Ideas

I find events mildly interesting. People slightly more. What truly piques my interest is ideas. I will concede that ideas are man-made. But ideas are what inspire man to great things. Unlike events and people, they do not require verity to exist. They could be nothing but a whole construct of prevarications yet have the same causal magnitude.

Gosh I'm getting more messed up by the day. Save me someone.

A lighter note

I have been home for a tad over a week now. It is funny how during the entirety of my first year in Canada I never experienced homesickness even one bit yet in the brevity I have spent back home I am already being hit with pangs of Vancouver-sickness. Do I really love it there so much or am I just in love with the idea of me being on my own reinvented self? Well, I have managed to slake the sickness by setting up playdates with my friends and some.

It was certainly delightful to see them again yet at times I feel dwarfed by the distances they have covered while I was on my sojourn abroad. That was one of my biggest fears of returning home. That in spite of the locomotive effort I have put into being the best that I can be, my accomplishments pale in comparison. I am less happy. Sometimes I feel I could not be any farther from it. Or any closer. Stagnation. But I will squash such pessimistic contemplations and leave them for my personal introspection sessions later.

My tummy has bloated up at a rate unheard of. I cannot even see my penis while I am standing up anymore. True story. All this food-binging/gluttony if prolonged is not going to bode well for me fitness-wise. And truth be known, my hankering for local cuisine was never that strong when I got back. I figured that by reintroducing it to my palette I would fall back in love with it. I was wrong. Now I am left with a huge bulging belly and a yet insatiated gastronomic craving. It is thus high time to hit the weights again.

Admission

Here is an admission: My literary articulation peaks only when I am intoxicated. Preferably alcoholic but any substance that induces a high is enough to get the job done. In that sense, I have a reliance on vices. Ever since I got back I have not had a single energy drink and my alcohol ingestion has been too negligible to actually count for anything. I am trying to fixate on the silver lining for the time being. That desired scribal eloquence comes together with a pensive, sombre self and are both indented on the flip side of the sobriety coin. So in a way this involuntary abstinence has benefited me by aiding in the the suppression of the pathetic side of me. But with it goes the eloquence that I occasionally pride myself on. Also goes a prehensile state of mind and with it my philosophic genius is dragged along. A question then arises. Is my self-deprecation imperative for the tapping into my intellectually inclined talents?

Inspiration lacks when I am apathetic. My emotions are a double-edged sword. Those I label as inimical, also serve as the spark plug to most of my gripping endeavours. People say I need to get them sorted out, managed. I have recently learnt though that such emotions can never be totally neutralized. Just bottled up. Or funneled to other causes of a similar nature. Like incoherent gibberish for example. It is still not a perfect replacement of chances missed out on. And the only thing I can do is solemnly hope it will someday be.

P.S. I squeezed this out of me sober. I am discounting the couple of smokes I had hours earlier. It was a struggle indeed. Words and thoughts do indeed flow out smoother when I am high.

Self-sabotage

On a subconscious level, some of us self-sabotage. I think this is because if there is one thing more terrifying than failing is giving all one has, doing everything right, and still end up failing. And this fear is echoed by the more fortunate, those who did everything right and did not fail. Those who look upon the less fortunate with scrutinizing eyes assuming that the latter did not give their all. That the latter did not persist. And it saddens me to admit that such is the harsh reality of life.

Random

I have a bad habit. I usually start off with the intention of an update long overdue only to give up after ten words. I blame it on the fleeting train of thoughts which invade my mind every now and then. However, I will attempt to actually construct an entire blog post this time to occupy my boredom.

I will not talk much about my stay in Vancouver except that I am returning home real soon. My heart sinks as the thought of that. I love it here too much. Not only the sheer awesomeness of the city but the whole notion of being on my own. And somehow amidst all the chaos I feel that I can finally find happiness here. Enough with that.

Philosophy has been taking up most of my time since I moved out of residence for the summer. It has always been a love of mine. Why haven't I pursued it any sooner I don't know. I always believed by engaging in such an introspective exercise I would grow increasingly detached from the world. Mistaken I was indeed.

Disjointed Thoughts

I can't help but be intrigued by the study of philosophy. I'd like to know why reality keeps slapping me in the face. The account that the huge palm imprint on the side of my face is but the physical manifestation of a supreme being's displeasure with my sinful nature is invalid. It is an effrontery to that very being whose chief qualities include benevolence and truth. Religion I believe is the irrefutable answer best suited for the idle minded. The ones incapable of undertaking such an arduous task. Or afraid. The truth may not be what we hope it to be. Nevertheless, I believe there will be a sense of accomplishment in uncovering it no matter how vile and despicable it may turn out to be. A jouissance-driven theory. Pardon my disjointed thoughts.

Your Laughter

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

-Pablo Neruda