The Eternal Tug of War

Once again, the blind finds tongue to speak as images flash in the darkness that envelopes me. It is in darkness that I have learned the wisdom of life, for it is in silence that I experience sound and in blackness that I gain sight. It is in blindness that images fail to manifest their distortions, but in fact begin to resemble all that is ideal. Curious that I remember people but not the blemishes that stain their faces, I remember memories but never the wounds that have disgraced my flesh, I remember getting hurt but rarely the degree upon which it had initially struck me. Is it not in blindness that we begin to comprehend how the ugliness of images could be erased, and there is but justice and equality between all. It is in the loss of sight that we are given the opportunity to comprehend how limited at the same time boundless our capabilities are. Limited by fear but boundless by nature. Why do we fear, is a question I've posted to myself for so often a time, it felt almost impossible to distinguish whether it is truly a phase in life, a foolish drill that has to be confronted over and over again or is it truly a philosophical question that would perhaps lead to a more fulfilled life?

What is fear? A nature we have claimed since birth, and nurture with every second we live. Ironically, sometimes what we fear doesn't always register itself to us as a fear, although it undeniably influences gravely virtually every decision that we are meant to take in life. And as psychology may have suggested that every minute issue that we are confronted would have an integral role in the formation of our person. And thus as an inborn defense mechanism, we resort to fear, trauma and hiding..

Perhaps this is my darkness..

Perhaps..

Perhaps..

Nobody perhaps could grasp the fact that their knowledge of me barely captures the true identity of which I carry. But perhaps, the person they see, and the person they may call as friend and peer and love and child, may actually be only the shadow, the wall that masks itself upon my face in order to preserve myself from the cruel eyes of society. Nobody should and would have the right to claim that they are fully concious of my conciousness, for my life is but of my own, and perhaps but only of my own understanding. My life is but just a framework of all my biases, my experiences, my memories, my dreams and hopes, none of which could be articulated accurately to any mortal being, for what is mine is mine alone and can never be transfered to another; for my life is led by me alone, and only I would be able to comprehend its richness and droughts. Thus, it is in my silence that I know myself, when I can contemplate more fully on the blessings and fragility of myself, and perhaps it is in my purest of silence that you may encounter and know me as well.

I am as I dictate myself to be. Some may see me as boisterous and loud, like a child free from the clutches of reality, immature and unaware of how painful it is to exist day by day in this paradigm of human suffering. And yet perhaps my noise may be the only thing that would make sense to all the senselessness, for what is my tongue to do but to speak of my heart and mind, and even the shallowest of words should be embraced by others in order to understand that the bias in my choice of words would perhaps give away the truth within me in which I have tried perhaps helplessly, to conceal to many. My voice has been faithful in lending itself to my thoughts, as an expression of my ideas, as an effort for communication, and even more so for friendship. My hands, my workshed in which my deeds freely gives away my heart's intents, but executed in such a manner that would either be fun or wild, that my intentions are but overshadowed and taken for granted. My strategy has perhaps failed me, but I understand that it is in my hands if I intend to fail myself. As in the Invictus, I shall always be, "the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."

And although such words have I written seem strong and fulfilled, I am but another lonely traveller, lost in life for as written by Milan Kundera in his acclaimed book, "Unbearable Lightness of Being", " We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives or perfect it in our lives to come."... "If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all." Then perhaps my approach to my life may be flawed as well and it is in my contemplations that I've begun to explore the possibilities of the ripple effect, the gravity at which one could influence another without significant thought or intent to do so.

Sometimes it keeps me wondering if there is such a thing as life, or is it merely a Narcissistic attempt at the preservation of the self whether in the present, which is the survival of the fittest as suggested by Darwin, or in the future as the long range effects that one little work could do. Had Shakespeare been such a sloth, we would'nt perhaps be enticed by the witty and alluring works he had created, we would not be blessed or equally cursed with the likes of Romeo and Juliet, King Lear, Macbeth and Hamlet. And thus, had my grandparents been a little more mild, or a little more strict with my parents, could it be that they would be the way they are now, and would they enforce their authority upon my being at the same degree as present? Had my grandparents decided to create massive turmoil and disarray in our parents' memories, or similarly had they become forgiving and flexible, would my parents even consider lending the same amount of attention or neglect as they exhibit at the moment? Then perhaps the attempts of my forefathers have such an enormous responsibility as to why I am being treated the way I am now, and perhaps as to how I will be treating my future offsprings, should I have any.

Then life is truly a game where no one truly wins nor loses, it is a game of balance, whereas Arundhati Roy's God of Small Things, wife of the God of Big Things, compromise but still pull with polar forces with each other in the eternal tug of war in order to gain control of balance, in order to bring forth the birth of the essence of our existence.