Partiality Perception

Like how we visualize clock as a round object with disproportionate hands moving in a circular motion. Like how we drew a fish as an oval attached to a trigonometry figure. Like how we say a person is good and bad by just mere looks. Like how the past is always better than the present. Our partiality perception… A driving of the mind set on an automatic gear, it turns away at times and makes us believe the other… It makes us perceive in a way so ordinary yet with such predisposition…

Clocks can be rectangular, squarish or even in any other shape and sizes along the list of geometry. Fish can take the shape of many other figures, and the saying in the orient of “Do not judge a book by its cover” seems to be true after all. Yet time and again our logical drive makes us believe things of certain vestige to be somewhat conniving. A twisted mind in a twisted world, we turn visuals into fictional interpretations which we always find easy and coherent to believe in - And most of which, are inaccurate…

What are we to judge in the first place, what are we to find reason to construe and debate the existence of others? We are nothing better than just mere living proteins gyrating round this cycle of life, and the difference between us and other organisms is our ability of thought. A gift so unique yet so jaundiced…

Thinking Too Much

As my thoughts congeal into a seemingly whole, they burst and shattered into the stratosphere. Like the death of a star, these stardust, these fragments trailed along the winds of path. They scatter about in every possible place I could think of... Settling upon the people and things I’ve once came upon, and they change.

In thoughts, in emotions, in ways I could impossibly describe. For words can never frame the changes I’m blinded to. Yet along the words and things I’ve probably spoken, the things I’ve done, the pain inflicted and received, is the present me that stands now. A person that still doesn’t change much...

In this world where thoughts drips from the faucets of society, into a concept so huge and meaningless to men, these thoughts just got flush down along the plugless sink of actuality.

I think.

I am thinking.

And I thought.

I really do have a proclivity for thinking too much...

Dream Girl

In a sub reality where everything could fade away at any time, where my inner most desires materialised, I just wanted to stay there... Sometimes, I just hate to wake up. To be inundated by the troubles and loneliness in this high density livid world.

Every day I try to get myself exhausted to a point where I could dream again. And at times I do dream, but most of the times I just fade into oblivion. In these dreams I saw a girl. She stole the stars in my sleep; yet through the grips and correlation of reality I could only figure her name... Though she’s not exactly the type I imagined I would like, still I fell in love with her... In love with an imaginary girl who probably only appears once a week. In love with someone whom I could touch but not feel. In love with someone whom I could not hear myself when I speak... Is this how love truly is or should be?

At least in dreams, couples don’t quarrel; they don’t break up or say things that hurt... At least I could seek solace in the fact that she’s never going to leave me, or my mind...

A Walk Around Graves

There's always this proverbial saying, "The cycle of life"... But walking and reading the old epitaphs all around, life seemed more like a terminal illness than a cycle. In time to come, there is no cycle in our life, but only a small stone slab that summarizes our entire itinerary. That is death...

"Rest In Peace", "Taken Too Soon", "Misunderstood"... These are some of the many summaries... All these words made me ponder about that person's life and the way they passed on to another world, especially the last one. Ruminating over such words has made me wonder about a whole lot. - About the increasing fatalities on the road. About unrequited love; a lover waiting for an eternity in vain and all alone. About the imperfection of memories, for after a hundred years of wear even the tombstone forgets your name...

I'm not as morbid as this entry sounds to be, it's just that cemeteries reminds me as much about life as they do about death. They're as much about keeping our memories alive and dealing with grief, as they are about holding the physical remains of a love one lost.

They are a reminder of how transience life is, how one day we will also be under these stones. The blessings of life itself and the need for action so as to not let others summarize our entire motif in such few words.

Death

I've been thinking about death a lot recently. From the movies to the friends whom once were, death seemed to be the theme at this point in time... Withered flowers lay upon the threshold of death, burnt incense delivering the thoughts of our prayers to another realm. We abide by the traditional rites of communicating to the departed; in ways science can never explain...

One day you'll be dead... so will I... and so will everyone you and I both know. It's just a matter of time. By then what will be left of us?

Our memories may linger on in the people who once knew us - the good and the bad. People we never met may someday gaze upon our works and accomplishments and wonder who we were and how it feels like to be us at that time. Our children’s, children’s, children might still carry a diluted set of our genes and perhaps know our names and the few statistics of our lives. A record will be kept somewhere of our death and the circumstances involved.

But eventually down the great tunnel of time - we will disappear. Our genes dispersed in the generational winds, all memory and records expunged under the weight of swollen history.

We will be nothing then - It is then will we be finally, truly, utterly dead. Nameless and forgotten?

By then will we finally be free?