with the circumference of a million thoughts
a circle with a moving centre
touching and touched by many others
but no other circle fits her
pulling the chords between hearts longer
or yanking that arc to a smile
watch the constant radius shorten
at the end of the endless mile
when the circle becomes a mangle
filling in the square of strife
what do you have on your sheets
perhaps it's the diagram of life
Sunday, November 30, 2008
What I learnt on the Hyd trip…
1. The only thing that is sillier than an airhead is a tiara on an airhead.
2. A fool-proof method of ensuring your rival hotel’s bankruptcy is to take Archana to their buffet.
3. Sneha needs four hats to cover that head of hers; her hair, of course, beats the Amazon.
4. Huge junk food meals may cause *ahem* pants *ahem* to tear.
5. Ramya behaves like a baby in bed. Spring mattresses are Disney World for this twenty-two year old.
6. I rock at that game where you play act movie names.
7. We’re the only people who plan to gossip and then gossip and repeat the same bit of gossip for the bum who missed it all because of the ages she spent in the bathroom. By the way, this piece of gossip was 4 semesters old.
8. Ramya’s torch is always at it;)
9. Ramya’s toothbrush missed the Hyd trip because she packed with too much care to take it along.
10. Pooja spends her first waking moments giving people repeated detailed accounts of how well she slept. She’s too sleepy to notice whether you respond or not.
11. I don’t let people sleep. The man with his head between his hands because he was stuck with the noisy bunch of girls was my biggest success to date.
12. Journeys are as much fun as we can make them.
13. Archana lends new meaning to the round-the-clock concept.
14. Archana’s hot halter leads to a lot of Charchana.
15. Discs leave Sneha delirious. With her hair loose, the overall effect is quite dramatic.
16. Never order desserts in Paradise.
Part 2 of this post if I remember some more things at some point of time…
I’d the best of days… Thank you, you guys:)
1. The only thing that is sillier than an airhead is a tiara on an airhead.
2. A fool-proof method of ensuring your rival hotel’s bankruptcy is to take Archana to their buffet.
3. Sneha needs four hats to cover that head of hers; her hair, of course, beats the Amazon.
4. Huge junk food meals may cause *ahem* pants *ahem* to tear.
5. Ramya behaves like a baby in bed. Spring mattresses are Disney World for this twenty-two year old.
6. I rock at that game where you play act movie names.
7. We’re the only people who plan to gossip and then gossip and repeat the same bit of gossip for the bum who missed it all because of the ages she spent in the bathroom. By the way, this piece of gossip was 4 semesters old.
8. Ramya’s torch is always at it;)
9. Ramya’s toothbrush missed the Hyd trip because she packed with too much care to take it along.
10. Pooja spends her first waking moments giving people repeated detailed accounts of how well she slept. She’s too sleepy to notice whether you respond or not.
11. I don’t let people sleep. The man with his head between his hands because he was stuck with the noisy bunch of girls was my biggest success to date.
