I still keep on turning in to myself constantly, seeking the answer to the same question; what do I expect from this life?
Understanding the meaning of this life is a thorny course of action. Sometimes I wish that I am just a school teacher, an administrative clerk or a jukie machine operator… Then I too will be happy like them from the simple shocks and surprises of this life. I will get involved with a man of banal taste, get married to him, and will fulfill my duties as a good house wife and a loving mother. I will be happy.
But I was born and brought up with a certain education, I am different from her. I am aware of myself, I cannot stop checking every corner in my mind, I want to find out if there is any trash hidden somewhere and sometimes I find a whole lot of junk in there. I try to identify each empty place and filled place. I want to find out why? How? And when?
I ask from myself whether I want to get attached to them or get detached from them. But all the time, it’s the same question and the same answers, over and over again.
There are no more shocks and surprises in life. Anything that is around me does not surprise me. I know them all too well. I know by heart how it begins, how it proceeds, and how it ends. If I get myself engaged in one of those, I let myself be a victim to pleasure and suffering with total awareness. But how can I stop myself? That is not easy. So I let myself jump in to the flames of the fire, at the beginning I enjoy the warmth of the fire, I see the beauty of the yellow, black and blue flames. Then little by little I could feel my flesh and bones melting and burning. Next, I feel the danger in loosing this life, so therefore I jump out of the fire. Afterward, I nurse my burnt skin and it takes quite a long time to cure myself. Once the wounds get healed, I start to crave for the fire again. The desire becomes so strong that makes me want to destroy my own life from the fire. But I try to please myself by putting my finger in to the flames, once it starts to hurt; I realize the depth and hollowness of my craving.
It is quite obvious that I should cultivate serenity in my character. Even though this stopping oneself is the most strenuous of all tasks of this life, even though I hate myself when I have to stop myself at some point, at the end of the day, that is all what I have to be proud of, that is the only reason that I love myself.
Ability to delay gratification is a master skill, a triumph of the reasoning brain over the impulsive one, a sign of emotional intelligence. I don’t remember the exact gatha, but this was the rough meaning given to that gatha in Dhammapada.
Its all understood, its all relative.
I hear the sound of the sea, the rising and falling sound of the waves…
Isn’t this what it is all about? Rising and falling…
(To be continued…)
Saturday, July 4, 2009
BIMBO
Bimbo
“Bimbo, bimbo, bimbo…” The fan which is just above her face keeps on pronouncing the same word over and over. Radhika hated the fans which make such silly noises, because then, instead of sleeping she tries desperately to find out the message that it conveys. This time, it says “Bimbo”. She got down from the bed after few minutes and went to see it in the oxford dictionary. 0 results.
“It should be some posh word that I am not familiar with…should ask from somebody” she told herself.
Bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo
“The word should mean something empty, blank or vacant” she cannot stop guessing the sense of the word.
This is not the first time that this absurd thing happened. All the memories came to her mind in a queue…flashes of a dark tall guy kept on appearing in front of her eyes. She blinked rapidly hoping that will help her to ignore this disquieting allure.
Bimbo, should be a word that we can use for stupid empty people, especially the girls…images of girls exposing their body, all made up, shaved, straightened hair, high heels, laughing their heads off, with a bunch of guys appeared and reappeared in front of her eyes. At the same time she felt bad to think in such a way about her own race.
She hurried to the computer and logged in to internet. She typed ‘bimbo-word reference’
One site indicated an example:
Main Entry:
bim•bo
Pronunciation:
\ˈbim-(ˌ)bō\
Function:
noun
Inflected Form(s):
plural bimbos
Etymology:
perhaps from Italian bimbo baby
Date:
1918
1slang : man , woman :telling a thickheaded pitcher that the bimbo at the plate hasn't hit a curve in three seasons — Jay Stulle —used as a generalized term of disapproval especially for an attractive but vacuous person
2slang : tramp 1c
“Bimbu, bamboo, bimbi, bimbi, oh! I have a friend called Bimbi! Should ask the meaning of her name next time I meet her” Radhika thought to herself. It’s difficult for her to stop thinking about this word which sounds so empty.
“Bimba, bimba, bimba devi… hey hey hey!!!! Yasodara, wife of the prince Siddhartha was called Bimba devi, right?” Radhika felt so happy finally.
