Suspense/Weightless
The world is holding its breath.
everything's on hold.
Trees and leaves stopped moving,
cars seem motionless, the city empty- hollow?
It is the kind of wait that precedes life-changing occurrences.
Events you know will happen, though aware that you cannot know.
Leaving you shattered, shaken, short of breath if you fail,
fail to control the circumstances.
If your life remains unchanged.
If you wait for nothing.
and nothing comes.
Time passes horizontally and vertically.
You travel through it, and it is never-ending, an ocean of time.
You've waited for eternity and no longer remember who you were before this.
Forgotten what you hoped for. Worked for. Believed in.
Only this, always, only this until ..what?
The dialectics of waiting lies in its finality.
We are nowhere, and it's now
I like the spaces in between.
The not knowing. The blending of facts and fiction.
I spend my time dreaming, planning, reminiscing, rather than in the sharp light of now.
Occasionally, I enjoy imagining what might become of me.
But not now.
All this time: milestones of achievements, plans and change of direction.
I postponed the present for the future.
For what was coming. What I was becoming.
Not knowing what it was, but surely it would be spectacular.
Expecting the spectacular can get a little tiresome...
What about now?
I am mid-jump, and dare not land just yet.
Alanis Morissette- Guardian
(This is not a) Diatribe
And so, the day came when I heard the songs, but felt nothing.
I remembered without being destroyed.
There was no sadness, no anger or loss.
Not even the violent indifference that I have been cultivating for so long.
There was a void where my feelings once were, and it was not fabricated.
It felt like nothing, but without the weight it sometimes carries.
After years on my knees, on the ground, in the gravel
I realize that I was the one keeping me there,
letting gravity push me further down,
- maybe I liked it that way?
Now, this is not freedom. Freedom exiles.
This is absence of dependence.
Independence, if you will.
neither friend nor foe.
Where do we go from here?
Everything is on the verge of changing,
but is that not always true?
It is not fate, lucky coincidence or a once in a life-time opportunity offered on a silver platter.
This is what comes after every choice I ever made,
all the work, and the dreams; after doing everything, always, all the time,
to come just a little bit closer to this place.
Because this place is right before Something happens,
Something big.
I read somewhere that the one who renounces seems weak to the one incapable of renounciation.
Perhaps I am renouncing. Rejecting, retracting..
from parts I do not see fit for the kind of life I am now leading.
At times it is security and stability. Often it is familiarity.
Sometimes it is love.
At times these are choices that I make. Often they are conscious decisions.
Sometimes they are the consequences of my Wanderlust, Weltscherz and the Will to succeed.
/ Written to the sound of/ EVITA: The Motion Picture Soundtrack- You must love me.
Trust me.
The late Senegalese film director Ousmane Sembene once said that
-We tell stories not for revenge, but to find our place in the world.
Although the popular proverb tells us that a picture is worth more than a thousand words,
the power of a good story lies in its ability to conjure a thousand pictures.
We have all the tools to tell our stories, the real stories, all of them.
(Not the photoshopped versions we post on facebook and instagram).
But there is something off. I suspect it is the balance.
There's too much happiness in social media, they say.
Too much optimism, excessive pride.
Faux love. Phony affection.
Is it not strange that we struggle with the deficit of all those things,
offline?
Must we squeeze all these warm sentiments into a few lines on a screen,
rather than living them out in the open?
Is there no place for these stories in our everyday life?
It is time we start finding our place in this world.
A dream without resources is a hallucination,
but words, phrases, context can make any dream come true.
- True?
I'm sorry.
Words can make anything happen.
Quid pro quo
A snapshot from the past.
an exceptionally beautiful summer morning,
the kind that rarely occurs here.
A brief encounter between two recent friends; a polite exchange of pleasantries
A stranger halts in front of us, eyeing us closely.
Judging or measuring- is he lost?
He opens his mouth to speak.
- The two of you have taken something from each other, he says.
You must give it back.
Before it started it is over, leaving us standing there, clueless.
In a more tropical country we would have ridden it off as a heat-induced hallucination.
I like to imagine that the mere sight of us told this stranger something about us.
Something that we remain ignorant of.
What did I take from him?
How can I regain something that I do not know that I have lost?
A cliché says 'the meaning of life is to find the question to which you are the answer.'
Most of the time we are just fumbling in the dark.
Not knowing what we are searching for, and much less where to look for it.
So, it is comforting to sometimes imagine myself leaning back against the strong shoulder of destiny.
Trusting serendipity instead of zemblanity, even though I know better.
To believe that the universe has a plan for me,
that I have to find a way to give back to him what I took.
Because that is all I can do.
Or can I?