12. Journeys are as much fun as we can make them.
13. Archana lends new meaning to the round-the-clock concept.
14. Archana’s hot halter leads to a lot of Charchana.
15. Discs leave Sneha delirious. With her hair loose, the overall effect is quite dramatic.
16. Never order desserts in Paradise.
Part 2 of this post if I remember some more things at some point of time…
I’d the best of days… Thank you, you guys:)
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Hmmm. I'm writing a post about colds...catching a cold, to be more specific. This, of course, sounds crazy to you. Assume that my mind's full of phlegm. Now I don't like this cold. I don't like coughing my guts out.I don't like my strawberry-nose. I don't like my voice sounding like my grandpa's. But I do like the endless cups of coffee and tea and dals and soups that I down with my Mum because of this cold. I do like the conversations that stem from these times. I like where they take me. Yeah. A lot of can happen over coffee. And colds.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
i go there often
an ever changing place
where walls melt into mirrors
and i see your face
i go there often
where happiness plays her cards
to know what smoothness is
first i learn to feel the shards
i go there often
knowing you're not quite there
after everything i see hear and despair
when back in bed
i feel us in the night air
i feel you in my hair
i go there often
in your presence and absence
within the ends lies some truth
and it just never makes sense
an ever changing place
where walls melt into mirrors
and i see your face
i go there often
where happiness plays her cards
to know what smoothness is
first i learn to feel the shards
i go there often
knowing you're not quite there
after everything i see hear and despair
when back in bed
i feel us in the night air
i feel you in my hair
i go there often
in your presence and absence
within the ends lies some truth
and it just never makes sense
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Come as you are
As you were
As I’ve known you to be…
I was listening to it numbly and then it made sense and then I wrote…
The youngest of boys are my best buddies. And the fanatic zeal about the upcoming Durga Pooja means I get to meet my 2-4-6-8 year old buddies every weekend on account of the eating-meetings that go on. `One of them is particularly special - an eight year old almost visibly grappling with his parents’ abrupt untidy divorce. I’m not judging the parents; I know them to be nice people but watching this child breaks you for those few hours. A few years back he was one of those kids who’d just walk onto the stage while a speech was on, buy as many balloons as the people around were willing to give him and talked incessantly. The toning down that has happened in him is immense. The custody settlements allow him to come over just on alternate weekends and even among forty people he was so popular with then, he seems so unsure of everything. Unsure because of many reasons I guess. Kids know when they’re being talked about, kids know when people pat them out of love or otherwise, kids just know. Since I often feel equally out of place at these gatherings for reasons of my own, we’ve reasons to bond. Those reasons also include making crazy rhymes, drawing crazy figures on the computer and talking about his crazy girl benchmate in class who is “not nice” because “she’s a girl and she brings idlis for lunch – everyday!.” Hehe.
Why I was writing about him is hard to figure out for me even. So, it’s my birthday. When I was a baby I’m sure I wondered what the extra fuss was about on my birthdays. Till around four, I always slept with the firmest possible grip on my mum’s hair-like everything else was uncertain. I remember being unsure of whether the yelling I got at the end of my eight birthday was a part of the ritual. It wasn’t. I remember being so sure that the mike will crash on me or I will stumble on my tenth birthday when all I’d do was say thank you onstage. Nothing like that happened. I remember worrying if all the toffees will get over before I managed to offer them to everyone (despite knowing I’d lots extra) in seventh grade.They didn't. I remember worrying if my friends will turn up for my birthday treat in ninth. They did. I remember sensing that the people around me weren’t really around me on a later birthday. Maybe these were normal concerns at the respective stages or maybe I am a nervous person. I rarely am at ease completely. But this night, good or bad, right or wrong, I see myself less prone to evaluate myself in terms of what people around me say or do. Attachment, entrapment, co-dependence - all get quite ugly beyond a point. I no longer look for people to fill the space. I build the space and gaze at what’s around.
And to what, rather to those who are around, I feel like saying thank you.
I’d been pretty uncertain about my writing for a good while till people came up and told me consistently that they felt that I could write stuff that could be read. I needed it immensely at that point and since what I do with words is a vital part of my well-being, Ramya, Vinod and HP, you guys make me very happy:)
To Pooja, Archana and Sneha for all the showtime that Sho gets. I love the attention:P
To the seven friends who turned up on that birthday treat and still would (no treats happening though). Varun will get one just for spreading the laughs:) And Vivek and Jassi can accost some first grade kid on his birthday for toffees:P:)
To my sister, who’s been burning with her “secret” birthday present for me. She’s practically told me everything about it. And my Dad, who’s willing to take me to the Moon if there were good restaurants there. What a pity that his daughter asks only for dosas and apple juice. And my Gran; she’s also “secretly” making kheer for me when I know she does this every single year. It’s not sweet because of the sugar:)
To my Mum, for transmitting some of herself to me in the genes…if it’s showing by the time I’m twenty, things will only get better.
To Atto, who’s currently getting bugged and giving me the why-can’t-you-shut-the-damn-thing-down-and-sleep-bum looks. I’m as human as he can make me want to be:)
To my three first second third cousin(s), for the pink cards I get every year. Maybe they look for girlie-sisterly-pamperly cards for me:)
To Neeraj, for the stable normal warm buddyhood we have. To Zulfiqaar, my doc, for the daily rants that keep my mind alive. To Anupam, because he’ll come alive from a missing persons list to call on my birthday. To Sampad, because we’ve come a long way.
To Chhavi, for guarding my dreams with fragile hands. I do understand. Love you:)
And to my eight year old buddy, I benefit from talking to him more than he does from the constant company he seeks and gets from me in those two hours of forced socializing. I hope someday he begins to feel at home with himself.
