Failing life

I had an interesting conversation the other day. It was a friend of mine reminising his college life, telling both the fun and horrors of the college and the hostel he lived in. Its funny how your imagination works through the words of others. While he sat and mentioned the people he know and described vague details, I was transported to this alternative reality, where every vague detail was valuable information. The experiences from my life filling in for the rest.
While he explained his college and the poor state it was in, I saw a college not unlike my own! As he mentioned his teachers, I conjured up people based on my life experiences. However, the one feeling I felt overpowering through all of it, was a common thread of those teachers looking at themselves people who failed life.

It was not something mentioned straight up, it was something I used to rationalise the strange behaviours he mentioned about. It resonated with my experiences of some of the greatest teachers I knew as well. I often look back and wonder how the very same people who taught me some of the things I know, the very same people who at the time were overpowering with their understanding and knowledge always seemed to have a certain addiction. A certain person was rumoured to be someone who drank between classes. A certain person could not leave the charms of tobacco rolled inside the sun dried beetle leaf. A certain person could not bear the fact of being wrong. I often wondered in my naive teen head, why are they enslaved to such things?

Ever since, life has moved on. Through my journeys, I have seen life viciously attack and rip apart some people when they were still raw and incapable of facing the asteroid that was to crash on them. I have seen life lift and glorify people for seemingly simple actions. Though, I must admit, the vast majority of my journey has seen more of the former incidents. Revisiting those people makes me realise that they have been changed forever. The cruel sculpture called life has set into stone certain aspects and carelessly chipped away others without regard of the preferences of the person it shapes. I then understand why people took the decisions they take.

The notorious habits that I could not understand now seemed to make sense, for it was the escape mechanism, the supposed balm that was applied hopelessly to cure the scars of those shattered dreams that life tore apart. I look at the teacher who forced himself into a stupor just to momentarily run away from the weight of life he placed onto himself. I then look onto the people who were tired and sick of those chipped off dreams, and look with disgust at the what life has carved for them and decide to quit life. Seemingly the only power given to us in life is the ability to forfeit it. I look back at those countless millions and wonder, what would I do? What would I do if tomorrow life suddenly chips away those dreams?

That is my single biggest fear. What would I do, if I fail life? To be honest, I do not know. However, all I know is that I no longer look down upon those notorious habits. I now look at them and the people who practice them with awe. To forger on with a temporary balm on gaping wounds is courageous. To live life with that courage is honourable.

Thinking with your head

I am not sure if this is something everybody faces, but I seem to have this strange battle between the two hemispheres of my brain (at least, I'd like to imagine it as a battle). The one half, the cool, collective, statistical, methodological one; fighting the other which is a crazy, foolish, impulsive and (insert another 10 synonyms of crazy here) . I often seem to look at life and suddenly realise that I have done what feels like some remarkably smart things like noting things down since I tend to forget or planning ahead for some eventuality that I somehow know would come to pass ( I know, my threshold of remarkably smart is quite low).
Looking back, it eerily feels like it was someone else who did that. At times, I swear, I can look back and it feels like some zombie took control and made me do something that seemingly was a genius move! It makes me look fondly at the right (or left?) hemisphere and praise it for its wonderful foresight.
Then moving on to the other hemisphere, it seems like it is the hemisphere that is all at sea, lost without a clue and loving it! It is that hemisphere that makes me shake my head and close my eyes as I attempt to obtain nirvana as I listen to some song that, at the time, feels like the best song ever written! I eagerly log on to my facebook and add that song and wait for my fellow friends to congratulate me for finding such a masterpiece! Time passes with no likes and no "wow, I cant believe I have lived so long without knowing music like this" comments... I then proceed to crib on how artistically and musically challenged my friends are.. I then tell myself that perhaps I should give them some slack, since the only obvious explanation for this situation is that they haven’t logged on to fb and maybe I should give them more time before lashing out at them... I must mention though, most times this happen, I am a bit, er, lets say, under the influence of the effects of ethyl alcohol in my blood stream.
So, I wake up the next day, with the fond memories of the evening before and the lovely songs that changed my outlook of life and music and quickly log on to facebook hoping that my friends have acknowledged my efforts in sharing such a marvellous piece of art to the world and enviously wonder how I seem to find music like this so easily... To my surprise, there are no comments/likes! I now shake my head at the unfortunate situation where a masterpiece has been lost to the tone deaf ears of my friends! I mumble to myself at this tragedy and stumble across to start my morning routine.. I then decide to make my morning/afternoon infinitely better by playing that ever so awesome song once more... I click the play button and nonchalantly proceed to apply the paste on that worn out brush that I keep promising to have replaced the next time I go to the supermarket... Suddenly, I am made aware of horrid yet strangely familiar tune emanating from my laptop speakers... I head over to the laptop to inspect this strange noise even though there is an exponential amount of foam that seems to be appearing out of one of those 12 dimensions postulated by the string/membrane theory physicists.. It takes a minute, but I finally realise that the horrid tune was in fact that very same formerly angelic song of last night that reality has distorted into something that bears no resemblance to what my memory served me.. The fb post "band x- title of song, a masterpiece that transcends beyond all known awesomeness" begins to sound like the words uttered by a musically retarded person... I stare at the screen unable to understand what took place, a blown up mouth with the 6th dimension foam adds an unnecessary urgency to this embarrassing situation... I then proceed to head back to the bathroom consoling myself that the very fact that my friends did not post probably means they didn't hear it..
Phew! that was a close one, just like the last twenty odd posts I made before...

The birthday wish....

So the earth makes another revolution around the big glowing nuclear furnace, and like all homosapiens, every once a while there is this instant that is "special" and is a day when your fellow mates acknowledge your existence and spend time celebrating another period of your existence with them. I would like to believe that I have experenced 26 of these events, but honestly, I remember only a handful. Like all other memories, many of these events have faded. Funny though, the aspect I cherish the most is not how the event went about, but the fact that people spent time to actually acknowledge me. A multitude of friends have come and gone, many leaving a mark. The un-changing bedrock of my family has forever wished me.
As the years have passed, I think of my parents ever so often. I see them and I do get depressed that like me, they too have aged. I really wish they didn't. I guess the distance between us has made me forget the unsavoury bits of our life together and made me remember the fond bits and cherish it all the more often. I have a deep grudge against my fairly useless memory, but I am ever so glad that it has also chosen to forget the bitterness of every close relationship I have had and still have. Now, looking through the frost glass of memories, I look back at the distilled honey that seems to have filled my past. A truly enchanting time...
A lot has changed since our rock has circled the big fiery mess of a nuclear reaction, I have grown taller over the years and stopped. I have had various view points that at the time really had me convinced of its authenticity and validity only to see myself at the opposite side of the fence a few years after. I have had people touch my lives as I have had the opportunity to touch the lives of others. The only aspect that eludes me are the big questions.
I am not sure why I expect myself to know the answers of the big questions. Perhaps it was the expectations I had as a kid that an adult was the person with the answers. In many cases, they indeed did have the answers. I dunno if it was just me, but at the time, the adults seemed so sure of themselves. They always had the answer and most often than not seemed to be spot on! I always thought that magically, I would be one of those all knowing adults. I have to admit, all those revolutions our pretty little rock has endured has not helped me become that all knowing adult. As I blew out those candles, I felt myself evaluating myself and grossly falling short of the passing grade.
Sometimes, I wonder, am I the only person who feels this way? Perhaps it makes me all the more reliant to look at my parent for their insight. It makes me all the more fearful of their loss. I do not wish to lose them. Through this outlook, life surely seems cruel.