I was looking through some old snaps, old pals, old places, places I have been to, old memories. I make myself sound old, I feel it in my bones too, that I am just a step away from being a battered old ram! But these old memories did bring in a sense of accomplishment and joy. They brought a sense of satisfaction and experience. They also brought a heavy heart. I was looking through the albums, living through the memory each snap unfolded, the moment captured in its rapture. Some made me sad, some made me smile, some made me laugh and some filled me with satisfaction. Overall, it was a good positive vibe. Yet, this question of where I belong, popped into my head, making me pause mid way through, making me go beyond the superficial. Do I belong here, among the lifeless stuffed toys that I hugged for the picture? Do I belong here, the composed smile that did not reach my eyes? Do I belong here, the careless swing in my body, standing on my tip toes, in the middle of no where?
I always felt myself to be a misfit, going through the drill of life, sometimes forced to and sometimes by choice, sometimes unyielding, sometimes convinced, most of the time just letting things roll. But there were those moments of peace, those that made life tolerable. There is a face inside my heart that has a perennial smirk and it has a voice that has a sarcastic bite to it, that gives its two cents every turn. Yet, despite that voice, I manage to be sane, participating in life, supposedly living it. Question is, where am I living it? Inside my head or outside? I search as much for the right questions as I search for answers. I search for both questions and answers inside me. It sounds totally insane, yet, there is no cosmic space from which I can get the answers, right? I have to trust the instinct or my ability to think and come up with the answers that will make some sense to me.
I wish I could say I belong to myself. I wish I could say I have a home. I wish I could say I have a heart. But there is this voice inside me that is bellowing at the top of its voice, LIE, LIE, LIE. The lies one tells themselves, that they are happy being who they are, silently cursing every waking minute that its another treacherous ordeal to go through the day. The lies one tells to convince oneself that happiness is in themselves, that they do not require anyone else to get through life, yet winding up in misery, hurling through the nightmares, curling into a ball, fighting the urge to free themselves of whatever it is that holds them, be it a person or a thing or an emotion. The lies they tell themselves that they love, looking at a face they care nothing for, yet living through the moment, afraid that they would be found out. The lies they tell themselves that they are alright, when they are seething with maddening rage at the pointless pain they go through, physical or emotional. LIES, LIES, LIES... all lies, every word, act, face, a lie. White lies, black lies, all lies. Is that where I belong? To a lie? Have I become what I strenuously tried to not become, a two-faced dirty hypocrite? I do not wish to seek an answer to that question, yet the question lurks in the corner of my mind, probing me to find an answer. Where do I belong??
I always felt myself to be a misfit, going through the drill of life, sometimes forced to and sometimes by choice, sometimes unyielding, sometimes convinced, most of the time just letting things roll. But there were those moments of peace, those that made life tolerable. There is a face inside my heart that has a perennial smirk and it has a voice that has a sarcastic bite to it, that gives its two cents every turn. Yet, despite that voice, I manage to be sane, participating in life, supposedly living it. Question is, where am I living it? Inside my head or outside? I search as much for the right questions as I search for answers. I search for both questions and answers inside me. It sounds totally insane, yet, there is no cosmic space from which I can get the answers, right? I have to trust the instinct or my ability to think and come up with the answers that will make some sense to me.
I wish I could say I belong to myself. I wish I could say I have a home. I wish I could say I have a heart. But there is this voice inside me that is bellowing at the top of its voice, LIE, LIE, LIE. The lies one tells themselves, that they are happy being who they are, silently cursing every waking minute that its another treacherous ordeal to go through the day. The lies one tells to convince oneself that happiness is in themselves, that they do not require anyone else to get through life, yet winding up in misery, hurling through the nightmares, curling into a ball, fighting the urge to free themselves of whatever it is that holds them, be it a person or a thing or an emotion. The lies they tell themselves that they love, looking at a face they care nothing for, yet living through the moment, afraid that they would be found out. The lies they tell themselves that they are alright, when they are seething with maddening rage at the pointless pain they go through, physical or emotional. LIES, LIES, LIES... all lies, every word, act, face, a lie. White lies, black lies, all lies. Is that where I belong? To a lie? Have I become what I strenuously tried to not become, a two-faced dirty hypocrite? I do not wish to seek an answer to that question, yet the question lurks in the corner of my mind, probing me to find an answer. Where do I belong??
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