As you were
As I’ve known you to be…
I was listening to it numbly and then it made sense and then I wrote…
The youngest of boys are my best buddies. And the fanatic zeal about the upcoming Durga Pooja means I get to meet my 2-4-6-8 year old buddies every weekend on account of the eating-meetings that go on. `One of them is particularly special - an eight year old almost visibly grappling with his parents’ abrupt untidy divorce. I’m not judging the parents; I know them to be nice people but watching this child breaks you for those few hours. A few years back he was one of those kids who’d just walk onto the stage while a speech was on, buy as many balloons as the people around were willing to give him and talked incessantly. The toning down that has happened in him is immense. The custody settlements allow him to come over just on alternate weekends and even among forty people he was so popular with then, he seems so unsure of everything. Unsure because of many reasons I guess. Kids know when they’re being talked about, kids know when people pat them out of love or otherwise, kids just know. Since I often feel equally out of place at these gatherings for reasons of my own, we’ve reasons to bond. Those reasons also include making crazy rhymes, drawing crazy figures on the computer and talking about his crazy girl benchmate in class who is “not nice” because “she’s a girl and she brings idlis for lunch – everyday!.” Hehe.
Why I was writing about him is hard to figure out for me even. So, it’s my birthday. When I was a baby I’m sure I wondered what the extra fuss was about on my birthdays. Till around four, I always slept with the firmest possible grip on my mum’s hair-like everything else was uncertain. I remember being unsure of whether the yelling I got at the end of my eight birthday was a part of the ritual. It wasn’t. I remember being so sure that the mike will crash on me or I will stumble on my tenth birthday when all I’d do was say thank you onstage. Nothing like that happened. I remember worrying if all the toffees will get over before I managed to offer them to everyone (despite knowing I’d lots extra) in seventh grade.They didn't. I remember worrying if my friends will turn up for my birthday treat in ninth. They did. I remember sensing that the people around me weren’t really around me on a later birthday. Maybe these were normal concerns at the respective stages or maybe I am a nervous person. I rarely am at ease completely. But this night, good or bad, right or wrong, I see myself less prone to evaluate myself in terms of what people around me say or do. Attachment, entrapment, co-dependence - all get quite ugly beyond a point. I no longer look for people to fill the space. I build the space and gaze at what’s around.
And to what, rather to those who are around, I feel like saying thank you.
I’d been pretty uncertain about my writing for a good while till people came up and told me consistently that they felt that I could write stuff that could be read. I needed it immensely at that point and since what I do with words is a vital part of my well-being, Ramya, Vinod and HP, you guys make me very happy:)
To Pooja, Archana and Sneha for all the showtime that Sho gets. I love the attention:P
To the seven friends who turned up on that birthday treat and still would (no treats happening though). Varun will get one just for spreading the laughs:) And Vivek and Jassi can accost some first grade kid on his birthday for toffees:P:)
To my sister, who’s been burning with her “secret” birthday present for me. She’s practically told me everything about it. And my Dad, who’s willing to take me to the Moon if there were good restaurants there. What a pity that his daughter asks only for dosas and apple juice. And my Gran; she’s also “secretly” making kheer for me when I know she does this every single year. It’s not sweet because of the sugar:)
To my Mum, for transmitting some of herself to me in the genes…if it’s showing by the time I’m twenty, things will only get better.
To Atto, who’s currently getting bugged and giving me the why-can’t-you-shut-the-damn-thing-down-and-sleep-bum looks. I’m as human as he can make me want to be:)
To my three first second third cousin(s), for the pink cards I get every year. Maybe they look for girlie-sisterly-pamperly cards for me:)
To Neeraj, for the stable normal warm buddyhood we have. To Zulfiqaar, my doc, for the daily rants that keep my mind alive. To Anupam, because he’ll come alive from a missing persons list to call on my birthday. To Sampad, because we’ve come a long way.
To Chhavi, for guarding my dreams with fragile hands. I do understand. Love you:)
And to my eight year old buddy, I benefit from talking to him more than he does from the constant company he seeks and gets from me in those two hours of forced socializing. I hope someday he begins to feel at home with himself.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Verbatim is a fun word. Here’s why.
Prof in RVCE…
Wait here for one minute, I’ll be back in two minutes.
