Thursday, February 26, 2015

Not what you think

Blog post Number Ek Saw Pachaas. ( 150)

I realised it was my 150th blogpost after I wrote this confusing stuff.  But still, a post is a post. Read on, and join in my celebration alongwith mental confusion.

Faces. Phases. Two words, which make up our lives. We go through phases, and we wear so many masks that amid all the masquerade, we forget our individuals selves. Someone thinks you are happy when you smile, they see one side to you and they always forget, (you always forget too), that we aren't squares, but cubes.

Achievements come and go, but when they come, people see you, or at least, think that you are basking in its glory, loving each and every moment of it. Of course you do. But then, that just remains as one side of the cube. The other side(s), is never/rarely seen. But do you want that to be seen? Do you want, ever, for people to know what really goes in your head? When you get your big break, maybe at the same time, you are going through your biggest heartbreak. But you smile. You smile, you do your best and you show that you are doing very well. Momus, the Greek God of Satire, once mentioned the possibility of windows to our souls. Just imagine, if there was a window to your soul for everyone to peep into.

But, sometimes you really want people, or more than that, some people, to know what is your real condition. That feeling, when you feel like thrusting your real emotions on their faces. Okay, that sounded too graphic, and mean. I meant, sometimes you want some really select people to know what is really going on in your mind. Because these are those people who think everything is perfect with you, but in fact they are the very reasons of the shrouded imperfections.

These imperfections can be indirect, or direct, imposed, or voluntary. Indirect imperfections are voluntary, when the person you want to tell your real condition to, does not even know what kind of thunderstorm they have created in your life, because you voluntarily give them that much importance. You might as well not even fall in their radar, but they become the test of your singular bandwidth.

Direct imperfections are imposed, by life in general. These are those obvious kinds which everyone is exposed too. They cling to you as parasites, but then they don't stop you for growth. Outwardly, you are growing, inwardly, they have eaten you up and rendered you hollow.

Simply put (can't, actually.), perfect was a word coined by an imperfection man's delusion of grandeur, I feel. It is not possible. I am not being pessimistic, and won't throw you into the garb of realistic attitude, but I am just being outright personal about my view. My view which I will not follow myself but will just put out there. Humans, are always striving for perfection. Strife exists, the hard work, the masking exists but the very destination is nonexistent. We are striving for something which is not even there. What will we attain then? What will come out of this masquerade, this projection of a 'nicety-nice' life, this striving hard to making every end meet?

Maybe all our imperfections combined, the very journey of the attainment, the very life we lead through such endeavours, becomes the destination.

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