Search results on bimbadevi in wikipedia:
Names: In this French text it is said that Yashodhara meaning the glorious one is the cousin and the main wife of Gautama, the mother of his son Rahula, she also became a nun. The names she has been called besides Yashodhara were: Yashodhara Theri, Bimbadevi, Bhaddakaccana ou Rahulamata (mother of Rahula).
It’s strange how a small thing like a single letter can revolutionize the meaning of something.
In Radhika’s life Bimbo and Bimbadevi stands in two extremes of the same line, like bitch and the angel. Different women personalities come to her mind, fiction and nonfiction, from Kuweni to her mother. Every woman is a legend, woman is beautiful and sad. Some say that men like to see women in tears and that makes them love the woman more and more. Radhika remembers having read somewhere that the woman is more attractive to men when she is sad or in tears, not when she is smiling or happy. That thought did not make her loathe the male generation but to look at it in a wider perception. She loved being a woman. That’s all.
“Bimbo, bimbo, bimbo…” The fan which is just above her face keeps on pronouncing the same word over and over. Radhika hated the fans which make such silly noises, because then, instead of sleeping she tries desperately to find out the message that it conveys. This time, it says “Bimbo”. She got down from the bed after few minutes and went to see it in the oxford dictionary. 0 results.
“It should be some posh word that I am not familiar with…should ask from somebody” she told herself.
Bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo
“The word should mean something empty, blank or vacant” she cannot stop guessing the sense of the word.
This is not the first time that this absurd thing happened. All the memories came to her mind in a queue…flashes of a dark tall guy kept on appearing in front of her eyes. She blinked rapidly hoping that will help her to ignore this disquieting allure.
Bimbo, should be a word that we can use for stupid empty people, especially the girls…images of girls exposing their body, all made up, shaved, straightened hair, high heels, laughing their heads off, with a bunch of guys appeared and reappeared in front of her eyes. At the same time she felt bad to think in such a way about her own race.
She hurried to the computer and logged in to internet. She typed ‘bimbo-word reference’
One site indicated an example:
Main Entry:
bim•bo
Pronunciation:
\ˈbim-(ˌ)bō\
Function:
noun
Inflected Form(s):
plural bimbos
Etymology:
perhaps from Italian bimbo baby
Date:
1918
1slang : man , woman :telling a thickheaded pitcher that the bimbo at the plate hasn't hit a curve in three seasons — Jay Stulle —used as a generalized term of disapproval especially for an attractive but vacuous person
2slang : tramp 1c
“Bimbu, bamboo, bimbi, bimbi, oh! I have a friend called Bimbi! Should ask the meaning of her name next time I meet her” Radhika thought to herself. It’s difficult for her to stop thinking about this word which sounds so empty.
“Bimba, bimba, bimba devi… hey hey hey!!!! Yasodara, wife of the prince Siddhartha was called Bimba devi, right?” Radhika felt so happy finally.
Search results on bimbadevi in wikipedia:
Names: In this French text it is said that Yashodhara meaning the glorious one is the cousin and the main wife of Gautama, the mother of his son Rahula, she also became a nun. The names she has been called besides Yashodhara were: Yashodhara Theri, Bimbadevi, Bhaddakaccana ou Rahulamata (mother of Rahula).
It’s strange how a small thing like a single letter can revolutionize the meaning of something.
In Radhika’s life Bimbo and Bimbadevi stands in two extremes of the same line, like bitch and the angel. Different women personalities come to her mind, fiction and nonfiction, from Kuweni to her mother. Every woman is a legend, woman is beautiful and sad. Some say that men like to see women in tears and that makes them love the woman more and more. Radhika remembers having read somewhere that the woman is more attractive to men when she is sad or in tears, not when she is smiling or happy. That thought did not make her loathe the male generation but to look at it in a wider perception. She loved being a woman. That’s all.
Will you...?
Take me away from this noise
This rat race
These headlights
Traffic lights
And neon lights...
Take me to a grassy plain
Where we can walk hand in hand
Where we can wet our feet from the morning dew...
Take me to the place i love to be..
This rat race
These headlights
Traffic lights
And neon lights...
Take me to a grassy plain
Where we can walk hand in hand
Where we can wet our feet from the morning dew...
Take me to the place i love to be..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