I want to marry my daughter and study my son.
You maad baaays, why’re you upping down the stairs?
He will take the jig-jag blade and rub it erotically. (erratically)
With one hand you write the answer, with another mouth you give the attendance.
Imagine a ship flying in the Arabian sea.
I will throw you out of the window.
Saving the best for last…
Put yours inside, if I see yours again I will scratch it. (This is to do with some guy writing his record in class)
My math teacher in middle school…
You children are all behaving like rakshasas.
Children, that sum is wrong. (This she said practically each time she couldn’t work a sum)
And this takes the cake and the bloody bakery, bakers, confectioners everything…
Why children, why are you telling kos-chun 17 kos-chun 17 when this yex-ercise has only 10 kos-chuns?
And in dear old MCC…
Girls you can’t have half half men can you? (This was while explaining why the sample size sort of thing couldn’t be 22.5 and was 225)
I can’t say like that no…If I say doing Rostow is enough and Nurkse comes… (This was when someone asked her what theories could be skipped)
And my favourite…
Girls don’t worry we will have more interesting fathers in the next sessions. (This is regarding an excruciatingly boring Bible Scriptures class two dear and unfortunate friends of mine attended…the first class was held by a “boring father” so to speak)
And so, verbatim is a fun word. ROTFL! This post is near completely compiled by Varun:) Also, inputs from Pooja-Archana:)
PS: The comments on this post continue to get better...
Prof in RVCE…
Wait here for one minute, I’ll be back in two minutes.
I want to marry my daughter and study my son.
You maad baaays, why’re you upping down the stairs?
He will take the jig-jag blade and rub it erotically. (erratically)
With one hand you write the answer, with another mouth you give the attendance.
Imagine a ship flying in the Arabian sea.
I will throw you out of the window.
Saving the best for last…
Put yours inside, if I see yours again I will scratch it. (This is to do with some guy writing his record in class)
My math teacher in middle school…
You children are all behaving like rakshasas.
Children, that sum is wrong. (This she said practically each time she couldn’t work a sum)
And this takes the cake and the bloody bakery, bakers, confectioners everything…
Why children, why are you telling kos-chun 17 kos-chun 17 when this yex-ercise has only 10 kos-chuns?
And in dear old MCC…
Girls you can’t have half half men can you? (This was while explaining why the sample size sort of thing couldn’t be 22.5 and was 225)
I can’t say like that no…If I say doing Rostow is enough and Nurkse comes… (This was when someone asked her what theories could be skipped)
And my favourite…
Girls don’t worry we will have more interesting fathers in the next sessions. (This is regarding an excruciatingly boring Bible Scriptures class two dear and unfortunate friends of mine attended…the first class was held by a “boring father” so to speak)
And so, verbatim is a fun word. ROTFL! This post is near completely compiled by Varun:) Also, inputs from Pooja-Archana:)
PS: The comments on this post continue to get better...
Monday, September 08, 2008
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Everyday, every single day, I pack my bag and go to a hybrid between an amusement-park and a circus. And I tell you with immense conviction that it is not amusing – not at all. The circus begins with a prayer which I haven’t been able to mug in four years here. We’re forced to mug enough in college anyway, for instance, in our industrial psychology classes.
These classes operate on certain assumptions. These are –
a) all students are dumb; as dumb as the professors secretly know they themselves are (shhh! It’s a well-kept secret)
b) all students have appalling English skills and need to be told how to spell words like “progressive” and “aind” (and of course, nobody in class knows how to spell aind because only Her Highness pronounces and as “aind”)
c) all students need to be taught like they’re a quarter of a step ahead of third grade i.e. all notes must be dictated by Her Highness and copied down by us, the scribes-in-training. Holding a pen unless you are using it to write the holy words of Her Holiness is pretence and deemed punishable. Thus, do not hold a pen (pun intended). Her Holiness is also hornophobic and while hunger, as a drive, justified a whole semester of “teaching” by her, sex drive was done in an hour of mumbles, blushes aind a real quick quickie.
d) all students must reproduce the material given in class in the test much like animals performing tricks in a circus.
e) all students must leave their minds outside the classroom.
f) all students must always quote our prof’s daughter’s doings as examples wherever possible. Whether it makes sense or not is of no consequence because it’s a circus yaar, if you want sense why come to college?
