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Wednesday, 6 February 2013

Cotton swab

So its that time again when I am staring at a blank writing sheet trying to give some coherence to my thoughts. As my readers would have figured out by now, I like shiny. So, all shiny and bike fans would remember the zooming of some pretty sick rides in Tron 2. Basically what I am trying to get at is, the thoughts that zoom past in my head kind of remind me of the zooming bikes in Tron with a hint of a Lava lamp ( Colors -thoughts merging into one another get?) . As is obvious from the description above, I am still in the process of streamlining what I want to say.

What is it that one really wants to say? Whether it be an argument, or trying to make someone understand what is really going on in ones head seems like a mammoth task. It seems so over whelming at times, that it brings upon some weird weariness, that maybe saying nothing at all would be better than trying to formulate ones thoughts in words. I saw an interesting movie a few days ago, its called Silver Linings Playbook, starring a very eye candied Bradley Cooper and my favorite De Niro. It is an amazing movie because Cooper's character cannot quite explain himself and then there is a clash of what he is about and how people see him. This ball, this fragile, mass of emotions one has inside oneself of pain, anger, disappointment and weariness is delicate, and its not easy for one to lay it all open. There isn't only a persistent fear of this ball being prodded and poked, but most of all there's a fear of whether the one looking at the ball would appreciate its delicacy and fragility. To listen unbiased is a very big thing I suppose. I'm trying my hand at it with respect to certain changes in my life, and given that I might not really understand the speakers perspective at the outset, I am glad that at least I am making an effort.


To put it simply, we are but weak, small people. Dont get me wrong, I have no intention of downplaying our achievements or how far we have come along, but then again a single harsh word from a loved one hurts way more than a failed mission to the mars. A slightly abstract analogy, but read it again, in the greater scheme of things, it'll make sense.

I digress.

So, last weekend a few of us were sitting and "chillin" and one of us opened up about the pain she was feeling. I was sitting on the floor, looking at her, her body language was defensive, eyes welled up in tears, but none fell. None fell, because she couldn't afford for them to fall. I was looking at her, and couldn't come fathom the pain, the ball of pain she was toying with. She kept talking, repeating herself, laying bare her emotions, knowing nothing would come of it, not quite listening to the intermittent words of support from the others. Funny thing that, I got it. I got the defiance when pain bulges into anger and one will face whatever there is, no matter how unprepared. Her pain wont end by some random comfort words, and wouldn't really stop talking about it because the ball of pain has a life of its own. What could be done? I apologized for my intrusion since I was the one who knew her for the shortest time, and said a few words. It seemed to do the trick, she wiped her tears. The thing is we all have our mess of pain, but just giving someone a really tight hug and not saying anything or saying stuff to make it slightly bearable, makes ones own pain slightly bearable as well.

Sabr, Arabic word literally meaning patience. If this soft cotton swab of sabr were not there to soften the blow so to speak, we'd all be jumping of bridges, one after the other like a pack of dominoes.

Clowns are the saddest people on earth. One doesn't know the churning behind that smile one wears to get by. A single word of love, a show of support or even a hug could make things so much better. I don't know why we are so stingy, judgmental and scared of reaching out, somehow when one does reach out, ones own ball of pain seems to shrink in comparison, becomes insignificant so to speak.


Not the most cheerful post I accept, but such is life. We can dance all around our little ball of pain but its there. So whilst I'm nursing my own insignificant threads of melancholy, my only comfort is that in spite of all, I can still reach out to someone who is scared of letting go of that single tear, and that alone makes all the mess worth while.

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