The way this works-
You show up at the performance i.e. you come to college and get five marks for being bodily present and mentally absent. You learn your tricks i.e. you copy all your notes and perform i.e. regurgitate all that you learn in the test.
You graduate and do not study psychology because apparently, there’s no money in it and come back with a token hubby and your firstborn and then you are the ideal student. I cannot find an analogy for this from the circus-world even and maybe that is because this isn’t even expected out of those animals.
Saturdays have two extra shows like the three theory rides over the week aren’t enough. Yesterday saw us, the animals being locked in the cage of a classroom for we had deeply disappointed our Ringmistress by not copying down the squiggles on the transparencies while she was away. Yes, even that happens here.
Chains are yet to come. Maybe a week from now…
These classes operate on certain assumptions. These are –
a) all students are dumb; as dumb as the professors secretly know they themselves are (shhh! It’s a well-kept secret)
b) all students have appalling English skills and need to be told how to spell words like “progressive” and “aind” (and of course, nobody in class knows how to spell aind because only Her Highness pronounces and as “aind”)
c) all students need to be taught like they’re a quarter of a step ahead of third grade i.e. all notes must be dictated by Her Highness and copied down by us, the scribes-in-training. Holding a pen unless you are using it to write the holy words of Her Holiness is pretence and deemed punishable. Thus, do not hold a pen (pun intended). Her Holiness is also hornophobic and while hunger, as a drive, justified a whole semester of “teaching” by her, sex drive was done in an hour of mumbles, blushes aind a real quick quickie.
d) all students must reproduce the material given in class in the test much like animals performing tricks in a circus.
e) all students must leave their minds outside the classroom.
f) all students must always quote our prof’s daughter’s doings as examples wherever possible. Whether it makes sense or not is of no consequence because it’s a circus yaar, if you want sense why come to college?
The way this works-
You show up at the performance i.e. you come to college and get five marks for being bodily present and mentally absent. You learn your tricks i.e. you copy all your notes and perform i.e. regurgitate all that you learn in the test.
You graduate and do not study psychology because apparently, there’s no money in it and come back with a token hubby and your firstborn and then you are the ideal student. I cannot find an analogy for this from the circus-world even and maybe that is because this isn’t even expected out of those animals.
Saturdays have two extra shows like the three theory rides over the week aren’t enough. Yesterday saw us, the animals being locked in the cage of a classroom for we had deeply disappointed our Ringmistress by not copying down the squiggles on the transparencies while she was away. Yes, even that happens here.
Chains are yet to come. Maybe a week from now…
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
It’s been a year since my grandpa passed away. It’s taken me just as long to get myself to write about it. I miss him. I miss his grey eyes which watered incessantly. I miss the little towel that he insisted on keeping right beside his pillow to wipe those eyes. I miss the way he gulped his food down and dissolved all his medicines in his glass of water. I miss his black shoes. I miss watching him put on and remove his specs six times in two minutes. I miss watching him count the replays of goals as goals because he no longer understood the difference. I miss the way he wore his clothes on the reverse and refused to wear them the right way.
For someone who had deteriorated as much as he had physically and psychologically, death was a relief. I’m glad he went peacefully, was hospitalized for just five days, lived a long good life etc…but I miss the man who told me the the most amazingly funny stories over a decade back…I miss the man who proudly announced to every rare visitor that his grand daughter had come first in class…I miss the man who listened to me more than he listened to his wife…I miss my grandpa.
And while I’m at this unforced bit of subjective analysis (what in life is objective one may ask) some more bits of learning from the past year…
A year back I couldn’t stand being alone while now, I sort of consciously avoid company…the best days are spent alone, outside home, in six tidy bookstores between cups of coffee and a lasagne…but people count all the same.
I think the creator got tricked while making the woman I call my mother…she’s always been iron deficient but possesses the most steely spirit ever. Low on iron, high on steel. Kudos. I feel like saying mmmmmmmmmy momma:P:) Oddly enough, she describes my blog as "incomprehensible." *how rude* (the Stephanie way)
Someone saved my sanity in a way that only he and me know…to say “thank you” would be demeaning…to say “love you” would be insufficient…as usual, words fail me when I need them the most. Hmmm…ours is a bittersweet symphony. Perhaps. *hug* *muah*...also, *yawn* considering how sleepy I was when we last talked hehe:P
Over the last one year I’ve stashed away half a dozen cards. I bought them for some extremely nice people I barely knew and never mustered the courage to give them out. I know each card remaining will be a regret because getting to know someone is one of the nicest processes ever.
I discovered that I do have the brother I’ve always wanted…:):)*hug*
I’ve come to believe that courting, marriage, sex and parenting etc are things where the scales have always been and perhaps, will be tipped in favour of men no matter how liberal we think we are.
When I walk beside couples and see that my own sides are as empty as empty can get I experience waves of psychotic jealousy.
One of the nicest sensory experiences ever - getting the knuckle of my finger gnawed at by my Atto:)…when warned that it’s beginning to hurt he quickly converts the nips into a very very genuine yawn:)
Also too late and too early, Kannika, my saviour turned twenty yesterday and gave the warmest parties with the most mmm desserts and lovely beings (counting in Patches)…may Sweet Chariot personified add to the long list of long livers in her family:)…and Diya and her smiles which tumble along as naturally as babies in fresh diapers in bed…happy almost birthday:)
For someone who had deteriorated as much as he had physically and psychologically, death was a relief. I’m glad he went peacefully, was hospitalized for just five days, lived a long good life etc…but I miss the man who told me the the most amazingly funny stories over a decade back…I miss the man who proudly announced to every rare visitor that his grand daughter had come first in class…I miss the man who listened to me more than he listened to his wife…I miss my grandpa.
And while I’m at this unforced bit of subjective analysis (what in life is objective one may ask) some more bits of learning from the past year…
A year back I couldn’t stand being alone while now, I sort of consciously avoid company…the best days are spent alone, outside home, in six tidy bookstores between cups of coffee and a lasagne…but people count all the same.
I think the creator got tricked while making the woman I call my mother…she’s always been iron deficient but possesses the most steely spirit ever. Low on iron, high on steel. Kudos. I feel like saying mmmmmmmmmy momma:P:) Oddly enough, she describes my blog as "incomprehensible." *how rude* (the Stephanie way)
Someone saved my sanity in a way that only he and me know…to say “thank you” would be demeaning…to say “love you” would be insufficient…as usual, words fail me when I need them the most. Hmmm…ours is a bittersweet symphony. Perhaps. *hug* *muah*...also, *yawn* considering how sleepy I was when we last talked hehe:P
Over the last one year I’ve stashed away half a dozen cards. I bought them for some extremely nice people I barely knew and never mustered the courage to give them out. I know each card remaining will be a regret because getting to know someone is one of the nicest processes ever.
I discovered that I do have the brother I’ve always wanted…:):)*hug*
I’ve come to believe that courting, marriage, sex and parenting etc are things where the scales have always been and perhaps, will be tipped in favour of men no matter how liberal we think we are.
When I walk beside couples and see that my own sides are as empty as empty can get I experience waves of psychotic jealousy.
One of the nicest sensory experiences ever - getting the knuckle of my finger gnawed at by my Atto:)…when warned that it’s beginning to hurt he quickly converts the nips into a very very genuine yawn:)
Also too late and too early, Kannika, my saviour turned twenty yesterday and gave the warmest parties with the most mmm desserts and lovely beings (counting in Patches)…may Sweet Chariot personified add to the long list of long livers in her family:)…and Diya and her smiles which tumble along as naturally as babies in fresh diapers in bed…happy almost birthday:)
Monday, March 17, 2008
I wonder why giving up isn’t considered to be a power, an ability, an asset and perhaps, our only way to freedom from the fracas we choose to call life. The Existentialists weren’t out of their minds when they said living was the struggle. The Absurdists weren’t out of their minds either in saying that life is absurd (oh! what a surprise! What a surprise!). I remember being critical of those critical of suicide for years now. I don’t see why some of us need to sit in judgement of those who choose to end the chaotic cycle of highs-lows, positives-negatives, goods-bads and brand them cowards. Is it because the same some us despite being just as disillusioned with life lack the balls to choose an end or think it brave to carry on? The voice in my mind replies in the affirmative. And with that comes the realization that I am one of those on this side of the issue and I am just one more of those who are dragging their weight around. Cowardice does not lie in choosing death over life; it lies in not making any choice at all.
Friday, March 14, 2008
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